3. Moon
before Yule
(February: Wolf Moon)
'Pippin!' Merry called softly.
'I'm here, cousin,' Pippin said, in spite of himself.
'Pippin, you know I would never hurt you. You know that!' Merry said,
his voice fierce. 'I cannot understand how you would believe such lies about
me... it is a mistake, Pippin! A terrible mistake!'
'Of course it is,' Pippin said absently, staring into the flames.
Samwise got up, muttering to himself. 'I cannot bear to listen to this...'
'Take yourself off for a walk, Sam,' Pippin said kindly. 'Just don't go too
far.'
'Sam, no! Wait! You've got to let me free! Pippin isn't himself, he doesn't
know what he's doing! Sam!' Merry's voice rose to a shout as the other walked
away, shaking his head, trying not to hear the desperate words.
'Pippin, how could you believe I mean you harm?' Merry said again. 'After all
the times I've saved you...'
Pippin sat rigid, staring into the flames, listening to the well-loved voice.
'There was the time you fell into the River, and I dove in after you, though it
was cold as ice, d'you remember? I shoved you up onto the bank but was too cold
to climb out myself. I nearly died, saving you that day, do you remember?'
'I remember,' he said softly, hating himself.
'And the time you got lost in the Old Forest, I went in after you, and we were
caught there by darkness. I stayed with you the whole night through, until the
grown-ups found us, surely you remember that!'
'Yes,' Pippin said.
'And the time...'
'I remember!' Pippin interrupted. 'I remember that time, and many others, and I
remember the times I saved you... like when the orcs had us, and you'd given up
hope, and I cut my bonds, and dropped my elven brooch, and got you out of their
clutches, yes, I remember that, too!'
He sobbed, and wiped impatiently at his face. 'And the hours I stayed by your
side in the Houses of Healing, begging you to fight, not to let the Darkness
take you.'
He rose abruptly from the fire, to walk over to the tree, to stand just out of
Merry's reach. 'And now a different kind of darkness is reaching out for you,
it'll take you if we do not end this now, and I will not let that happen to
you, Merry! I intend to save you from this...' he took a great shuddering
breath. '...even if I have to put a sword through your heart to do it.'
Merry stared, horrified, into his cousin's relentless eyes, before Pippin
turned away, stumbled to the fire, and sat heavily down upon the ground with
his back to the tree, deaf to any further pleadings.
***
(The Previous December: Moon before Yule)
There was no better place to spend Yule, thought Pippin, than at Brandy Hall,
surrounded by laughter and song, good brandy, and festive cheer. The days were
turning cooler now, and Pippin could count on the fingers of both hands, the
time before the feast.
But there was still time that he'd be waiting, time to pass before the Yule
feast would be celebrated. After he and Merry had been able to make their way
back to Crickhollow--for Saradoc had kept Merry occupied for several days, and
he and Pippin had hardly seen each other, save the occasional breakfast or
noontide--they'd stayed there together for some time. But Merry was gone now,
off on yet another errand for Saradoc, and Pippin faced the next few dinners
alone, at Crickhollow. That was why the invitation from the Hall came as such a
welcome, and Pippin weighed the choices--a dinner alone, or one with his
relations, and none of the fuss to be made to put the dinner on the table in
the bargain.
Pippin wondered if this was a good choice, heading to Brandy Hall down the
darkening lane, but only for a moment; after all, it would be silly of him to
turn down a good, home-cooked meal, that he wouldn't have to bother about
cooking himself. So he set off from Crickhollow in the chill of the gathering
evening, after readying his pony for the ride. He knew how much time it would
be before he'd arrive--a song or two as he rode along, and he'd be able to shed
the cold of the darkness he rode through, and be welcomed into the warmth of
Brandy Hall.
He decided not to sing, humming instead, and the little things which hadn't
been much of a bother before he'd left, as he'd made ready for the road, came
back to him as he travelled, with none but his pony for company. The silence
was heavy and thick, and it was dark, too dark. Pippin chided himself for such
foolish thoughts, and continued to ride along. He was an adult now, after
all--he'd almost come of age. He was far too old for such childish fancies.
But the odd thoughts didn't actually leave him alone, and he thought of them,
instead; of the bad feeling that had settled on his shoulders, when he'd first
stepped out onto the front steps--that he was making a mistake. Just opening
the door, he'd had the feeling that he'd be better suited this night to stay with
his feet propped up by the fire, a glass of good brandy at hand, rather than
venturing out into the gathering gloom.
But, hesitating on the doorstep, he'd thought instead of the good dinner,
again, and cursed his imagination. And now, he couldn't help but wonder if
maybe he should have listened to that little voice of dread, and stayed behind.
Even when he'd gone to the little stables to saddle his pony, he'd noted that
the beast had been unaccountably jumpy this night. Pippin gave the pony a pat,
now, as they trotted along. It was still skittish, more so than usual. Pippin
guessed imagination could be catching.
