"Temptation"
by Laura Reddingale
[editor's note: edited by Mainecoon, who likes this story a lot!!!]
*****
"My only consolation," Pippin observed to his toes, "Is that even when there's no one else around, one can always speak to oneself." He stretched out on his back and gazed up at the glittering night sky. The stars were spread before him in their most dazzling array, their light gleaming raw and clear with no envious moon to try to obscure them on this cold night. "All very charming in its way, I'll admit, but it would be much improved by a fire and a bit of companionship." The stars apparently felt no need to defend themselves from this attack on their beauty and remained silently aloof.
The hobbit turned on his side and faced the grass. "I wish to goodness it had never been done. He'll never know, of course. At least, I don't think he could ever find out, but if he were ever to catch sight of me, he'd know for certain. One look in my eyes and the secret would be out." Pippin shut his eyes sadly to himself. "And the biggest problem is that I'm quite liable to lose my mind if I stay out here alone too long. If anyone came by and found me speaking to myself, they'd most likely think me mad, and I can't say as I'd rightly blame them." He pulled his cloak more tightly over his shoulders. "Though I should most likely freeze to death long before I would ever get a chance to go insane." Having now wallowed quite thoroughly in his own self-pity, Pippin snuffled for a few moments, and then pulled himself together.
"What a lot of nonsense it all is. Perhaps I am a fool of a Took after all." He frowned, and absentmindedly began chewing on the knuckle of one hand. "The wisest course of action that I can see, is to turn around right now, go directly to Frodo, and tell him the whole truth, without trying to hide any of it, or shift the blame to someone else. He may forgive me, he may not, but whatever comes of it, it certainly must be better than standing out here in the cold."
He didn't move. A wind blew bitterly across the hill as he tried to force himself to his feet, to go and face his friend. He sat up. "I will go directly back, but I really ought to get a good look at it at least, after all this grief." He raised a thin chain from around his neck and held it out in front of him. The One Ring swung back and forth hypnotically, invitingly. He stretched out a finger. "After all," he whispered very softly. "It would be such a shame not to even try it on." His finger touched the golden rim, and drew back. He swallowed, and quickly replaced the chain around his neck, leapt to his feet, and began running back towards Bag End as fast as he could. His breath came in short gasps, and he didn't dare stop. There was something undeniably terrifying about his intense desire for the ring. What ever could have made him steal it from his friend? He could feel it's weight against his chest even now, pounding against his heart, almost as though it had it's own heartbeat. It seemed like a living creature, like a rat, clinging to him, and trying to gnaw his finger off.
Pippin stumbled against the side of the hill. "Frodo! Oh, do hurry! Frodo!" He banged against the little round door. As suddenly as a candle going out, the door opened and he practically fell through the threshold.
Frodo stood there, fully dressed and anxious. Despite the late hour, he clearly had not yet been to bed. "Pippin? What are you doing here?"
Like a child, Pippin followed his host meekly to the side of the fireplace and stood while Frodo added another log to the dying flames. The shadowy room sprung into relief, and Pippin could see the chaos surrounding him, as though someone had ransacked the place, looking for something. He had the strange sensation of being within a circle of light, and order. Beyond it lay darkness and confusion. Trembling, he shook off the feeling.
"Frodo, I've not the faintest idea how to go about saying this," he began.
His host laughed and gestured for him to take a seat. "A Took, uncertain of how to speak? You really must be very tired, Pippin."
Pippin sank into a chair and seemed to shrink within his cloak. "Don't joke, please Frodo. I feel so awful, and I am dreadfully sorry, please believe me on that much, I feel simply terrible and-"
"Old chap, I'll gladly forgive you whatever it is, but this would be much easier if you would tell me what exactly it is that you've done," Frodo said, amused.
"Don't grant me your forgiveness too easily Frodo," Pippin said bitterly. "I find that I hate myself right now, and I rather imagine that you will too." He closed his eyes, so that at least he wouldn't have to look at Frodo. "I've…I've-" Why was it so difficult to tell him? "I've stolen from you, Frodo. One of your greatest treasures."
"My dear fellow, what could you possibly have…" Recognition came into his eyes. "You? You took it?" Frodo stood up, still too amazed to be angry.
Pippin nodded miserably, and removed the chain from his neck. He held it out, the links of the chain pooled in his hand, the One Ring like a golden boat in a rough, silver sea. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Frodo stood staring, and Pippin seemed to shrink with each passing moment. Frodo couldn't seem to think of anything to say. Pippin finally lost his nerve and lowered his eyes. "Why did you do it, Pippin?" Frodo asked simply.
