The candlelight was casting strange shadows on the stone wall opposite the
window. Pippin followed their flickering movements, mesmerized by their
inability to stay still. He felt a kinship with them; he possessed that
same characteristic in abundance. Gandalf's shadow also slid over the
curtains as the wizard paced and muttered. Pippin began to feel cold, but
pulling the sheet over his head had no effect. The chill was in his heart.
For the first time, Gandalf's presence did nothing to soothe him. He had
seen fear on his friend's face that day. Denethor had been merciless in
his scrutiny, and Pippin squirmed with frustration at the idea that the
steward had probably seen it too and gained satisfaction in a small
victory. Boromir's father was dangerous. Pippin almost regretted pledging
his services to a lord who valued his own clairvoyance more than any tie of
blood or feeling, who was determined to see the worst in everyone. But
this tie would keep him safe. The lord was selfish and would not part with
such a curiosity as he, one who had seen the heir of Gondor fall. Pippin
wished that Boromir were here. He wished that Merry were here. He wished
for anyone who would both keep him safe and keep him company.
Some of the distance had returned between himself and the wizard. Gandalf was becoming more and more secretive; Pippin had a horrible suspicion that his discretion grew in proportion to his fear. He feared for Middle-Earth, for Frodo and Sam and the Shire and all the lands of Men and Elves. Pippin didn't know how Gandalf could keep all of that fear so veiled from everyone... everyone except Denethor and Pippin. For a split second in the throne room, the veil had been thrown aside. Pippin wished he could have some part in alleviating that fear, but he was fairly sure that Gandalf wished to see no one now. This was his hour, his time. Others might stand alongside him at the final moment, but Gandalf was the guardian of all of their fates now. Pippin ached for the Shire, for the peace, the smell of comfort and the feel of wholesome air, not to mention the warm lamplight and merry laughter of the Green Dragon. Gondor was sickly. The air held a lingering stench of poison, as if the land itself were afraid. Pippin felt choked by the smog-like danger that slid over him like a slimy blanket. He wanted to cry, but he did not dare make a sound; the best way to aid Gandalf was to stay out of his way for now and get some sleep.
He rolled over and the bed creaked. "Sleep, Pippin," came the wizard's growling undertones from the other side of the curtain. Pippin did cry then, and he clapped a hand over his mouth as the tears threatened to bring noisy sobs out with them. But evidently Gandalf expected a response, for the pacing had stopped just outside the curtain, in front of Pippin's bed, and all was silent. Pippin gulped and wiped his eyes. "I'll try," he said softly, doing his best to sound brave, but only succeeding in sounding pitifully despairing. The curtain was drawn aside, and with a jolt of horror Pippin realized that Gandalf was coming to check on him. He swiftly pulled the sheet back over his head and buried his damp face in the pillow. Just as swiftly, however, the sheet was thrown back, and a pair of uncompromising hands rolled him over onto his back. Reflections of the dim candlelight burned deep in the wizard's eyes, and Pippin saw as if in a mirror two tiny versions of his own face on which the half-dried tears were gleaming in the dull flames. He pulled back, a little frightened; even Gandalf still frightened him sometimes. It seemed that fear came more easily to him now than even hunger or curiosity.
Gandalf stared at him for a moment, as if searching for something. Pippin was keenly reminded of the night he had looked in the Seeing Stone. Gandalf had looked at him like this, reading his soul, and then had suddenly let him go. But that did not happen this time. Gandalf's hands had not moved from their tight grip on Pippin's sides, and he now tightened them further around the hobbit's waist and lifted him into the air. He wordlessly brushed aside the curtain and made for the small table near the window, upon which maps and scrolls were scattered all over like autumn leaves. Very gently he set Pippin down upon a bare corner of the tabletop and moved to gaze out at the merciless night. Pippin stared at the wizard's back for several minutes, hardly daring to breathe in the dangerous silence. Then: "For whom do you weep, Peregrin Took?"
Pippin was severely startled and could say nothing for a few seconds. Then anger began to fill him, rising up from the bottom of the well to overflow into his tormented mind. He had never been angry with Gandalf before, and this increased his fear and thus fueled his anger. "I do not wish to empty my mind of secrets any more than you do," he snapped childishly.
The wizard whirled around in surprise, and the kind eyes were wide with puzzlement. Nevertheless, when he spoke, his tone held a hint of warning. "Take care, Pippin," he said softly.
Pippin was subdued, but he did not feel sorry. "I do not wish to tell you or anyone," he said stubbornly. "Especially when..." He stopped suddenly, knowing that he could not say what he had been about to say, or Gandalf would be terribly angry. Or maybe he would be hurt. That was an even worse thought. But the puzzlement had not gone from the wizard's face, and he peered at Pippin inquiringly. The hobbit lowered his eyes and finished, cheeks burning. "When a curtain between us is enough to let you forget about me or... or ignore me."
He braced himself for the wizard's reaction, carefully squinting up through his eyelashes. "Forget about you?" said Gandalf incredulously. "Every voice on Middle-Earth cries to my spirit, Pippin. Yours is perhaps the loudest. It is difficult to forget you or ignore you when you are always with me."
