Thanks to Ruse, Marion, Midnight Dove, shirebound, Pansy Chubb, Xena and
darksun for reviewing the first chapter. I'm glad you find the premise of
this story intriguing.
Rating: PG-13 (mild violence, hobbit strife)
Summary: In the middle of a celebration after the destruction of the Ring,
Merry is melancholy. While Pippin is with him, the Lady Galadriel happens
upon them. Her words to them provide little comfort at first, but
eventually the two hobbits find succor in them.
Feedback: Constructive criticism is welcome. I attempt to keep as close to
book canon as possible. Ideas on how to improve in this area are
particularly welcome.
Disclaimer: The places, situations and characters of The Lord of the Rings
belong to the Tolkien Estate. This work contains no original characters.
No money is being made from this work.
Author's Note: This story is inspired by discussions in the Merry's Mob and Pippin's Playgroup threads formerly of Imladris.net and currently of khazaddum.com.
"The Vision of Galadriel" Chapter Two: Merry's Charge
"We failed, didn't we Lady Galadriel?" asked Pippin, his voice filled with shame.
Galadriel smiled kindly upon them and said, "No, you did not. Let me explain and you shall understand why I was afraid when I saw you. The vision started with Peregrin, who had come by the Ring, leaving at Gandalf's behest. The hour was very late, and hope was fading. Yet Gandalf was not tricked into thinking that the Ring could be used to serve the free races, and he decided that it must be destroyed. Believing strongly in the inherent goodness of your kind, he decided to entrust you, Peregrin, to your cousin Meriadoc, who, for a hobbit, was learned in the maps of Middle- Earth. There was neither a Council at Imladris, nor a Fellowship to accompany you, for time did not permit the formation of either. The Nine pursued you from the time you came through Bree until you unwittingly passed close to Lothlorien, and Celeborn and I were able to use our powers to drive them away from our borders. Alas, we were unable to find you and give you shelter and rest. I do not know how you crossed either the mountains or the River Anduin, but you entered Mordor from the north. There was a skirmish with a part-company of Orcs, where you both received injury. Peregrin was wounded worse than you were, Meriadoc, and by the time the two of you reached Gorgoroth, he was completely dependent upon you."
All this amazed the hobbits. Merry had so many questions about the story, for it all seemed utterly improbable, and quite frankly, he was amazed that he had not gotten the two of them lost. He could not speak though, and Galadriel, if she noticed his questioning eyes, chose to continue her tale uninterrupted...
Pippin was very cold, so Merry made to wrap his green jacket around him, which would expose his yellow waistcoat to any on the plateau of Gorgoroth who would care to look if he did not lie down. In another time, in another world, this would have spelled doom for the two halflings, but Merry's waistcoat was so filthy that its color was dimmed, and he had time to wrap his cousin up before hiding himself. Merry laid low in disgust. There would be no movement for a few more hours at least; Sauron's armies were marching. 'Marching to victory, probably,' thought Merry. 'What if they have destroyed the Shire? What if they're only close? We're not even moving; we're losing time!'
His muscles tensed, ready to launch him forward, but he stopped them. For the armies were marching and if they moved, they would be seen. Days upon days had Merry watched Sauron's armies march, and they followed a distinct pattern. Merry had taken great pains to figure this out so that he could know the best time to move Pippin. It had come to that. The poor lad had been badly injured in fighting that group of Orcs. The months of living in unceasing fear of those black riders that had mercilessly and tirelessly pursued them--here Merry paused to thank whatever power had driven them away--added to his injuries and the horrible burden of carrying that Ring had nearly caused Pippin to fade to nothingness. Now he was but a living pillow or pouch that existed for no other purpose but to carry the Ring. He had no will or thoughts or movement of his own, and the duty was laid upon Meriadoc Brandybuck to get him to Mount Doom.
"He's all yours now," whispered Merry to himself. "He can't fight anymore." For there had been fights. Mostly small ones, but the two of them were so close, that any disagreement took a horrible toll on both of them. In fact, there had really been only one large fight. It broke out when Pippin killed the other thing that had been pursuing them, the thing that had not stopped when the Black Riders had gone away. Merry guessed it was the gollum- creature that Gandalf had hastily warned them about.
Merry began to consider the one question that he had considered again and again on their journey. Why couldn't there have been more time? Gandalf's explanation of their charge had been so short. Merry remembered some of the words that the wizard had said to him alone at their parting: "You must take It to Mordor, for if Sauron recovers It, all will be lost. Beware of riders who follow you and wear black. Do not move by night, for this is when you shall be most vulnerable. Also beware of a creature that makes a strange sound, 'gollum.' This pitiable thing is the one who lost the Ring to Bilbo and his desire for It rivals Sauron's. He is a souless thing, given to any means of trickery or thievery. He is as dangerous as any that shall try to harm you. You must take the Ring to Mount Doom, the mountain of fire, deep in Mordor. There is an entrance to the forges. You must enter there and you must cast the Ring over the edge. I wish I could say more, but we cannot afford to waste even breath now."
Merry mind wandered back further into time, back to old Bilbo talking about the gollum-creature, before his early death, before he willed the Ring to Pippin because Pippin had fancied the little bauble that made him disappear. Alas that Gandalf had not discovered the Ring's true identity before Bilbo had died! But from Bilbo's description of the creature, he was certain that it was what Pippin had killed.
