Disclaimer: I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live. Tolkien owns such.
A/N: The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today. I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts. You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that. Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.
A tale of friendship and dark paths.
Being the Sixth Part of….
To Tread the Path of Darkness
Gandalf's Lady
"We must leave before first light," Gandalf told the Man. "Will you wake the others?"
Boromir gave a grunt of consent and rose to do the wizard's bidding. He passed through the Fellowship swiftly, shaking one, whispering gruffly to another, until all were awake. He then proceeded to break camp and, passing by the drowsy Hobbits, was somewhat taken aback by the eerie silence that had settled among the four.
Ever cheerful and optimistic, the halflings would usually gather their gear with light conversation and the occasional insult or jest thrown back and forth by the two youngest, though once and a while Samwise would join, which always caused his master to smile and shake his head in amusement.
This predawn morning, however, was completely devout of laughter and was unusually drear. Boromir, who had gotten used to the Hobbits' antics, suddenly found himself missing the lightness of air given off by their cheerful demeanors.
He was not the only one to notice the change and the Man of Gondor shared a moment with Aragorn, who hovered just beyond the Hobbits' circle of tension. The Ranger watched young Peregrin, who was going to great lengths to avoid his kinsmen, and frowned darkly. He glanced swiftly at Gandalf and muttered unintelligibly under his breath. Boromir saw this but did not comment.
Gandalf stepped down from the small rise he had stood upon searching out the landscape with sharp eyes, and came to join the Fellowship. "Is all in order?" he asked, looking at each in turn and finding everything packed, the fire doused, and any indicator that they had ever been gone, Gandalf nodded approvingly. "Good. Let us go, then."
The Fellowship walked in a line, something they had slowly started to do since their departure from Rivendell. Gandalf ever maintained his position at the fore, as everyone was content with the Wizard's knowledge of the lay of the land. The four Hobbits shuffled someplace in the middle, ever changing--Sam usually in the rear leading Bill the pony, Frodo in the fore, and the two youngest never keeping any one position but drifting anywhere their furry feet would take them. Gimli the Dwarf walked not far behind the Hobbits, sometimes passing the smallest. Whenever this happened, the Dwarf would force his pace to slow, drifting back to walk behind the Hobbits so that he might watch them, especially the youngest. The two Humans, Aragorn and Boromir kept to the rear, keeping a close eye on the Ring-bearer and covering their tracks as best they could while on the move. Legolas, ever the free spirit, sprinted from fore to rear whenever he took a mind to, speaking softly with Gandalf, running ahead to scout, falling far behind to make certain they weren't being followed. The Elf knew they were just beyond Lord Elrond's domain but one could never be too careful, especially in times of darkness such as these.
It was the day following the Hobbits' quarrel that Gandalf the Grey finally wavered in his decision about letting young Peregrin face his troubles alone. His eyes would often stray to the young one, his brow creased in concern, for Gandalf had many hours before spied the wee halfling gazing fondly after Gimli's wineskin. It was then the Wizard called the Hobbit over.
"Yes, Gandalf?" Peregrin inquired softly, a hint of guilt in his voice.
The Wizard did not at first answer nor did he intend to for many long moments. He was wondering how he should brooch the subject without offending the young Hobbit, for Gandalf knew how sensitive Pippin could be. Finally, he spoke:
"The days have been bright and crisp and trouble seems far afield." His tone was unnaturally light, much the same as it had been back in the Shire as the young Took had always known him.
Pippin nodded slowly. "Indeed, it is, Gandalf."
"And the nights . . ." Gandalf paused momentarily, glancing down at the Hobbit.
Pippin caught his piercing gaze. "Much the same?" he ventured weakly.
Gandalf frowned. "Is it? When the Sun vanishes to make way for her love does the Moon banish the fears that the Lady may? I think not. For the Master of the Night has not a comforting presence. He is oftimes cold and hard, though he may prove his worth in other ways. Our fears, our weaknesses may haunt us in the night when She has left our side." Gandalf looked to the heavens and gazed upon the light fondly and with a longing that hinted at a time and place long forgotten.
Pippin, without thinking, followed the Wizard's gaze to the burning ball of flame and gave a sharp cry of pain. He blinked and turned aside, both thinking himself a fool and marveling at the Wizard, for he looked steadily at the Sun, unwincing. Gandalf's gaze faltered at the Hobbit's cry and he smiled, unconsciously pleased that his beard hid his mirth from Pippin.
"She is a blessing bestowed upon mortals by a hand more delicate than the beautiful Lúthien Tinúviel," he explained softly. Pippin blinked his eyes rapidly, tears streaming down his smooth cheeks, and looked up at Gandalf, for the tone in his voice--it was filled with remembrance and something else that no Hobbit on Middle-earth could possibly understand. Gandalf chuckled at the Hobbit's teary eyes. "She is far too radiant for mortal eyes to appreciate. Besides, she is a modest thing."
