A/N: Do I look like Mr. Tolkien? Didn't think so. I don't own Lord of the
Rings, or Pippin, or Merry, which is a real shame.
~~~
Foolish
By Tabby
~~~
Gandalf left us here "together" -- but you are distant, I can tell. This is how you always get when you're angry. It's almost comforting, somehow, to know that. A sort of a ground against the darkness and flame of the seeing-stone. I'd rather have your wrath than Sauron's any day.
I break the silence first. It takes several tries before any words come out of my mouth.
"I do feel rather foolish now."
You turn slightly toward me, and then look away again with a disbelieving downward twist at the edge of your mouth.
"Rather foolish?" you repeat, a little of your anger leaking into your words in the form of a short waver. That's fine. I deserve it. "So now you're rather foolish."
"All right: very foolish. Extremely foolish. More foolish than I was when I insisted that I come with the Company in Rivendell."
You snort softly, and suddenly I understand. You're not just angry with me, for almost revealing our little group, not to mention risking torment and death at the hands of the Enemy, for a little glimpse of an overgrown marble. No, you're angry with yourself, for saying that you'd "be just as curious as I liked after breakfast".
You think you'd have stopped me. You can't deny it; I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "I'm a fool of a Brandybuck!"
You always were more sensible than I. But this time, you are the fool if you think it was your fault.
Is that why you turned away, Merry? Is that why you refused to allow me to look to you and borrow some of your strength, as you have so many times in the past? Because of shame for me, or for you?
It is you, isn't it?
Yes, it is, I know. I always know. You're veiled to so many, but not to me.
"I'm sorry," I say, pretending I do not realize this. "I didn't mean for any harm to come of it."
You sigh in exasperation.
"Look, Pip, it isn't--"
A shadow passes, and you stop, looking up. If you were a cat your back would be arched, your ears would be back and you would be hissing with fear, ferocity and defiance.
And then it is gone, a dark cloud across the moon, and the night's silence resumes. There is a pause of several tense moments.
"That was odd," I say.
In a rush of robes, Gandalf is back, and there's something about Shadowfax, and me, and leaving at once. I don't catch all of it, but I know that he is as afraid as he ever is, and the stone is gone, with someone else, and he is separating me from it because he doesn't trust me to keep my dirty paws off of it. He probably left it with Strider.
It doesn't matter. I don't want to see it, not ever again.
I am carried away with barely a squeak. I should call a good-bye, another apology and a reassurance about where the blame lies.
But I don't.
It isn't until we have left that I regret it.
~~~
Oh, Peregrine Took, you and I are nothing but fools!
You are carted away, but not before I catch the slightest glimmer in your eyes that you know exactly what I know, and exactly what I am thinking, and that I think myself a fool. You deceitful little monster, you, you and your apologies! You're not as thick as you would have us believe.
I ought to shout that to you. It would smooth both our ruffed feathers. But I can't do anything but think it and curse my own stupidity.
I am a fool, a fool of a Brandybuck! But you know that, don't you? You always know that.
I start to get up, and call, but my throat cuts itself off out of hurt and pride.
You are whisked away to danger, and war, and pain in the east, and I don't so much as mutter a farewell.
I should say something, I think. I should. ... I should have. It is too late now. You are a fool, Meriadoc, and a treacherous one at that!
I sit back and shake my head. Me, the great, tough, laid-back half of those doomed to be eternally foolish.
And I don't say anything. I put on a brave face and rise, thinking of a clever line to put Strider and the others at ease about this separation.
We're fools, you and I. But we're supposed to be fools together.
A thought wanders into my already turbulent mind: What if I never see you again? I cannot bear that thought. It couldn't happen. Not like this. Not without even a word.
It couldn't. Just couldn't.
I stand, and turn, and look where you've gone, to call out -- but Gandalf has not exaggerated when it comes to Shadowfax's speed. If I screamed with all the air in my tiny hobbit lungs, you would barely hear me.
It's too late.
And I'm sorry, Pip. I'm so, so very sorry.
~~~
~ fine ~
~~~
A/N: Wow... I'm just on an angst kick again, I guess... Sigh. I wish I could write something happy for once. Oh well -- at least you know that it all turns out alright, right? Good.