"I'm sorry," stuttered Pippin. "I didn't know. How do I stop?"
Gandalf looked at him with such gentle sympathy that Pippin felt ashamed and horribly selfish. "You cannot, as long as we both are alive. Nor do I wish you to do so. It is so easy to lose sight of things, Pippin, important things... Defeating Sauron is not an end in and of itself. It is our goal because of what it will bring to the people in this land and in others. The departure of evil must not leave a void of relief and uselessness. In holding to our purpose we must all also hold to each other, or it will be a hollow victory indeed; Sauron would still be the victor. However, some bonds are further strengthened by a shared fate. Even in victory against the darkness, three in Middle-Earth will lose things incalculably precious," he said mysteriously.
Something like a flash of insight made Pippin answer eagerly: "But you are willing to make the sacrifice."
"Yes, of course," said Gandalf irritably. "There is no choice."
Pippin gathered his courage and made ready to bolt if it became necessary. "But... what do you *want*?" he asked tremulously.
Gandalf stared hard at him for long, long moments. "You want to go home, Pippin; is that not true?"
"Yes, of course," said Pippin sadly. "I wish I could."
"You can," said the wizard vehemently. "You may leave whenever you wish. You were offered that chance in Rivendell and many times afterwards, in fact, you were nearly excluded in the first place. No one would think less of you for going. In fact, many expect it."
"And that is why I cannot leave," said Pippin. "It would be so easy. But I am needed here. I must confess I do not yet know how or why, but I just know there is something I must do to help."
Gandalf smiled at him knowingly. "Indeed."
Pippin was not prepared to give up the argument. "But... Surely you can defeat him...and then..."
"And then my task will be fulfilled, Pippin. As you may have noticed, this is not my world. I was sent here."
Pippin gasped at the word 'sent.' "But surely you are not bound to return there, Gandalf. Surely you can just decide to remain!"
Gandalf smiled widely at this. "Conceited little hobbit. Would you have me choose this crumbling, mortal land over the evergreen isle of the West?"
But Pippin was not fooled; there was something in the wizard's eyes that betrayed his words. "I don't believe you really want to go," he said stubbornly. "And what's more, I think this *is* your world. After all," he added philosophically, "all you have to do to make anything yours is to care for it."
"A pretty Shire-myth," said Gandalf wearily.
"It isn't!" said Pippin indignantly. "Frodo and Merry are mine just as I am theirs. We belong to each other. We're family. I daresay if you had any family, you'd understand."
Pippin froze with horror as the words left his mouth and cringed, waiting for the axe to fall. "I daresay I would," said the wizard unexpectedly, looking wearier than Pippin had ever seen him. "But another useful thing to understand is that it is vital to know one's own limits. And I may say that I know not only my own by now, but yours as well. Sleep well, Peregrin," he said, lifting Pippin off the table and pushing him towards the curtain. "No more tears, now. And for goodness' sake, no more questions."
Some of the distance had returned between himself and the wizard. Gandalf was becoming more and more secretive; Pippin had a horrible suspicion that his discretion grew in proportion to his fear. He feared for Middle-Earth, for Frodo and Sam and the Shire and all the lands of Men and Elves. Pippin didn't know how Gandalf could keep all of that fear so veiled from everyone... everyone except Denethor and Pippin. For a split second in the throne room, the veil had been thrown aside. Pippin wished he could have some part in alleviating that fear, but he was fairly sure that Gandalf wished to see no one now. This was his hour, his time. Others might stand alongside him at the final moment, but Gandalf was the guardian of all of their fates now. Pippin ached for the Shire, for the peace, the smell of comfort and the feel of wholesome air, not to mention the warm lamplight and merry laughter of the Green Dragon. Gondor was sickly. The air held a lingering stench of poison, as if the land itself were afraid. Pippin felt choked by the smog-like danger that slid over him like a slimy blanket. He wanted to cry, but he did not dare make a sound; the best way to aid Gandalf was to stay out of his way for now and get some sleep.
He rolled over and the bed creaked. "Sleep, Pippin," came the wizard's growling undertones from the other side of the curtain. Pippin did cry then, and he clapped a hand over his mouth as the tears threatened to bring noisy sobs out with them. But evidently Gandalf expected a response, for the pacing had stopped just outside the curtain, in front of Pippin's bed, and all was silent. Pippin gulped and wiped his eyes. "I'll try," he said softly, doing his best to sound brave, but only succeeding in sounding pitifully despairing. The curtain was drawn aside, and with a jolt of horror Pippin realized that Gandalf was coming to check on him. He swiftly pulled the sheet back over his head and buried his damp face in the pillow. Just as swiftly, however, the sheet was thrown back, and a pair of uncompromising hands rolled him over onto his back. Reflections of the dim candlelight burned deep in the wizard's eyes, and Pippin saw as if in a mirror two tiny versions of his own face on which the half-dried tears were gleaming in the dull flames. He pulled back, a little frightened; even Gandalf still frightened him sometimes. It seemed that fear came more easily to him now than even hunger or curiosity.
