Summary: Pippin's POV's during the fellowship
Disclaimer: I still do not own them
A/N: These are merely my opinions of what Pippin could have been thinking. Reviews are welcome, flames keep me warm
Reviewers!
aquitaineg: Thanks, the views are from one to the next, not lingering on any certain thing for long.
Elven Kitten: Thanks!
shadow929: Thanks lots! I also love the wee hobbit
Aranna Undomiel: Wonderful review, thanks!
Karri: Thank you! I love to try to figure out what they may have been thinking
Chapter 4
Pippin stood beside Gandalf, listening to him lecture about Denethor. Pippin was beginning to think Gandalf thought him a total fool, by the way he was speaking. True, his first sight of Minias Tirith had Pippin sucking in his breath, trying to stave off the fear he felt, but now Pippin had reclaimed his fears and laid them aside.
A long white room, and a man sitting upon a chair beneath a throne. Pippin felt very small in this room, like he was a child again, begging to be noticed by the others, who were much bigger. Solemnly he stood in front of Denethor, but when he heard the choked words uttered, Pippin's heart sank.
This man was without his son now, and by the look of sorrow on his face, he had loved him deeply. Pippin felt an overwhelming courage enter his heart, and before he knew what happened he pledged himself to Steward, and Gondor.
Pippin stood staring at the uniform of the guard. Was he supposed to fight? Were these men without good sense, he was not a fighter, he was a hobbit. The very thought of fighting sent shivers of fear down his back. Sure he had fought in Moria, but that was an impluse reaction, a rage filling him as he saw Frodo.
He wondered about Frodo, and Sam, and what could be happening to them. Walking to the balcony, he spoke to Gandalf, hoping the wizard could ease his mind. At the end of the conversation Pippin's heart felt even heavier, without hope in it. That night as Pippin laid in the bed, his mind would not rest. He tried to close his eyes in sleep, but the thoughts of death's cold embrace froze his heart, and clouded his mind. He was too young to die, too young to leave this world behind. His eyes would not close tonight, fore when they did the sight of he and all his friends, cold and dead, stared back at him.
Pippin stood by Denethor's side, as he was served the lunchen meal. Pippin's own stomach rumbling in hunger. He was about to ask his leave when Faramir walked in. Pippin liked him, as his eyes were those of a gentle man, not at all like his father. Pipin listened as Denethor sent Faramir away, possibly to his death. How could he be so cruel? Did he not see that Faramir only wanted his acceptance? Pippin's own eyes felt the prickling of tears forming as Faramir walked away to what seemed certain his death, willingly.
A song? Did Denethor actually ask him for a song, after he had sent away his son to die? Pippin did not wish to amuse the Steward at all, much less serve him. The very thought of serving him now made Pippin's stomach roll with bile, yet he feared the insanity that surely Denethor had. Singing a tune his own father sang at the passing of kin, Pippin tried to think good thoughts. With each line he choked on the next, his words becoming jumbled with the tears rolling down his face. At the end Pippin swiped at the tears, and begged leave of the room. Once outside of it he slowly sank down to the floor and wept. He wept for choices, his choices that had led him here, and the cruel choices of Denethor.