~~~
Foolish
By Tabby
~~~
Gandalf left us here "together" -- but you are distant, I can tell. This is how you always get when you're angry. It's almost comforting, somehow, to know that. A sort of a ground against the darkness and flame of the seeing-stone. I'd rather have your wrath than Sauron's any day.
I break the silence first. It takes several tries before any words come out of my mouth.
"I do feel rather foolish now."
You turn slightly toward me, and then look away again with a disbelieving downward twist at the edge of your mouth.
"Rather foolish?" you repeat, a little of your anger leaking into your words in the form of a short waver. That's fine. I deserve it. "So now you're rather foolish."
"All right: very foolish. Extremely foolish. More foolish than I was when I insisted that I come with the Company in Rivendell."
You snort softly, and suddenly I understand. You're not just angry with me, for almost revealing our little group, not to mention risking torment and death at the hands of the Enemy, for a little glimpse of an overgrown marble. No, you're angry with yourself, for saying that you'd "be just as curious as I liked after breakfast".
You think you'd have stopped me. You can't deny it; I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "I'm a fool of a Brandybuck!"
You always were more sensible than I. But this time, you are the fool if you think it was your fault.
Is that why you turned away, Merry? Is that why you refused to allow me to look to you and borrow some of your strength, as you have so many times in the past? Because of shame for me, or for you?
It is you, isn't it?
Yes, it is, I know. I always know. You're veiled to so many, but not to me.
"I'm sorry," I say, pretending I do not realize this. "I didn't mean for any harm to come of it."
You sigh in exasperation.
"Look, Pip, it isn't--"
A shadow passes, and you stop, looking up. If you were a cat your back would be arched, your ears would be back and you would be hissing with fear, ferocity and defiance.
And then it is gone, a dark cloud across the moon, and the night's silence resumes. There is a pause of several tense moments.
"That was odd," I say.
In a rush of robes, Gandalf is back, and there's something about Shadowfax, and me, and leaving at once. I don't catch all of it, but I know that he is as afraid as he ever is, and the stone is gone, with someone else, and he is separating me from it because he doesn't trust me to keep my dirty paws off of it. He probably left it with Strider.
It doesn't matter. I don't want to see it, not ever again.
I am carried away with barely a squeak. I should call a good-bye, another apology and a reassurance about where the blame lies.
But I don't.
It isn't until we have left that I regret it.
~~~
Oh, Peregrine Took, you and I are nothing but fools!
You are carted away, but not before I catch the slightest glimmer in your eyes that you know exactly what I know, and exactly what I am thinking, and that I think myself a fool. You deceitful little monster, you, you and your apologies! You're not as thick as you would have us believe.
I ought to shout that to you. It would smooth both our ruffed feathers. But I can't do anything but think it and curse my own stupidity.
I am a fool, a fool of a Brandybuck! But you know that, don't you? You always know that.
I start to get up, and call, but my throat cuts itself off out of hurt and pride.
You are whisked away to danger, and war, and pain in the east, and I don't so much as mutter a farewell.
I should say something, I think. I should. ... I should have. It is too late now. You are a fool, Meriadoc, and a treacherous one at that!
I sit back and shake my head. Me, the great, tough, laid-back half of those doomed to be eternally foolish.
And I don't say anything. I put on a brave face and rise, thinking of a clever line to put Strider and the others at ease about this separation.
We're fools, you and I. But we're supposed to be fools together.
A thought wanders into my already turbulent mind: What if I never see you again? I cannot bear that thought. It couldn't happen. Not like this. Not without even a word.
It couldn't. Just couldn't.
I stand, and turn, and look where you've gone, to call out -- but Gandalf has not exaggerated when it comes to Shadowfax's speed. If I screamed with all the air in my tiny hobbit lungs, you would barely hear me.
It's too late.
And I'm sorry, Pip. I'm so, so very sorry.
~~~
~ fine ~
~~~
A/N: Wow... I'm just on an angst kick again, I guess... Sigh. I wish I could write something happy for once. Oh well -- at least you know that it all turns out alright, right? Good.