Promises, Promises
Author: Llinos
Beta: Marigold
Chapter 2 – A Solemn Vow
Pippin felt that terrible heart pounding sensation as he saw Merry struck down with brutal ferocity. He did not get up again, and Pippin knew he would have if he could, that his cousin would never stop fighting unless he was very badly hurt. What promises could he possibly make now? Now that he was a grown, almost adult hobbit, he understood that there was little he could offer to the Powers that held life and death in Their sway. Gandalf had fallen into the terrible chasm with the Balrog and Pippin had done nothing to intervene. There was nothing he could do, a small and insignificant hobbit who caused more bother than anything else. But he had attempted no bargains nor had he offered his own life in exchange, although had it been asked of him he would have gladly given it.
Boromir had died and again he had promised nothing. There had been no time. The Uruk-hai had descended upon Merry and him with such speed and ferocity that he had barely time to think, let alone fight back. Bargaining with the Gods had not even been considered. Perhaps that was the fault? Maybe he should have tried harder – done more.
Merry had fought, cleaving several arms off orcs until one mighty great beast had brought the blunt end of his sword down upon his older cousin's brow. Merry had given one short cry and then his body had gone limp as he crumbled to the ground and lay there face down upon the rocks like one of Pippin's sisters' discarded rag dolls.
Pippin had tried to rush forward but two enormous gnarled hands had grabbed him, one suffocating his cries of anguish and the other clamping around his waist and lifting him off the ground. Now, tied and helpless, he could not even see if Merry were alive or dead. His cousin had been left bleeding from the head and crumpled up on the hard cold stone, to die for all Pippin knew and there was nothing he could do but try to bargain with the Overheavens for Merry's life if it was not already too late.
Maybe if he had fought harder to save Boromir, or offered something of himself instead. Although he did not know it, Pippin had actually been in shock at the time, such violence unprecedented in his life. Even the fight at Weathertop and the battle in the mines of Moria, paled to insignificance next to the unrelenting viciousness of the Uruk-hai at Parth-Galen.
Pippin felt large hands grab him and he was hoisted up onto an Uruk's back, his bound hands slung around the great grisly neck, his face pushed up hard to the cold unyielding helm on the creature's head. Desperately Pippin tried to look around to see if Merry had been lifted up too, or if his dead body had just been left upon the ground to be trampled.
No! He was there! Pippin could see him hung from the back of another massive orc. He was pale and appeared lifeless, but he must be alive, why else would the orcs be taking him along. Suddenly Pippin understood why. Hobbit-flesh, presumably was not so different from man-flesh and the orcs… would want… want… no it was too horrible a thought! Merry had to be alive.
Whenever the orc carrying him drew level with his cousin, Pippin would try to call out to Merry, trying frantically to get him to wake up, to show some sign of life, but there was no reaction. Merry remained limp and lifeless throughout the journey as their captors raced over hill and plain, mile after relentless mile.
Suddenly, as he was jostled along, every fibre in his body crying out with pain and misery, the answer came to Pippin! He knew what he must do. Before when he had feared for Merry's life he had made such bargains as he could, had made his tiny offerings until finally he had found something that had been accepted. He had worn the scarf everyday of his life since then. The promise he made now would be much harder to fulfil, but the Gods must know that he would keep it – no matter what.
The sky had grown dark and night had fallen as they neared the outskirts of a great forest. Pippin's aching body hit the ground with force and the little hobbit saw stars that were not in the sky. Painfully he rolled over, frantically trying to locate Merry. His cousin was a little way away from him, up a short slope. Using his bound hands to crawl he dragged himself up the incline until he could see Merry's face, his cousin's eyes were still closed and the horrific wound was still seeping blood.
As he desperately called Merry's name over and over, silently Pippin made his vow to the Heavens. 'When this is over, I promise I shall pay for poor Boromir's life.' Pippin tried to reach his hand to his heart and, although bound, managed to put the tips of his fingers against his chest. 'I vow on all that is precious upon the Earth and all that is sacred in the Overheaven and Sundering Seas, that I will find whosoever Boromir the Brave belonged to and offer them my life's service in his stead. I will serve them to the end of my days and never breathe a word of why or complain of my bond. I swear on Merry's life, if You would just spare it for me – so that Merry may live. It is the only way I know to give my life for his.'
As the little prayer, with its heartfelt promise, winged its way to the skies above, somewhere in the Heavens a breath stirred and heard the vow and was moved. A flicker of light fell down upon the Earth and a small injured hobbit took a deep shuddering breath.
"Pip?"
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*"Little service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt." Twitching aside his grey cloak, Pippin drew forth his small sword and laid it at Denethor's feet.
End
*From: Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien
