Pippin awoke slowly, lulled by the rhythm of the great horse's stride.
They were riding more slowly now, nearing a dark and wooded area where it
would be safe for them to rest. At least, Pippin hoped that rest was
forthcoming. He felt a slight spike of shame when he compared his own
efforts in this matter to those of Shadowfax, who had never slowed but once
in this long journey to the Southern lands, but a hobbit was never afraid
to demand rest or nourishment, and Pippin was no exception. He reached out
a small hand and stroked the white neck, marveling at its beauty. He had
already grown very fond of this King of horses, who, like his rider, could
be stern and swift one moment, then soft and whimsical the next. Ever
since he had first laid eyes on Shadowfax, he had felt slightly envious of
him, seeing how Gandalf praised the animal unceasingly and in every small
interaction showed him the utmost courtesy and intimate kindness. He would
have greatly preferred among the wizard's treasury of epithets the horse's
"noble friend and companion" to his own oft-used "fool of a Took." But
there was no denying the splendor of the chief of the Mearas. The horse
was frightfully imposing in its power and wary temperament, but easily
approachable when properly softened by friendly advances. Pippin found
himself grinning, as this description rang true in the same manner as the
first. As Gandalf showed no sign of noticing his wakeful state, he grew
boldly playful.
"Gandalf," he said cheekily, "have you noticed how Shadowfax imitates you? As if he wants to be you, rather than himself. I think he would make a good wizard, don't you?"
If he had been anyone but Gandalf, the wizard would have jumped at this sudden address from a hobbit he had thought to be peacefully laid aside for the moment. As it was, his eyes narrowed slightly, and his beard stiffened. Guilt had made him answer Pippin's many questions, but after gathering his thoughts while the hobbit slept, he was now in a much less charitable mood. "I think, for your own sake, Master Took, you should be grateful there is only one of me," he said gruffly. Pippin nodded with exaggerated solemnity, delighted to have lured the wizard into some sort of game after years of trying. His curiosity was a raging flame that burned his mind away; he had found a puzzle for solving that was exactly to his liking. He could not truly hope for a solution, but it was sufficient diversion and he was taunted by the distant promise of further success. He changed tactics.
"Gandalf," he began innocently, "are you very fond of horses?"
The wizard said nothing for a moment, then sighed in resigned exasperation. He had already begun, after all. "As much as any errand-rider who has need of haste and finds his steed faithful," he answered wearily. "What of it?"
"You find them useful, then?" Pippin's voice was lower, almost downcast. The wizard furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Yes, as any help in need. Why do you ask me this?"
"I wish to understand your affection for Shadowfax. I wish to know," he continued more quietly, "whether such supreme nobility and strength of purpose as he possesses was vital in earning him distinction among a thousand of his fellows."
The wizard's grip tightened imperceptibly around the bundled mass before him as he realized the goal of Pippin's questioning. He was silent a long time, gathering his thoughts, before he spoke, and his voice was strangely hoarse when it finally ventured forth in a gentle breeze over Pippin's curls. "Do you truly know, Pippin, why you are on your way to a war-torn city, having left behind the green grass and warm beds of your homeland? Why doom rather than comfort awaits you, and why the swirling darkness in the East ventures near your eyes now rather than the bloom of spring daffodils?"
Pippin trembled, wishing he had never opened this line of conversation. "Because I was a fool," he stuttered bitterly. "Because I would not be left behind, and so am instead packed up with the rations and carried away like an extra water-pouch."
Gandalf laughed carefully. "No, Pippin, although your comparison is not so lacking as I might lead you to believe. You *are* a sort of ration, a reserve of laughter and gaiety to be taken out and drunk when spirits sink too low. But for you, many might have perished already from hopelessness. But that is not what I meant," he continued gravely. "Think, Pippin."
"Because I swore to follow where Frodo led?" Pippin was at a loss, and this seemed to be the only vaguely good reason that leapt to mind.
"Yes, exactly," said Gandalf urgently. "You have lived all your life in the Shire, Peregrin. You know the mentality of its people. How many hobbits, especially having had even a small glimpse of the danger, would have done so much?"
"Not many," Pippin was forced to admit. "But what has that to do with it?"
"Much," said Gandalf cryptically. "You are fit for this task, Pippin, because you choose to undertake it. We are none of us gifted at the outset with everything we need to complete every journey our hearts choose for us. We must find courage when we have none, resolve where weakness lies, and we must scorn the deceptively easy course of action. That is why I hope where others despair. Someone must." This last was spoken in a soft whisper to himself, and he did not intend it for the hobbit's ears. Nonetheless, Pippin heard it, and puzzled over it for quite some time.
It was not long afterwards that they finally reached the wood, and to Pippin's delight, Gandalf did indeed purpose to make camp. Once they had both dismounted, Shadowfax kneeled lazily in the tall grass, and Pippin lay down beside him, reluctant to abandon the fine, protective animal. He watched the smooth sides heave whitely in the darkness, and he sighed. Snuggling tightly against the horse's side, he could feel every breath in the warm life pressing against his back. He had been speaking in jest when he had compared Gandalf to the faithful horse, but he felt the spark of truth in it nevertheless. He felt that something linked one to the other that would allow him to see more of the white light that permeated his friend, breaking on the prism of his face into a bewildering assortment of rainbows. "Shadowfax," he whispered quietly, just as he would to Merry if his cousin had been there, "are you frightened?"
The horse whinnied agreeably, rising above fear in the aristocratic rise of its countenance. But something lingered near the surface, something that was almost uncertainty, if the horse's eyes had been able to transmit human emotions. Gandalf watched this scene, highly amused by the sight of a hobbit conducting a philosophical discussion with a horse. But his smile faded quickly when he saw Pippin bury his face in the horse's flank, clearly stifling sobs so that he, Gandalf, would not hear. "You would be a fool in truth if you were without fear now, Pippin," he said gently. "Here now, my lad, do not weep," he added, crossing to Pippin and kneeling down beside him. "Shadowfax will tell you nothing of fear. He is free, and follows the edicts of no being in this world or any other, carrying us only because I ask him. If you seek terror and uncertainty, seek it here," he growled suddenly, grabbing Pippin's hand and placing it under his chin, so that Pippin could feel the wizard's pulse beating quickly in his throat.
Pippin snatched his hand away, muttering "no, no, Gandalf," his sobs only shaking him harder. "Don't speak to me of fear. It has already filled me quite to the brim, and I don't want yours."
"Then seek to know nothing further of me," said the wizard brusquely. "I see I shall always be tending to you in between battles and errands. You deserve no answers until you are ready to ask the questions." Softening somewhat then, speaking as if through a fissure in his black mood, the wizard added: "You must learn to question me, Pippin, before this is over. You must see me cower and shrink back, only to rise up more righteous and terrible than ever before. You must see me fail, and you must be willing to look. Be willing to see, Pippin, or you will never understand. Throw away your blind trust in me and form it again out of new material when I have earned it, else we will both be the sorrier."
"I cannot claim the right to doubt you, Gandalf," said Pippin slowly, taken fiercely aback by this new kind of speech that seemed to rise up out of nowhere.
"I give it freely. Aragorn laid this claim; even Frodo, although he has never questioned me, has despaired of me several times. It is no small thing, my boy, to be treated as a sapling in the throes of a strong breeze, and if you have felt this on my account, I must ask your pardon. But even the breeze may be cut by a hard head," he laughed.
"In that case, I must dissipate it altogether," giggled Pippin, somewhat revived, although more pensive than before. The wizard saw this and decided to give him time to process his new ideas. He stood up slowly, moving away from Pippin to lay out his bedroll a small distance removed from the hobbit and the great stallion. "Goodnight, Pippin," he said. "May you find some answers in your dreams."
"Gandalf," he said cheekily, "have you noticed how Shadowfax imitates you? As if he wants to be you, rather than himself. I think he would make a good wizard, don't you?"
If he had been anyone but Gandalf, the wizard would have jumped at this sudden address from a hobbit he had thought to be peacefully laid aside for the moment. As it was, his eyes narrowed slightly, and his beard stiffened. Guilt had made him answer Pippin's many questions, but after gathering his thoughts while the hobbit slept, he was now in a much less charitable mood. "I think, for your own sake, Master Took, you should be grateful there is only one of me," he said gruffly. Pippin nodded with exaggerated solemnity, delighted to have lured the wizard into some sort of game after years of trying. His curiosity was a raging flame that burned his mind away; he had found a puzzle for solving that was exactly to his liking. He could not truly hope for a solution, but it was sufficient diversion and he was taunted by the distant promise of further success. He changed tactics.
"Gandalf," he began innocently, "are you very fond of horses?"
The wizard said nothing for a moment, then sighed in resigned exasperation. He had already begun, after all. "As much as any errand-rider who has need of haste and finds his steed faithful," he answered wearily. "What of it?"
"You find them useful, then?" Pippin's voice was lower, almost downcast. The wizard furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Yes, as any help in need. Why do you ask me this?"
"I wish to understand your affection for Shadowfax. I wish to know," he continued more quietly, "whether such supreme nobility and strength of purpose as he possesses was vital in earning him distinction among a thousand of his fellows."
The wizard's grip tightened imperceptibly around the bundled mass before him as he realized the goal of Pippin's questioning. He was silent a long time, gathering his thoughts, before he spoke, and his voice was strangely hoarse when it finally ventured forth in a gentle breeze over Pippin's curls. "Do you truly know, Pippin, why you are on your way to a war-torn city, having left behind the green grass and warm beds of your homeland? Why doom rather than comfort awaits you, and why the swirling darkness in the East ventures near your eyes now rather than the bloom of spring daffodils?"
