Title: Keep It Secret
Author: Adalanta
Email: adalanta14@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Characters: Pippin, Merry
Categories: Drama, Angst
Summary: After the battle of the Black Gate, Merry begins to notice that Pippin is acting strangely and is determined to find out what is wrong with him. But secrets are kept for a reason…and oaths are not easily broken.
Disclaimer: Merry and Pippin are Tolkien's.
Author's Note: The idea for this story came to me while watching ROTK, and then, well, it just sort of took over. What was meant to be a short story quickly grew. This will be four chapters in all but it is already finished, just not fully proofed yet. I'll try to post another part every two or three days. This is my first story about Merry and Pippin, so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Please feel free to email me if you like. Thanks!
Keep It SecretChapter One: Un-Hobbitlike Behavior
"Pippin!"
The call drifted amid the sea of beige canvas, the strange, high-pitched voice standing out starkly amongst the rough, low tones of the other inhabitants who turned to watch the small being as he marched past once again. One or two of the Rohirrim smiled at the sight, while the Gondorians simply looked on with curiosity.
"Pippin!" Merry called loudly, searching the surrounding area for his missing cousin, slipping in and about the pitched tents with surprising speed for one with such short legs. The smallest Rider of Rohan sighed, exasperated and short tempered in the mid-day sun. "Where did that rascal go? I know I told him to meet me at the cooking tent for luncheon, so where is he? Oh, it's not like Pippin to be elsewhere when food is at stake."
He peeked into the next tent and was literally knocked over by a Rohan horseman who had chosen that particular moment to leave. The large, blond man bent down quickly and offered the prone Halfling his hand, offering a sincere apology as he did so. "I am sorry, Master Holdwine," he said, pulling the smaller person to his feet. "I did not see you there."
Merry angrily brushed himself off, ridding his leather uniform of any lingering grass or dirt. "No harm done, I suppose," he answered tightly, mad not at the man but at the other hobbit who he felt had caused the whole incident by being absent. He looked up and tried to bring his boiling temper down to a simmer. "Just be mindful that there's other folks around here now that's not as tall as you, and one of those folks carries a rather sharp axe with him at all times."
The Man smiled and gave a light chuckle. "Yes, I would hate to anger Master Gimli. I have seen him in battle and have no wish to be on the opposite side of his blade."
"Neither would I."
With that the Man continued on his way, leaving Merry once again by himself, alone among the Big Folk and their tents. He searched down a few more rows on both sides of the eating tent, his temper increasing with each step and his mumbled words growing louder and louder. Coming to a stop in front of the large tent, he planted his feet firmly on the grass and clenched his hands into tight fists. "Pippin! Peregrin Took, where are you?!" he shouted, pinching his eyes shut in frustration, oblivious to the stares of the various Men inhabiting the nearby tents.
"I'm right here, Merry."
The puzzled voice came from his right, startling him so badly that he yelped and twisted around to glare at the younger hobbit standing so innocently beside him. "Where have you been?!"
"Well, I – "
"Oh, never mind," he groused, interrupting Pippin before he could get more than two words out. "I'm quite hungry, no thanks to you, and I should like to eat before the food is all gone." With that, he grabbed the Took's hand and pulled him towards the open flaps of the canvas tent, only absently noting the other hobbit's wince and sharp intake of breath at the sudden movement.
Inside the tent, the two Halflings were forced to wait in line behind several Men dressed in the livery of both Gondor and Rohan, the black and silver of the soldiers mixing easily in amongst the earthy tones of the horsemen. Merry chattered on and on, talking about all manner of things – except the recent battles. That topic was skirted around quite neatly. Merry had had enough of war and battles and fighting and the horrors from them that still haunted his mind, both in the darkness of night and the brightness of day. He was so caught up in his stories and observations that he failed to notice how quiet his usually talkative companion was.
Once they had their food and had settled down at a nearby table, Merry attacked his food with normal Hobbit enthusiasm, his short legs swinging happily on the high wooden bench on which he was seated, his furry feet enjoying the sensation of sailing through the air. It was several minutes before he saw how slow Pippin was eating, a distinct and rather shocking occurrence. Frowning slightly, he watched his young cousin fumble awkwardly with his knife and fork, trying with singular determination to cut the piece of meat on his plate. Pippin chewed nervously on his lower lip, an endearing habit he'd maintained since he was only a couple of years old – and a sure sign that he was deep in concentration. So stunned was Merry that he stopped eating completely and just stared at the strange sight before him. If I didn't know any better, I would swear he'd never used a knife and fork before in his life. Whatever is the matter with him? he wondered, watching as the curly head bent down even further over the table, as if being closer would make his task easier.
Finally, after a few minutes of staring, he could stand it no longer. "Pippin," he said suddenly.
The young hobbit in question visibly started and dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter loud enough to draw a few curious stares from those nearby. He raised his green eyes to meet those of his older cousin, cheeks flushing in embarrassment over his reaction, and stuttered, "Y-yes, Merry?"