Even as he pinched himself out of irritation, he just could not shake the
feeling that he was making a mistake. It was the dreadful sort, and that was
obvious at the very least; like that time he'd let Doderic Brandybuck dare him
to ride his pony backwards, and at a gallop, and with no saddle, at that.
Well, his good judgment hadn't stopped him then, even if he had left Saradoc
unable to choose between throttling his nephew, or handing him over to
Esmeralda with thankfulness that his nephew was still alive. Of course, this
was one of those things that they decided that Paladin or Eglantine had no need
knowing; there were some things that were better left unsaid.
But even knowing that he had come out of that in one piece, Pippin couldn't
shuck the feeling that this situation, tonight, was very, very bad.
He tried to put it out of his mind, knowing that it wouldn't be that long
before he'd reach Brandy Hall.
Despite that attempt to reassure himself, he urged his pony on, from a trot
into a canter, frowning into the deepening darkness and wishing again that he'd
thought to stay behind at Crickhollow.
On second thought, remembering the isolated setting of the little house, far
from the road, lonely, secluded, he was glad that he hadn't.
He saw that the moon had peeked above the horizon, giving light to his path. He
hadn't remembered a time when the ride between Crickhollow and the Hall had
taken this long. He gripped the reins and looked out into the shadows, nothing
but darkness spreading out, blotting out any reassuring landmarks that he might
have seen.
'Honestly, Pippin, you're acting like a lad,' he said to himself, grinning in
spite of himself, shaking his head.
Despite his attempt at reassurance, the feeling only seemed to deepen, and
Pippin would go so far as to say, that he felt as though...
...he was being watched...
He was being followed...
His good judgment was telling him to run.
He gripped the reins tight and looked to the side, feeling on edge, in the same
breath as a sudden, fierce gust of wind. In the distance, the trees were
bending and swaying, helpless things, as though they were nothing more than
children's toys. The wind tore at his collar, and he felt for a moment that it
could rip him right from the saddle.
His pony gave a jolt and he leaned down, whispering soothing words. Its ears
twitched and it snorted, upset. Pippin sat back, and urged the pony on; the
wind had stilled, and all was deathly quiet. And then, the bad feeling
came back, tenfold, right at the nape of his neck. He could feel his hairs
standing on end and his pony pranced, nervously.
Pippin kicked his pony back into a canter, his mind screaming RUN!, and he
ought to have listened to his good judgment; it had been trying to warn him.
And they were moving now, and whatever it was, and that feeling of bad,
would be left behind them.
But they weren't moving fast enough. Something was out there, and that Something
was coming for them. He couldn't see anything in the near-darkness, but he felt
the pony quake beneath him, shying away from something, and Pippin thought that
he saw something, a vague shape in the light of the full moon, coming at them
from the corner of his eye. He kicked the pony into a run, and Pippin felt
something catching at his pants leg and he kicked it away, breathing in
sharply.
Pippin gave a cry, hoarse from a sudden jolt of panic, and he felt his pony
flying. Whatever it was, behind him, would be left there. But no, that
overwhelming sense of panic would not be left behind, and whatever it was, it
dogged him, riding on his tail.
It came at them again, and Pippin heard the click of sharp teeth, felt the
whoosh of hot breath against his leg, and a sudden tearing pain that ran along
his leg. He cried out again and his pony, as terrified as he, screamed into the
wind, as they raced at top speed for the safety of the Hall. Pippin clung to
his pony's mane, and felt that maybe they might just be flying faster than the
wind.
He held on like death itself was behind him, and the rest of the ride was a
blur, nothing more than shadows and the pounding of his heart and his blood,
running cold. The next thing Pippin was certain of, was sliding off of his pony
in the courtyard of the Hall, gasping for breath and clinging to the saddle.
A servant came running from the stables and he threw his reins over, panting;
Pippin didn't notice the limp in his walk, really notice it, until he was
inside and he'd called for his uncle, and Saradoc had arrived.
'Peregrin!' he cried out and Pippin stumbled and the pain was razor sharp,
suddenly, and his uncle caught him before he collapsed.
'It was a wolf, I think, maybe a wild dog, can't be sure, but it came upon me
and the pony, and--oh, looks like got a piece of me, Uncle.'
Pippin groaned and Saradoc helped him to sit, frowning. 'I'll call for the
healer,' he said, frowning. He listened to Pippin as he spoke of the encounter,
nodding. He hadn't thought that it had been so serious, before, but these
things had a way of sneaking up on you, when they were least expected.
But there was blood on Pippin's leg, and though the bite didn't look deep, it
was only what must be considered the first; and if there was something that
could be done, to stop the curse, then it must be done, before someone was
really hurt, before someone was killed.
Someone else.
He knew it would hurt, but it was for the good of the hobbits of Buckland, of
all the Shire.
The healer arrived, and Saradoc knew what must be; and he would see it done.
The wound was cleaned and bandaged and between Saradoc and the healer, they got
Pippin to his room, despite him saying that he could walk on his own, thank you
very much.
'You had yourself a scare, lad.' He thought for a moment of Merry, and knew
that Pippin would not be able to stay at the Hall. It would be getting him to
agree to leave, Saradoc feared, that would prove to be the problem.
'Do you think that you can still eat?' Saradoc asked.
'I'm not feeling very hungry,' Pippin replied. 'But not very hungry is still
hungry enough.'
'Just keep his stomach full, and keep him warm, I don't think that we'll have
any worries,' said Healer Ossilan, nodding to himself. 'And I'll be back to
check on the bandages in the morning. We'll watch for infection, but it's a
clean tear, only needed a few stitches, and I washed it thoroughly. I think
that the worst we have to look forward to is that you might heal with a scar.'
Pippin nodded. 'It wouldn't be the first.'
The healer looked to the Master, then. 'Now, if you don't mind, I think that we
need to talk.' He left and Saradoc looked to his nephew.
'Now don't you worry, you won't be forgotten.'
Pippin grinned and made himself comfortable. 'I have no worries.'
After Saradoc was gone, a meal was brought, by Esmeralda herself, and his Aunt
fussed over him and made sure that there was enough wood on the fire, and that
he was comfortable under his covers.
She left, but only after he'd finished his meal. The last thing that Pippin
thought, before he laid down to sleep, was that suddenly, Brandy Hall wasn't
the best place to spend Yule, after all.
***
When Pippin woke in the morning, it wasn't the first time that he had jerked
awake since falling asleep the night before. At first he'd been restless, and
then he'd thought that maybe there was something lurking in the shadows, and he
chided himself as he had before. But that didn't stop Pippin from making sure
that his windows were shuttered tightly, and it didn't stop Pippin from pulling
the heavy chest from the end of his bed to block the door.
He tried to sleep again after that, but there was something that was still
missing, and he crept out of bed, limping slightly, to draw his sword and then
return to bed. He slept soundly after that, his sword upon the covers, his hand
clasped around the hilt.
He sheathed his sword again and rose from the bed, frowning at the feel of his
leg, sore. He stepped gingerly across the cool floor and dressed for the day.
There was a knock at the door, and he heard his Aunt's voice, though he
couldn't make out what she'd said.
Out loud, and loud enough that she'd hear, he replied. 'O, I'll be right
there.'
He strained a bit as he dragged the trunk away, back to its place at the end of
the bed, and went to open the door. He greeted his Aunt with a kiss to the
cheek, and she smiled, though it seemed sad.
He saw Ossilan again after that, who was pleased with what he saw. With the
bandages changed, Pippin was sent off, and he was surprised to find Merry
coming from his own room. Merry had looked better at other times in his
life--there were shadows under his eyes, and he looked as though he hadn't
slept at all.
'Merry?' he called out, and Merry didn't seem to hear him. Pippin quickened his
pace, despite his bandaged leg.
'Merry?' he called again, worried. A lot of odd things had been happening, and
Pippin thought that he could piece them together, like some sort of puzzle, but
not all of the shapes quite fit. He wasn't certain what he was thinking. He
wasn't sure of what he wanted to think, at that.
Merry looked back and he blinked, then he lifted his hand up and stifled a
yawn. 'Oh, Pippin.'
Pippin grinned and clapped his hand against Merry's shoulder. 'There you are,
cousin. I was beginning to wonder if I'd see you again.'
'O, I've been here in Buckland,' Merry replied, grinning. He covered another
yawn and frowned. 'I need to stop doing that.'
'Well, perhaps you ought to spend more time abed,' said Pippin, feeling foolish
for that earlier feeling. How could he be thinking that Merry was somehow mixed
up in this?
'I tried that,' Merry replied, chuckling. They started off down the hall. 'But
it didn't work at all.'
'What kept you up, then?' Pippin queried. 'You weren't here last night, so I
guess that you arrived either very late, or very early.'
'O, early, Pippin, we got in very early.' Merry yawned once again. 'I wouldn't
complain if I were to return to bed. But then, I wouldn't complain if I had a
chance to put something into my stomach.'
'I was just thinking the same thing,' Pippin replied with a smile. And then,
'We? Who is this we, Merry?'
'O, no one that you don't already know, Pip,' Merry replied. 'Why do you ask?'
'Why won't you tell me who it is?'
'If I must,' Merry responded, exasperated. 'It was just Berilac and Merimas and
myself. Are you happy now?'
'Quite,' Pippin replied, grinning. They nearly made it to early breakfast
without Merry noticing the limp, but then, when he did, Pippin brushed off his
concern with a joke, promising to tell the story later. When they arrived at
the great room, Saradoc came up and took his son off for a talk. Pippin saved
Merry a seat when he sat himself down to eat.
When he and Saradoc returned after a brief discussion, Merry made no mention of
Pippin's limp afterwards, asked no further questions, and Pippin decided that
Merry must have forgotten already. He ought to forget about it himself, except
for the occasional throb, or twinge when he moved unthinkingly.
He decided, as well, that he didn't mind. After all, he wasn't quite sure how
such a nightmare could be explained. He'd rather forget the incident, than try
to form words about it.
