Pippin opened his eyes and wondered for a moment if he'd opened them.
Everything was still completely dark. He thought of the orcs that had
attacked their company, and wondered if this was an orc prison. He knew it
wasn't though. He knew he'd been here before. He tried to sit up, but as
before restraints were holding him down. How had he come to be here? What
did they want from him this time?
Suddenly light blinded him. It was the same light that seemed to come from everywhere at once and yet illuminated nothing. A dark figure approached, and Pippin tried in vain to make out any features.
"Welcome back, little prince," the figure said, and Pippin recognised the voice.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"You are not yet ready to know my name."
"Why did you bring me here?"
"You are not here," the figure answered surprisingly, "you are a prisoner of the orcs, bound and guarded near the borders of Rohan. This place is merely an illusion in your mind."
"But what do you want with me?"
"This is a difficult time for you. Not your greatest test, but still a time where you will be tempted to give in to fear and doubt. Know that you have great potential, little prince. If you are to survive what is to come and fulfil your potential you must remain strong."
"I don't understand," Pippin said, "what do you mean about potential?" An image appeared in the same manner as the image of Aragorn. But this time the image was of Pippin. He seemed to have grown taller, and was wearing a uniform of silver and black, sitting proudly on the back of a pony.
"I am a messenger from the king," the image of Pippin was saying, "and you are speaking to the king's friend. Get yourselves gone or I will stick this troll's bane in you." And Pippin saw that the image of himself had a sword at his side. The same sword the orcs had taken from him at Parth Galen.
The image faded, but still Pippin stared in wonder at the place where it had been. What great magic did these people possess?
"Was that the future?" Pippin asked.
"It was potential. The future is never set, little prince, for every decision, every thought, every action is shaping it. What I have shown you is what might come to pass, if you are strong through your trials."
"Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you be telling Frodo to be strong or someone? Why me?"
"Because small though you are, you have a great part to play in the shaping of events that are to come." A second image appeared. There was a ring of hills surrounding a tall tower. He appeared to be watching from a short distance away, but he could see figures attacking the hills, tearing rocks and throwing them about as if they weighed nothing. From what Gandalf had said in Rivendell, Pippin guessed that this place was Isengard, the home of Saruman.
As once more the image faded, Pippin wondered what he could possibly do that could cause something like that to happen. He was just one hobbit, and a prisoner as well. He was unimportant compared to people like Aragorn or Boromir.
"Do not doubt yourself, little prince," the voice said, obviously guessing his thoughts, "you would not be able to hear our voices if you were unimportant. Even those such as Aragorn do not hear our voices when we speak to them, except perhaps as a feeling that cannot be explained. We speak more openly to you than others, but you also listen more openly."
Suddenly it seemed to Pippin that someone had grabbed his body and was trying to yank him somewhere. He cried out in pain as suddenly every muscle in his body ached and his head throbbed. He felt hands grabbing him again and his eyes snapped open to see the grisly head of an orc, who slung Pippin on his back violently like a sack of potatoes. The dark place was gone, replaced by something far worse, and only the voice remained, whispering in his mind, 'Be strong, little prince, be brave.'
Suddenly light blinded him. It was the same light that seemed to come from everywhere at once and yet illuminated nothing. A dark figure approached, and Pippin tried in vain to make out any features.
"Welcome back, little prince," the figure said, and Pippin recognised the voice.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"You are not yet ready to know my name."
"Why did you bring me here?"
"You are not here," the figure answered surprisingly, "you are a prisoner of the orcs, bound and guarded near the borders of Rohan. This place is merely an illusion in your mind."
"But what do you want with me?"
"This is a difficult time for you. Not your greatest test, but still a time where you will be tempted to give in to fear and doubt. Know that you have great potential, little prince. If you are to survive what is to come and fulfil your potential you must remain strong."
"I don't understand," Pippin said, "what do you mean about potential?" An image appeared in the same manner as the image of Aragorn. But this time the image was of Pippin. He seemed to have grown taller, and was wearing a uniform of silver and black, sitting proudly on the back of a pony.
"I am a messenger from the king," the image of Pippin was saying, "and you are speaking to the king's friend. Get yourselves gone or I will stick this troll's bane in you." And Pippin saw that the image of himself had a sword at his side. The same sword the orcs had taken from him at Parth Galen.
The image faded, but still Pippin stared in wonder at the place where it had been. What great magic did these people possess?
"Was that the future?" Pippin asked.
"It was potential. The future is never set, little prince, for every decision, every thought, every action is shaping it. What I have shown you is what might come to pass, if you are strong through your trials."
"Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you be telling Frodo to be strong or someone? Why me?"
"Because small though you are, you have a great part to play in the shaping of events that are to come." A second image appeared. There was a ring of hills surrounding a tall tower. He appeared to be watching from a short distance away, but he could see figures attacking the hills, tearing rocks and throwing them about as if they weighed nothing. From what Gandalf had said in Rivendell, Pippin guessed that this place was Isengard, the home of Saruman.
As once more the image faded, Pippin wondered what he could possibly do that could cause something like that to happen. He was just one hobbit, and a prisoner as well. He was unimportant compared to people like Aragorn or Boromir.
"Do not doubt yourself, little prince," the voice said, obviously guessing his thoughts, "you would not be able to hear our voices if you were unimportant. Even those such as Aragorn do not hear our voices when we speak to them, except perhaps as a feeling that cannot be explained. We speak more openly to you than others, but you also listen more openly."
Suddenly it seemed to Pippin that someone had grabbed his body and was trying to yank him somewhere. He cried out in pain as suddenly every muscle in his body ached and his head throbbed. He felt hands grabbing him again and his eyes snapped open to see the grisly head of an orc, who slung Pippin on his back violently like a sack of potatoes. The dark place was gone, replaced by something far worse, and only the voice remained, whispering in his mind, 'Be strong, little prince, be brave.'