"I don't know," the hobbit replied, his voice barely audible. His fingers clenched convulsively. "I don't know!" he yelled suddenly, looking up. The flames of the fire reflected in his eyes and the tearstains on his cheeks shone like gold. "I kept seeing it, and every time I saw it, I longed for it even more, as if it were calling out to me. Oh, I know it's ridiculous," he continued, not noticing Frodo's suddenly intensified gaze. "But it seemed as if I must have it, must hold it, must wear it!"
Frodo's voice cut across his words like iron as he asked, "Did you?"
"No!" Pippin cried, then in more modified tones, he repeated, "No. I swear it, Frodo, by everything and anything you name, I swear it."
Frodo stared at him, and at the object he still held in his outstretched hand. "I believe you," he said finally. Then he reached out across the space between them and took the One Ring from Pippin and replaced the chain about his own neck.
Pippin bowed his head.
"I believe you, Pippin. I forgive you."
The hobbit looked up. "You may forgive me, Frodo, but I shan't forgive myself until I've made it up to you." His face clouded. "Strange things are about. Dark messages are whispered in the night, and children cry out in fear from dreams they cannot remember when they wake. I am not a Gandalf, who has so much knowledge and wisdom, but if ever you need a companion, or friend, or protector, I will do all in my power to help you, Frodo. I will never betray you again."
There was something strangely solemn in his wide eyes. Frodo nodded. "It may be soon that I must call upon your promise, Pippin." Then his face relaxed and he smiled slightly. "But the hour grows late, and my bed calls. Good night, Pippin. Walk carefully, my friend, I think it may have started raining."
They shook hands, and in moments, Pippin was outside the little door.
Frodo leaned against it, then sighed with relief as he pulled the chain up and held the ring at eye-level. His fingers traced its familiar shape with pleasure. Then he tucked it back into his shirt, lit a candle, and started on his way into the kitchen to get a quick bite before going to bed.
Pippin walked slowly towards his home, oblivious of the icy rain falling all around him. He drew his arms around his shoulders and shivered. He could still feel the desire for the ring pulsing in his blood, singing in his veins. It was worse now than it had been before. But now he had something to fight back with. He had said he would never betray Frodo again, and he had meant it. He had given his word, and he knew, even as the image of the ring floated before his eyes tauntingly, enticingly, he knew that he would keep his promise.
...end...
by Laura Reddingale
[editor's note: edited by Mainecoon, who likes this story a lot!!!]
*****
"My only consolation," Pippin observed to his toes, "Is that even when there's no one else around, one can always speak to oneself." He stretched out on his back and gazed up at the glittering night sky. The stars were spread before him in their most dazzling array, their light gleaming raw and clear with no envious moon to try to obscure them on this cold night. "All very charming in its way, I'll admit, but it would be much improved by a fire and a bit of companionship." The stars apparently felt no need to defend themselves from this attack on their beauty and remained silently aloof.
The hobbit turned on his side and faced the grass. "I wish to goodness it had never been done. He'll never know, of course. At least, I don't think he could ever find out, but if he were ever to catch sight of me, he'd know for certain. One look in my eyes and the secret would be out." Pippin shut his eyes sadly to himself. "And the biggest problem is that I'm quite liable to lose my mind if I stay out here alone too long. If anyone came by and found me speaking to myself, they'd most likely think me mad, and I can't say as I'd rightly blame them." He pulled his cloak more tightly over his shoulders. "Though I should most likely freeze to death long before I would ever get a chance to go insane." Having now wallowed quite thoroughly in his own self-pity, Pippin snuffled for a few moments, and then pulled himself together.
"What a lot of nonsense it all is. Perhaps I am a fool of a Took after all." He frowned, and absentmindedly began chewing on the knuckle of one hand. "The wisest course of action that I can see, is to turn around right now, go directly to Frodo, and tell him the whole truth, without trying to hide any of it, or shift the blame to someone else. He may forgive me, he may not, but whatever comes of it, it certainly must be better than standing out here in the cold."
He didn't move. A wind blew bitterly across the hill as he tried to force himself to his feet, to go and face his friend. He sat up. "I will go directly back, but I really ought to get a good look at it at least, after all this grief." He raised a thin chain from around his neck and held it out in front of him. The One Ring swung back and forth hypnotically, invitingly. He stretched out a finger. "After all," he whispered very softly. "It would be such a shame not to even try it on." His finger touched the golden rim, and drew back. He swallowed, and quickly replaced the chain around his neck, leapt to his feet, and began running back towards Bag End as fast as he could. His breath came in short gasps, and he didn't dare stop. There was something undeniably terrifying about his intense desire for the ring. What ever could have made him steal it from his friend? He could feel it's weight against his chest even now, pounding against his heart, almost as though it had it's own heartbeat. It seemed like a living creature, like a rat, clinging to him, and trying to gnaw his finger off.
