Disclaimer: Tolkien's world, characters, ect.; not mine.
First of all, I would like to ask forgiveness for taking so horribly long to post this—I bow my head in shame. Secondly, I would like to make aware the haphazard way this fic is written. It breaks often—either to signify a different time or, more often than not, another's perspective. Sometimes it gets even more confusing in that the following segment can actually take place before the one following, either that or both are happening at the same time. Don't feel bad if you get thoroughly confused, though, cause the time frame really doesn't matter all that much. And, thirdly—there was a third thing wasn't there?—ah, yes. Some technical things may be misplaced, some time periods might not match Tolkien's too well, and if that happens let me know, for I might either have a very good explanation for it or didn't catch it at all and would like to go back and fix it. My long-winded self is finally done. Thanx, all.
Ch. 3
TO SAVE HER
"You must find her soon, Frodo. The trip from one world to the next is not easy. If she is too far gone it could very well kill her."
But she is gone! He looked down at her still form and pale face. Earth has taken her. I was blind! Foolishly blind! Tears threatened but he refused them. He would not weep in a world that was so bitter that it took the innocent for no reason that he could see. She was a dead thing in his arms. A dead weight that he couldn't seem to relax his grip on.
"She is dying, Frodo . . ."
Sudden resolve hardened his features. He grabbed the Ring in his right hand and clasped Apryl's left hand with it. It was cold between them, so cold that it seemed the child's hands were warm again. He tightened his grip on her lifeless fingers and closed his eyes against the staring faces all around him.
"I'm ready, Gandalf," he gritted.
Please don't let her die. He pulled her close, and held her tight.
As quite as the wind, words floated to his ears alone. They whispered soothingly, "Come home."
And the world exploded.
* * * * *
Peregrin Took was as anxious as any of them. His mind was reeling with what had happened in the last two days, and his thoughts were constantly focused on his Cousin Frodo. He wondered at Gandalf's motives for finding the human child and bringing her to Middle-earth, but he had been as tight-mouthed as ever about the reasoning. All he would say was that she would die.
But didn't millions of children die every day? What was this one girl, to any of them?
Gandalf had become extremely dower after merely several hours of Frodo's mission. "Shouldn't take this long," he had muttered, "Not this long."
Pippin had found both his mouth and legs as anxious as his mind. He couldn't sit still nor seem to still his tongue. He'd rattle off things before he thought, and most had not been the greatest of things to say in the circumstances, for Gandalf had roared ceaslessly at him until he could stand no more and told Pippin to take a walk.
"I'm not taking a walk," Pippin had said boldly. "If Merry and Sam can stay, so can I." Meriadoc shook his head at his cousin but Pippin pretended not to see. Samwise merely glowered.
"Meriadoc and Samwise do not have the misfortune of being a Took," Gandalf had gnashed his teeth. "Go, Pippin."
Pippin crossed his arms over his thin frame, "I'll not--"
"You will!" Gandalf roared, rising to his full height and causing all hobbits to cringe away. "NOW!"
Pippin had scurried from the room like a little mouse and, upon reflection, like a craven. Afterwards, the small hobbit was more curious than ever at the significance of the girl, for Pippin had never seen the wizard explode like that. It had shaken him badly.
"What could Gandalf possibly want with a human child from a world not our own--a time not our own," he mused as he left Elrond's house to walk upon the beautiful grounds beyond the structure. "I hope Frodo's well," he said a moment later.
His cousin had barely recovered from the wound the Ringwraiths had given him. The Elf lords and Gandalf himself had asked Frodo for help and Frodo had agreed, though reluctantly. Sam had argued vehemently for his master's sake and even Merry had been against the whole idea.
"You cannot send him," Merry had argued, after resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. The gardener was near to bursting from rage. "The knife wound has not been healed a week. Surely, Gandalf, there is another." He had looked around at all those that stood about them: Elf lords, men, dwarves, the hobbits. Pippin had seen that they all seemed willing to take this burden from Frodo. "I will go if no one else will. Let him rest!" Merry had pleaded but it had been to no avail. It seemed Frodo was the only one, and their could be no debating the matter.
Pippin walked beneath the cool shade of several large trees. The air was crisp and it reminded him of an early winter. The day was bright and any and all evil shadows seemed miles upon miles away. The tiring journey from the Shire seemed ages agone and the young hobbit found his hairy feet itching for adventure. The journey from his small home had been exciting and all, especially with the addition of the Black Riders (though at the time he hadn't possessed such cheery thoughts, it being uncertain whether he or his comrades would come from that ordeal unscathed--indeed, even alive), but Pippin wasn't so sure it was all suppose to end like this. Sam and the others did though, Pippin knew, and he was certain Frodo held similar speculations.
He wondered if his cousin planed on staying here with Bilbo when the others grew tired of Rivendell (though Pippin couldn't imagine ever growing tired of the beautiful and enchanting home of the elves) and if Merry would return to the Shire. Pippin imagined so, and Sam would probably go with him. It saddened him, to think that Merry would return home when Pippin was . . . was so unsure of what he wanted to do.
The two had always been inseperatble.
All these thoughts vanished in an instant. A roaring inferno of fire and ice, wind and rain, and noise that his sharp hobbit ears could not stand, engulfed his small form and knocked him to his back with a cry filled more with surprise than pain.
Everywhere was chaos. His skin suddenly burned and and then chilled, as if the two elements were one and the same. Light exploded around him so that he could not see and found everywhere was black as the pitch from trees.
And as suddenly as it began, everything ceased. The wind, heat, rain, the tornado of noice--everything stopped.