Pippin frowned, confused, and almost looked to the Sun again, though he caught himself at the last. "Modest, the Sun? But it is not a person, Gandalf!" he protested.
The Wizard's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Ah, but that is what She wants you to think."
Peregrin stared at Gandalf wide-eyed. He marveled at this and longed to raise his eyes to the heavens once again, but he could barely peer at the Wizard through the tears in his eyes let alone that object that had first caused him pain.
As the young Took thought over these strange and mysterious words of the old wizard, Gandalf's eyes laughed and he let the silence encompass the two for a time. His soul however was saddened for the inner pain and confusion he could sense from the young halfling and the spark of pleasure died from his deep gaze.
He spoke finally, returning to that which he had commented upon earlier. "And the nights, young Peregrin? How do those hold?"
Pippin came slowly from his thoughts, curiosity mingling with his youthfulness and setting aflame fantasies that before he had never even considered. What would Merry say? Certainly, he wouldn't--
Like a slap in the mouth Pippin recalled that he was not speaking to his cousin and the excitement that had been building in the pit of his stomach suddenly turned sour.
"What was that, Gandalf?" he asked, coming back to the present. His voice was thick with an agonized distaste--one in which he did not like but, taken and swallowed, he was now forced to stomach.
"There are fears in the night," the Wizard repeated patiently, "That can come upon us merely because we are vulnerable. Orcs traverse the lands and if we are caught unawares then we must fight. But without a sword for protection what does one do?"
Pippin was slightly confused at the Wizards words, only because he had the disquieting feeling that Orcs were not the issue at hand. "Throw rocks?" Pippin suggested. Gandalf glanced at him sharply, detecting an attempt at humor but saw from the halfling's sincere gaze that Pippin had been quite serious.
Gandalf nodded, slowly, seeing the logic behind this. "We do not stand and allow the Orc to kill us but we fight instead, even if we are devout of a sincere weapon."
"Gandalf, I--" Pippin interrupted, finding that none of this made the slightest of sense. He did not think the wizard was giving him battle tactics--at least, in the sense it seemed. It was something else . . .
Gandalf stopped his measured tread south and peered down at the Hobbit, his eyes stern. "In times of great danger or need one oftimes finds that the greatest weapon against evil is not steel--"
Pippin nodded slowly, understanding this at the very least. "Stone," he said. He had told Boromir the very first day he had met the Man that a rock thrown oftimes fells an opponent swifter and cleaner than a sword may. The Man had laughed and ruffled the Hobbit's curls. Pippin had glared after him but Boromir had taken no notice.
Gandalf knelt before the halfling, his face somber. "Nay, my small Took. Not stone, steel, nor ought else made of mortal or immortal hands." He took hold of Pippin, his hands clasping the halfling's arms in a comforting grip. Pippin had the sudden urge to curl into the larger man's embrace, wanting to be held and comforted as his cousin's once had when he was younger. Shaking the thought angrily aside, he reprimanding himself for being a child. He was a respectable member of a group that was out to save the world. He would not act like a spoiled babe newly weaned.
"What then, Gandalf?" the Hobbit asked, his voice suddenly cold and distant. The Wizard did not seem to note this sudden change, this hardness to Pippin's usual light demeanor, but instead looked past him to the marching Fellowship. Pippin followed his gaze—and it fell upon Frodo, who suddenly found his foot entangled in a tree root and fell to his knees in the dirt. Merry stopped and helped his cousin to his feet, making some comment, and the two laughed lightly--the first pleasurable sound the Fellowship had encountered that day.
Pippin looked at the Wizard. "A weapon beyond that of steel or stone," Gandalf repeated. The Hobbit shook his head, silent, still not understanding. The old man pointed a gnarled finger, pressing it firmly to the halfling's chest. "The Orcs are upon you . . . What will you do, Peregrin Took? Would you allow them to overtake you?"
With out thinking the Hobbit shook his head and said defiantly, "Of course not."
Gandalf smiled grimly. "Of course not . . ." he repeated softly. "You will fight." Pippin nodded firmly. Though the old man's words were complicated and full of many things the young halfling did not understand, Pippin now thought he had figured out the riddle. Gandalf spoke of Pippin's own inner turmoil, a weakness he had had for a very long time. He glanced back at his cousins and his resolve hardened.
"I will fight," he said, turning back to face the wizard, his eyes flashing.
"Good," Gandalf said, pleased. He stood and gazed down at the Hobbit, a hint of pride in his deep-set eyes. "And your weapon . . . ?" he wanted to know.
"Frodo and Merry," Pippin said. "My cousins."
Gandalf nodded. "You will speak to them, then?"
Pippin's resolve wavered slightly and the wizard saw it in his eyes. "Peregrin," Gandalf said sternly.
"I-I will," Pippin managed. "I will speak with them."
"When?" the Wizard demanded.
"Tonight," he assured him. "After the Sun sets and the Moon rises. I will speak with them, then."
Gandalf peered at him hard, then nodded, satisfied.
~*~