Pippin stumbled against the side of the hill. "Frodo! Oh, do hurry! Frodo!" He banged against the little round door. As suddenly as a candle going out, the door opened and he practically fell through the threshold.
Frodo stood there, fully dressed and anxious. Despite the late hour, he clearly had not yet been to bed. "Pippin? What are you doing here?"
Like a child, Pippin followed his host meekly to the side of the fireplace and stood while Frodo added another log to the dying flames. The shadowy room sprung into relief, and Pippin could see the chaos surrounding him, as though someone had ransacked the place, looking for something. He had the strange sensation of being within a circle of light, and order. Beyond it lay darkness and confusion. Trembling, he shook off the feeling.
"Frodo, I've not the faintest idea how to go about saying this," he began.
His host laughed and gestured for him to take a seat. "A Took, uncertain of how to speak? You really must be very tired, Pippin."
Pippin sank into a chair and seemed to shrink within his cloak. "Don't joke, please Frodo. I feel so awful, and I am dreadfully sorry, please believe me on that much, I feel simply terrible and-"
"Old chap, I'll gladly forgive you whatever it is, but this would be much easier if you would tell me what exactly it is that you've done," Frodo said, amused.
"Don't grant me your forgiveness too easily Frodo," Pippin said bitterly. "I find that I hate myself right now, and I rather imagine that you will too." He closed his eyes, so that at least he wouldn't have to look at Frodo. "I've…I've-" Why was it so difficult to tell him? "I've stolen from you, Frodo. One of your greatest treasures."
"My dear fellow, what could you possibly have…" Recognition came into his eyes. "You? You took it?" Frodo stood up, still too amazed to be angry.
Pippin nodded miserably, and removed the chain from his neck. He held it out, the links of the chain pooled in his hand, the One Ring like a golden boat in a rough, silver sea. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Frodo stood staring, and Pippin seemed to shrink with each passing moment. Frodo couldn't seem to think of anything to say. Pippin finally lost his nerve and lowered his eyes. "Why did you do it, Pippin?" Frodo asked simply.
"I don't know," the hobbit replied, his voice barely audible. His fingers clenched convulsively. "I don't know!" he yelled suddenly, looking up. The flames of the fire reflected in his eyes and the tearstains on his cheeks shone like gold. "I kept seeing it, and every time I saw it, I longed for it even more, as if it were calling out to me. Oh, I know it's ridiculous," he continued, not noticing Frodo's suddenly intensified gaze. "But it seemed as if I must have it, must hold it, must wear it!"
Frodo's voice cut across his words like iron as he asked, "Did you?"
"No!" Pippin cried, then in more modified tones, he repeated, "No. I swear it, Frodo, by everything and anything you name, I swear it."
Frodo stared at him, and at the object he still held in his outstretched hand. "I believe you," he said finally. Then he reached out across the space between them and took the One Ring from Pippin and replaced the chain about his own neck.
Pippin bowed his head.
"I believe you, Pippin. I forgive you."
The hobbit looked up. "You may forgive me, Frodo, but I shan't forgive myself until I've made it up to you." His face clouded. "Strange things are about. Dark messages are whispered in the night, and children cry out in fear from dreams they cannot remember when they wake. I am not a Gandalf, who has so much knowledge and wisdom, but if ever you need a companion, or friend, or protector, I will do all in my power to help you, Frodo. I will never betray you again."
There was something strangely solemn in his wide eyes. Frodo nodded. "It may be soon that I must call upon your promise, Pippin." Then his face relaxed and he smiled slightly. "But the hour grows late, and my bed calls. Good night, Pippin. Walk carefully, my friend, I think it may have started raining."
They shook hands, and in moments, Pippin was outside the little door.
Frodo leaned against it, then sighed with relief as he pulled the chain up and held the ring at eye-level. His fingers traced its familiar shape with pleasure. Then he tucked it back into his shirt, lit a candle, and started on his way into the kitchen to get a quick bite before going to bed.
Pippin walked slowly towards his home, oblivious of the icy rain falling all around him. He drew his arms around his shoulders and shivered. He could still feel the desire for the ring pulsing in his blood, singing in his veins. It was worse now than it had been before. But now he had something to fight back with. He had said he would never betray Frodo again, and he had meant it. He had given his word, and he knew, even as the image of the ring floated before his eyes tauntingly, enticingly, he knew that he would keep his promise.
...end...