Gandalf stared at him for a moment, as if searching for something. Pippin was keenly reminded of the night he had looked in the Seeing Stone. Gandalf had looked at him like this, reading his soul, and then had suddenly let him go. But that did not happen this time. Gandalf's hands had not moved from their tight grip on Pippin's sides, and he now tightened them further around the hobbit's waist and lifted him into the air. He wordlessly brushed aside the curtain and made for the small table near the window, upon which maps and scrolls were scattered all over like autumn leaves. Very gently he set Pippin down upon a bare corner of the tabletop and moved to gaze out at the merciless night. Pippin stared at the wizard's back for several minutes, hardly daring to breathe in the dangerous silence. Then: "For whom do you weep, Peregrin Took?"
Pippin was severely startled and could say nothing for a few seconds. Then anger began to fill him, rising up from the bottom of the well to overflow into his tormented mind. He had never been angry with Gandalf before, and this increased his fear and thus fueled his anger. "I do not wish to empty my mind of secrets any more than you do," he snapped childishly.
The wizard whirled around in surprise, and the kind eyes were wide with puzzlement. Nevertheless, when he spoke, his tone held a hint of warning. "Take care, Pippin," he said softly.
Pippin was subdued, but he did not feel sorry. "I do not wish to tell you or anyone," he said stubbornly. "Especially when..." He stopped suddenly, knowing that he could not say what he had been about to say, or Gandalf would be terribly angry. Or maybe he would be hurt. That was an even worse thought. But the puzzlement had not gone from the wizard's face, and he peered at Pippin inquiringly. The hobbit lowered his eyes and finished, cheeks burning. "When a curtain between us is enough to let you forget about me or... or ignore me."
He braced himself for the wizard's reaction, carefully squinting up through his eyelashes. "Forget about you?" said Gandalf incredulously. "Every voice on Middle-Earth cries to my spirit, Pippin. Yours is perhaps the loudest. It is difficult to forget you or ignore you when you are always with me."
"I'm sorry," stuttered Pippin. "I didn't know. How do I stop?"
Gandalf looked at him with such gentle sympathy that Pippin felt ashamed and horribly selfish. "You cannot, as long as we both are alive. Nor do I wish you to do so. It is so easy to lose sight of things, Pippin, important things... Defeating Sauron is not an end in and of itself. It is our goal because of what it will bring to the people in this land and in others. The departure of evil must not leave a void of relief and uselessness. In holding to our purpose we must all also hold to each other, or it will be a hollow victory indeed; Sauron would still be the victor. However, some bonds are further strengthened by a shared fate. Even in victory against the darkness, three in Middle-Earth will lose things incalculably precious," he said mysteriously.
Something like a flash of insight made Pippin answer eagerly: "But you are willing to make the sacrifice."
"Yes, of course," said Gandalf irritably. "There is no choice."
Pippin gathered his courage and made ready to bolt if it became necessary. "But... what do you *want*?" he asked tremulously.
Gandalf stared hard at him for long, long moments. "You want to go home, Pippin; is that not true?"
"Yes, of course," said Pippin sadly. "I wish I could."
"You can," said the wizard vehemently. "You may leave whenever you wish. You were offered that chance in Rivendell and many times afterwards, in fact, you were nearly excluded in the first place. No one would think less of you for going. In fact, many expect it."
"And that is why I cannot leave," said Pippin. "It would be so easy. But I am needed here. I must confess I do not yet know how or why, but I just know there is something I must do to help."
Gandalf smiled at him knowingly. "Indeed."
Pippin was not prepared to give up the argument. "But... Surely you can defeat him...and then..."
"And then my task will be fulfilled, Pippin. As you may have noticed, this is not my world. I was sent here."
Pippin gasped at the word 'sent.' "But surely you are not bound to return there, Gandalf. Surely you can just decide to remain!"
Gandalf smiled widely at this. "Conceited little hobbit. Would you have me choose this crumbling, mortal land over the evergreen isle of the West?"
But Pippin was not fooled; there was something in the wizard's eyes that betrayed his words. "I don't believe you really want to go," he said stubbornly. "And what's more, I think this *is* your world. After all," he added philosophically, "all you have to do to make anything yours is to care for it."
"A pretty Shire-myth," said Gandalf wearily.
"It isn't!" said Pippin indignantly. "Frodo and Merry are mine just as I am theirs. We belong to each other. We're family. I daresay if you had any family, you'd understand."
Pippin froze with horror as the words left his mouth and cringed, waiting for the axe to fall. "I daresay I would," said the wizard unexpectedly, looking wearier than Pippin had ever seen him. "But another useful thing to understand is that it is vital to know one's own limits. And I may say that I know not only my own by now, but yours as well. Sleep well, Peregrin," he said, lifting Pippin off the table and pushing him towards the curtain. "No more tears, now. And for goodness' sake, no more questions."