Merry would never forget the night. He had fallen asleep--as he remembered this, he cursed himself, yet again--and the gollum-creature had crept up, and made to strangle him. Yet the thing had created some noise that stirred Pippin, who leapt up, and with a great shout, felled him with one stroke.
Pippin's stroke had been singular. Gandalf's words to him had been few. Merry was now coming to realize that all that was born of those words and that stroke now lay at his feet. Those things were many and weighty.
Author's Note: This story is inspired by discussions in the Merry's Mob and Pippin's Playgroup threads formerly of Imladris.net and currently of khazaddum.com.
"The Vision of Galadriel" Chapter Two: Merry's Charge
"We failed, didn't we Lady Galadriel?" asked Pippin, his voice filled with shame.
Galadriel smiled kindly upon them and said, "No, you did not. Let me explain and you shall understand why I was afraid when I saw you. The vision started with Peregrin, who had come by the Ring, leaving at Gandalf's behest. The hour was very late, and hope was fading. Yet Gandalf was not tricked into thinking that the Ring could be used to serve the free races, and he decided that it must be destroyed. Believing strongly in the inherent goodness of your kind, he decided to entrust you, Peregrin, to your cousin Meriadoc, who, for a hobbit, was learned in the maps of Middle- Earth. There was neither a Council at Imladris, nor a Fellowship to accompany you, for time did not permit the formation of either. The Nine pursued you from the time you came through Bree until you unwittingly passed close to Lothlorien, and Celeborn and I were able to use our powers to drive them away from our borders. Alas, we were unable to find you and give you shelter and rest. I do not know how you crossed either the mountains or the River Anduin, but you entered Mordor from the north. There was a skirmish with a part-company of Orcs, where you both received injury. Peregrin was wounded worse than you were, Meriadoc, and by the time the two of you reached Gorgoroth, he was completely dependent upon you."
All this amazed the hobbits. Merry had so many questions about the story, for it all seemed utterly improbable, and quite frankly, he was amazed that he had not gotten the two of them lost. He could not speak though, and Galadriel, if she noticed his questioning eyes, chose to continue her tale uninterrupted...
Pippin was very cold, so Merry made to wrap his green jacket around him, which would expose his yellow waistcoat to any on the plateau of Gorgoroth who would care to look if he did not lie down. In another time, in another world, this would have spelled doom for the two halflings, but Merry's waistcoat was so filthy that its color was dimmed, and he had time to wrap his cousin up before hiding himself. Merry laid low in disgust. There would be no movement for a few more hours at least; Sauron's armies were marching. 'Marching to victory, probably,' thought Merry. 'What if they have destroyed the Shire? What if they're only close? We're not even moving; we're losing time!'
His muscles tensed, ready to launch him forward, but he stopped them. For the armies were marching and if they moved, they would be seen. Days upon days had Merry watched Sauron's armies march, and they followed a distinct pattern. Merry had taken great pains to figure this out so that he could know the best time to move Pippin. It had come to that. The poor lad had been badly injured in fighting that group of Orcs. The months of living in unceasing fear of those black riders that had mercilessly and tirelessly pursued them--here Merry paused to thank whatever power had driven them away--added to his injuries and the horrible burden of carrying that Ring had nearly caused Pippin to fade to nothingness. Now he was but a living pillow or pouch that existed for no other purpose but to carry the Ring. He had no will or thoughts or movement of his own, and the duty was laid upon Meriadoc Brandybuck to get him to Mount Doom.
"He's all yours now," whispered Merry to himself. "He can't fight anymore." For there had been fights. Mostly small ones, but the two of them were so close, that any disagreement took a horrible toll on both of them. In fact, there had really been only one large fight. It broke out when Pippin killed the other thing that had been pursuing them, the thing that had not stopped when the Black Riders had gone away. Merry guessed it was the gollum- creature that Gandalf had hastily warned them about.
Merry began to consider the one question that he had considered again and again on their journey. Why couldn't there have been more time? Gandalf's explanation of their charge had been so short. Merry remembered some of the words that the wizard had said to him alone at their parting: "You must take It to Mordor, for if Sauron recovers It, all will be lost. Beware of riders who follow you and wear black. Do not move by night, for this is when you shall be most vulnerable. Also beware of a creature that makes a strange sound, 'gollum.' This pitiable thing is the one who lost the Ring to Bilbo and his desire for It rivals Sauron's. He is a souless thing, given to any means of trickery or thievery. He is as dangerous as any that shall try to harm you. You must take the Ring to Mount Doom, the mountain of fire, deep in Mordor. There is an entrance to the forges. You must enter there and you must cast the Ring over the edge. I wish I could say more, but we cannot afford to waste even breath now."
Merry mind wandered back further into time, back to old Bilbo talking about the gollum-creature, before his early death, before he willed the Ring to Pippin because Pippin had fancied the little bauble that made him disappear. Alas that Gandalf had not discovered the Ring's true identity before Bilbo had died! But from Bilbo's description of the creature, he was certain that it was what Pippin had killed.
Merry would never forget the night. He had fallen asleep--as he remembered this, he cursed himself, yet again--and the gollum-creature had crept up, and made to strangle him. Yet the thing had created some noise that stirred Pippin, who leapt up, and with a great shout, felled him with one stroke.
Pippin's stroke had been singular. Gandalf's words to him had been few. Merry was now coming to realize that all that was born of those words and that stroke now lay at his feet. Those things were many and weighty.