Fool of a Took
Gandalf is gone. And it's my entire fault.
Merry says that I'm in shock. I suppose I am. Wouldn't anyone be, after they helped to murder a wizard?
Aragorn is shouting that we have to go on. "These hills will be covered with orcs by nightfall," he explains. We must move on to the safety and shelter of Lothlorien.
I am sobbing so hard I can barely breathe. Merry massages my back absentmindedly, and I can feel his warm tears seeping through my jacket.
Aragorn is telling Legolas to get us up off of the rocky ground. The elf comes over, a sad, but startled expression on his face. It seems that he cannot believe that Gandalf is dead either.
Can I help that I have a natural sense of curiosity? I've always been the hobbit to explore new places in the Shire. My mother used to scold me for asking her too many "useless" questions.
I only touched the arrow a little bit. The arrow had been stuck fast in the skeleton of a dwarf. The dwarf had died with such a look of horror upon his face, that in death it had remained on his skull. I wanted to know what creature had been the one to frighten him so.
Curse my clumsiness. As soon as my fingers touched the black shaft, the whole wretched skeleton fell down the well it had been resting upon. And to if that wasn't problem enough, the skeleton was attached to the chain of a bucket used for drawing water. Down went the chain and bucket as well.
Each member of the Fellowship held their breaths as I cringed at the echoes bouncing off of Moria's stony walls. At last the noise stopped.
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf spat out, slamming the dwarven book in his hands shut. "Next time throw yourself in and save us the trouble." I flinched again at the wizard's angry glare.
I had thought that Gandalf's reprimand would be the worst of my troubles. Oh, if only I had been right.
The commotion, made by myself, attracted innumerable amounts of orcs and goblins. We barricaded ourselves in the skeleton-strewn room and waited. Then we fought.
I shall not go into the details of that battle. For the most part we escaped unscathed, although Frodo was nearly killed by a troll. But we survived and fled, heading for the bridge of Khazad-dûm.
We might have made it across the narrow bridge if we hadn't come across the Balrog. Damned fire demon, why did you seek to destroy us?
Gandalf battled the Balrog. He defeated him too. But alas, the Balrog also defeated Gandalf.
They fell, back into the dark chasm from which the Balrog came. I can still hear Frodo's shout of denial echoing in my head.
Legolas pulls me up next to Merry. "Come Pippin," he says gently. "We head for the woods of Lorien.
He doesn't speak of my guilt, but I see the look in his blue eyes. It is of remorse. He too wishes that I had not been so careless, so foolhardy. He wishes that I hadn't caused the Balrog to appear.
I trod after Merry, my head hanging down in shame. Memories of Gandalf flash through my head, unbidden, but quite welcome. One stands out in particular: Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday party.
Gandalf was there with his famous fireworks. Merry and I decided to filch one, a bright, red, dragon-shaped one. Needless to say, it blew up on us, quite literally. We lit the rocket inside a tent and it exploded in a burst of light and powder.
We didn't know that a 'real' dragon would fill the entire night sky, frightening all of the hobbits gathered for Bilbo's celebration out of their wits. But it did.
A smile creeps onto my face, despite the fact that Gandalf's death is still so near. I remember how upset Gandalf was once he discovered us, the culprits of the dragon scare. He mad Merry and I wash all of the dishes the guests had used, while he sat nearby, smoking his pipe and supervising.
The trees of Lothlorien are in the near distance, according to Legolas. We move faster, so as to arrive before dark.
I'm sorry Gandalf. I let you down. I had some part in your death. If you can hear me, know that somehow, someday I will make it up to you. I know not when, but I will.
We are entering the elven realm. Perhaps I will find some solace from my grief here. For as long as I live, I shall never forget Gandalf's last words to me alone. "Fool of a Took." I mean to change that image. For Gandalf. And for myself.
End.