"Is something wrong?" he asked pointedly, raising his eyebrows and leaning back on the bench.
"No, of course not," Pippin answered quickly, shaking his head and sending a few errant curls onto his forehead, making him look even younger than normal. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"My own two eyes, that's what. You seem to be having a bit of trouble with your fork today, Pip." He paused for a few seconds and looked at Pippin's hands, noticing for the first time the black gloves that covered the small hands. Ah, that must be the problem, he decided, nodding to himself. The gloves are making it hard for him to eat. Well, that's solved easily enough. "It's the gloves, isn't it?"
"What?" Pippin blinked, "I'm not having any trouble – "
"Oh, yes, you are – and don't try to tell me anything different." Merry shook his head and sighed softly. "If your gloves are giving you such a problem, then take them off to eat."
"I – I can't do that, Merry!" His cousin protested, eyes wide, seemingly appalled at the logical suggestion.
"Well, why not?" The red and brown leather-clad hobbit looked around the tent and motioned with the fork he held in his right hand. "None of the other Men are eating with their gloves on, not even the soldiers of Gondor." Merry watched the young hobbit glance around the crowded tent, his sharp eyes lighting on all of his fellow soldiers.
Pippin turned back to Merry with an air of confidence and a strangely relieved look in his eyes. "Yes, well, that may be true, but then none of them are Guards of the Citadel, either."
"Pippin – " Merry started.
"No, Merry," he said firmly, his small face set, his Took stubbornness rising to the surface, a true force to be reckoned with.
"But, Pip, no one will know!" he exclaimed, his raised voice drawing even more glances from the soldiers closest to them than the last time. He refused to care, though, and stared intently at Pippin.
"I'll know, Merry," the other Halfling replied softly, his grave expression accusing while the deep, green eyes appeared wounded. Before Merry could understand what was happening, Pippin had snatched the roll and apple from his plate and hopped off the bench to leave.
Merry gaped at him, too stunned by the soft answer and the strange look to speak for a long moment. "Wait! Pippin! What – " he called after his cousin, but he was too late. Pippin was already gone.
What is wrong with him? he fumed inwardly, staring at the nearly full plate of food at his cousin's empty seat. He's never left in the middle of a meal before – or for that matter, with food still left on his plate…unless he was sick. But he seems to be feeling fine! He protested mentally. He's not sick – I would know if he was. He can't hide something like that from me.
But then he paused, remembering how they hadn't truly been able to spend much time with each other since they'd ridden out to the Black Gate. He shivered at the memory, the vivid images of the desperate battle and of the devastating eruption of Mount Doom flashing through his mind, bringing with them the fear, hopelessness, and sorrow that had engulfed his soul during that time. Stop that, he told himself angrily. Frodo and Sam are going to be fine. They're just sleeping, that's all. Everything's going to be fine. Although it was hard, he managed to push the disturbing memories back into the far corner of his mind, unwilling to let them interfere with the problem that he now faced.
It took a few seconds for him to remember what he'd been thinking about before he'd been suddenly assaulted by the troubling images. Ah, yes. He hadn't seen much of Pippin except for right after he'd woken up in the Houses of Healing when the young hobbit had been sitting by his side. He'd never forget the sight of his dear cousin's face, for as happy as he was to see him alive and well, he could not help but notice how terrible he had looked, his normally grinning face drawn and pale. And his eyes…He searched for the right word to describe what he had seen in those green depths, but could not come up with anything better than…empty. He had seemed older, too, and careworn, although Pippin had valiantly tried to hide it from him. And Merry, himself, had been too caught up in his own horrifying memories to give it much more than a brief thought. But now that he really stopped to think about it…
And he hasn't been as talkative as usual, either. I don't think he said more than half a dozen words when we were waiting in line today. Oh, why didn't I see it before now? He moaned silently and closed his eyes. Pip was riding with Gandalf and I was behind Eomer when we left Minas Tirith, so it's not like we were able to talk to each other, but… I still should have noticed something was wrong.
He opened his eyes and began to eat again, his body automatically putting the food in his mouth even though his mind was far away, thinking about the strange and decidedly un-Hobbitlike behavior of one Peregrin Took. A repetitive, metallic noise broke into his musing.
What is that? he wondered, blinking. Where is that noise coming from? It took him a few seconds to realize that he was causing it. He had finished his entire luncheon without realizing it and had kept stabbing his fork onto his plate, thereby creating the odd sound. Blushing, he quickly stopped and set his fork down on the wooden table.
Staring at Pippin's full plate in front of him, he briefly considered eating that food, too, until he remembered that his cousin had barely eaten a thing and must surely be hungry…wherever he was at the moment. Sighing, he picked up Pippin's plate and left the tent in search of the young hobbit. I'll just take this to Pippin. He's bound to be hungry.
He set off for the tent that he and Pippin shared on the other side of camp but then paused mid-way there. He had to talk to someone first – the only other person who might know what was going on with his friend. And that someone was Gandalf. Without another thought, he changed direction and headed back towards the middle of camp.
TBC…