Peregrin lay on his back, gasping. He didn't dare move, for fear it would start up again, but after several moments Pippin turned over slowly so that he might lay on his stomach. But before he could, before he could even get to his side, his mouth opened into a silent scream. His body was now the inferno.
"Merry!" he hissed painfully and then his eyes rolled up into his head, and darkness came.
Meriadoc Brandybuck watched his cousin go with a shake of his head. He had almost laughed at Pippin's defiance but that had fled at Gandalf's outburst. He had never seen the wizard so upset and his face paled at the scowl on the old man's face.
"Fool of a Took," Gandalf growled menacingly as Pippin disappeared from sight.
Bilbo eyed the wizard. "Was that truly necassary?"
"Is he necassary?" Gandalf demanded irritably. He began to pace.
Bilbo glanced at Sam and Merry and gave them an apologetic look.
"Mayhap I should go after him," Merry suggestly meekly as Gandalf turned his back to the hobbits.
Bilbo patted him reasurringly on the hand. "Pippin will be alright," Bilbo assured him. "Gandalf had the right of it; I think all the lad needed was a breath of fresh air. He has been cramped up in here for many hours. Indeed, we all have!" He looked over at the wizard. "I believe it is tea time. I don't see any reason why us hobbits should remain."
"Yes, yes," Gandalf waved his hand and the hobbits got to their feet.
"Won't you come, Gandalf?" Bilbo asked.
The wizard shook his head. "No, I must listen for him . . ." he murmured, "Any time now . . . any time."
Bilbo watched Gandalf for a moment frowning. "Very well," he said finally and turned to a large door leading from the room. "Come along, lads," Bilbo said and Sam and Merry began to follow.
At that moment however, a soft breeze came through the door and flew through the elder hobbit's greying curls. And with it, a voice was heard:
"I'm ready, Gandalf." The wind whispered urgently.
Gandalf jerked around, his grey robes billowing. His staff flashed white and words that Merry did not understand escaped the old wizard. Suddenly, and without warning, a fierce wind burst from seemingly nowhere and the room was filled with everything--a roaring inferno engulfed them.
Merry brought his hands before his face, crying out in alarm. He heard shouting, but the words were swallowed, uncomprehendable. He felt someone reach out for him and grasp his hand, and he held it tightly in turn.
And then it died--It was suddenly gone.
Merry blinked and looked about him; the room was in scatters. Samwise stood beside him shaking, his hand holding deathly tight to Merry. He gave Sam a shaky smile and squeezed his hand. Sam licked his lips but could not return the smile. Bilbo, who had falled to his hands and knees, got shakingly to his feet.
Merry saw Gandalf standing in the center of the room, his large robes hanging limply over him. The wizards face was pale. "Come home," he said hoarsely, and he slipped to the floor, lifeless.
At first, the sight before him did not seem to register in his startled mind. He heard shouting behind him and felt large hands shove him gently to the side. Aragorn ran in, knelt beside the wizard. "Gandalf," the Ranger called to the unconscious man but he recieved no reply. "Gandalf!"
Aragorn looked to the hobbits as more men and elves burst into the room. It was all a chatter, all a bunch of noise that seemed to Merry to come from far away.
"What happened?" Aragorn demanded.
Sam began to stammer and sputter, his wide brown eyes fixed in horrible fascination upon the fallen Gandalf. Bilbo couldn't answer, his mind was at a standstill.
Aragorn turned to Merry. "What happened!?"
"I--he," Merry opened his mouth but little would come out.
Merry!
He stopped and his eyes widened. "Pippin!" he gasped. And he turned and fled.
"Pippin? Merry! No, wait!" Aragorn called and elven hands reached out to stop the fleeing hobbit. But Merry was too small, too fast. Aragorn cursed and went after the hobbit himself, yelling orders behind him to care after the wizard.
Merry ran from the home and was upon the lawn in a matter of seconds. Something had gone terribly wrong, he knew. When Gandalf had sent Frodo away there had been no wind, no light, nothing. He had simply vanished--like he had slipped on the Ring, though the others knew it was not so, for the Ring had still been about his neck on the chain. This time, though, this time . . . .
Aragorn saw the hobbit run down the path and disappear into the lightly wooded garden surrounding the Elrond's house. He didn't understand what had happened but he laid the blame at the feet of Frodo's foolish quest. From the start he had begged Gandalf not to proceed with his crazy scheme but, as always, the wizard had not heeded his warning. And now his friend laid on a floor and for all Aragorn knew he was dying. He wasn't dead, Aragorn had made certain of that. But he didn't know the condition of his old friend. Couldn't know until he learned what in the gods name had happened in that room.
"Merry!" he cried out, hoping the hobbit would pause and give him a chance to catch up. He had no such luck, however, as Merry seemed not to hear the Ranger at all. The hobbit was surprisingly fast for one of his stature.
When finally the Ranger caught up with the hobbit, he found the halfling knelt, holding a small form. It was Pippin.
Merry looked up as Aragorn approached and he saw the hobbit had tears in his eyes.
"What's happened to them, Aragorn?" Merry sobbed. Lying sprawled on the grass near at hand, was a human child who, at first glance, seemed unhurt but merely unconscious. Next to her, lay Frodo, who's hair and clothing were scorched. Aragorn looked down at Pippin and saw that his clothes, also, seemed to be touched by fire and his dark hair was singed at the ends. But Pippin's face was burnt red and blistered.
Aragorn hardly registered any of the small hobbit's appearance, though, for when he looked closely he saw that Pippin wasn't breathing.
*****
*sniff* poor pip! I think I'm gonna cwy. Review for me.