Pippin trembled, wishing he had never opened this line of conversation. "Because I was a fool," he stuttered bitterly. "Because I would not be left behind, and so am instead packed up with the rations and carried away like an extra water-pouch."
Gandalf laughed carefully. "No, Pippin, although your comparison is not so lacking as I might lead you to believe. You *are* a sort of ration, a reserve of laughter and gaiety to be taken out and drunk when spirits sink too low. But for you, many might have perished already from hopelessness. But that is not what I meant," he continued gravely. "Think, Pippin."
"Because I swore to follow where Frodo led?" Pippin was at a loss, and this seemed to be the only vaguely good reason that leapt to mind.
"Yes, exactly," said Gandalf urgently. "You have lived all your life in the Shire, Peregrin. You know the mentality of its people. How many hobbits, especially having had even a small glimpse of the danger, would have done so much?"
"Not many," Pippin was forced to admit. "But what has that to do with it?"
"Much," said Gandalf cryptically. "You are fit for this task, Pippin, because you choose to undertake it. We are none of us gifted at the outset with everything we need to complete every journey our hearts choose for us. We must find courage when we have none, resolve where weakness lies, and we must scorn the deceptively easy course of action. That is why I hope where others despair. Someone must." This last was spoken in a soft whisper to himself, and he did not intend it for the hobbit's ears. Nonetheless, Pippin heard it, and puzzled over it for quite some time.
It was not long afterwards that they finally reached the wood, and to Pippin's delight, Gandalf did indeed purpose to make camp. Once they had both dismounted, Shadowfax kneeled lazily in the tall grass, and Pippin lay down beside him, reluctant to abandon the fine, protective animal. He watched the smooth sides heave whitely in the darkness, and he sighed. Snuggling tightly against the horse's side, he could feel every breath in the warm life pressing against his back. He had been speaking in jest when he had compared Gandalf to the faithful horse, but he felt the spark of truth in it nevertheless. He felt that something linked one to the other that would allow him to see more of the white light that permeated his friend, breaking on the prism of his face into a bewildering assortment of rainbows. "Shadowfax," he whispered quietly, just as he would to Merry if his cousin had been there, "are you frightened?"
The horse whinnied agreeably, rising above fear in the aristocratic rise of its countenance. But something lingered near the surface, something that was almost uncertainty, if the horse's eyes had been able to transmit human emotions. Gandalf watched this scene, highly amused by the sight of a hobbit conducting a philosophical discussion with a horse. But his smile faded quickly when he saw Pippin bury his face in the horse's flank, clearly stifling sobs so that he, Gandalf, would not hear. "You would be a fool in truth if you were without fear now, Pippin," he said gently. "Here now, my lad, do not weep," he added, crossing to Pippin and kneeling down beside him. "Shadowfax will tell you nothing of fear. He is free, and follows the edicts of no being in this world or any other, carrying us only because I ask him. If you seek terror and uncertainty, seek it here," he growled suddenly, grabbing Pippin's hand and placing it under his chin, so that Pippin could feel the wizard's pulse beating quickly in his throat.
Pippin snatched his hand away, muttering "no, no, Gandalf," his sobs only shaking him harder. "Don't speak to me of fear. It has already filled me quite to the brim, and I don't want yours."
"Then seek to know nothing further of me," said the wizard brusquely. "I see I shall always be tending to you in between battles and errands. You deserve no answers until you are ready to ask the questions." Softening somewhat then, speaking as if through a fissure in his black mood, the wizard added: "You must learn to question me, Pippin, before this is over. You must see me cower and shrink back, only to rise up more righteous and terrible than ever before. You must see me fail, and you must be willing to look. Be willing to see, Pippin, or you will never understand. Throw away your blind trust in me and form it again out of new material when I have earned it, else we will both be the sorrier."
"I cannot claim the right to doubt you, Gandalf," said Pippin slowly, taken fiercely aback by this new kind of speech that seemed to rise up out of nowhere.
"I give it freely. Aragorn laid this claim; even Frodo, although he has never questioned me, has despaired of me several times. It is no small thing, my boy, to be treated as a sapling in the throes of a strong breeze, and if you have felt this on my account, I must ask your pardon. But even the breeze may be cut by a hard head," he laughed.
"In that case, I must dissipate it altogether," giggled Pippin, somewhat revived, although more pensive than before. The wizard saw this and decided to give him time to process his new ideas. He stood up slowly, moving away from Pippin to lay out his bedroll a small distance removed from the hobbit and the great stallion. "Goodnight, Pippin," he said. "May you find some answers in your dreams."