Dark Side of the Moon

by Hobbsy3

When the peace of the Shire is shattered by a frantic wizard and Darkness falls upon Erebor, the patchwork family of Kili Baggins is thrown into chaos. Sundered by distance and duty, they must each play a part in the war revolving around the Ring that has long dwelt in Bilbo's pocket. But a conspiracy forms in the shadows and the Ring vanishes, putting the whole world at stake. T/M

99. Chapter 99: The Plan of Master Pippin

Hi there! Sorry for another delay – I was on holiday, and then I was ill. What luck. Anyway! Thank you for the lovely reviews to the last chapter! I hope that you enjoy this one, and please forgive any typos. I'm utterly exhausted, and earlier said 'that's 's' for cylinder' while on the phone with a customer at work. Whoops.

Chapter Ninety-Nine: The Plan of Master Pippin

Gimli only stopped punching the corpse when the he heard Boromir screaming. There was nothing else that could have stopped him, but the sound of utter anguish tearing straight from the soul of his friend broke through the rage devouring him. Just.

His entire body trembling, Gimli pulled himself up onto his feet and staggered back, glancing over his shoulder and trying to catch his breath.

"Why?" Boromir cried, clutching Pippin tightly in his arms and rocking back and forth like a frightened child. The hobbit's face was stark white, and his eyes were bulging and bloodshot and brimming with fear, and his knuckles were white as he gripped Boromir's arms, but he was breathing. He was breathing. "Why, why, why?"

With a face that was utterly stricken, Aragorn stepped forward, resting his hand hesitantly on Boromir's shoulder. He opened his mouth, but then looked down, and away, and said nothing.

Gimli glanced down at his hands, at the blood smeared across the back of his knuckles. He knew that Denethor had been dead before he even began to strike him, but he had not been able to help himself. The utter filth had tried to kill his cousins, he had seen it, seen the scum leaning over Merry with his hands around his little cousin's neck.

He deserved so much worse than death.

But Boromir doesn't deserve to watch, chided a voice in the back of Gimli's mind. That bastard was his father, after all.

So Gimli drew a deep breath, and returned to what was important, throwing himself up onto the bed and scrambling across towards Merry, who sobbed and reached out for him, his neck red and his eyes filled with tears.

"Pippin!" he sobbed, his voice so achingly raw and rasping that Gimli wanted to start pummelling Denethor's body into the ground again. Instead, he settled at Merry's side, taking the hobbit's outstretched hand. At once, Merry gripped his fingers with the strength of an iron vice, and he sobbed again. "Pippin!"

"He's breathing," Gimli promised, putting his free hand on Merry's cheek and glancing down at the blood blooming over the hobbit's hip. Anger rose within him, burning like acid, and he snarled. "The bastard opened your wound – that'll need looking at – where are the damn elves?"

But Merry did not seem to care – he simply gave a short wail, and reached out for his cousin with the hand that was not clinging to Gimli. "Pippin!"

Still cradling Pippin in his arms, Boromir stood up, jerkily, shakily, on legs that swayed like saplings in the breeze. He staggered the few steps to the bed and lowered Pippin down onto it, and in a flash the younger hobbit had attached himself to Merry's side, his arms wrapped around his cousin and his face buried in Merry's shoulder. In turn, Merry sobbed, his face disappearing into Pippin's hair as he clung to the younger boy. Though Merry tried to twist over onto his side to wrap his other arm around Pippin as well, Gimli held his hand firm.

"Careful, mizimith," he murmured, squeezing Merry's hand and gently pushing his shoulder back down. "You don't want to tug on that wound, now."

"I thought you were dead," Merry whimpered, ignoring the dwarf and pulling Pippin closer. Pain crushed tighter around Gimli's heart, and he gave a desperate prayer of thanks that Merry had been wrong. "I thought – you, you… Pippin, I thought you were dead…"

Pippin sobbed, curling himself tighter against his cousin's side, and Gimli shuddered, reaching over to stroke Pippin's hair.

"It's alright," he choked, and then he cleared his throat and shook his head. "It's alright, I'm here now. You're safe now, you're both safe. I'm here, I'm here."

"Why?" Boromir croaked again, his knees buckling beneath him. Legolas and Aragorn caught him before he could fall, guiding him to the chair by the bedside, and he collapsed into it, dropping his head into his hands. "Why? How could, why would, why would he do that?"

Gandalf gave a heavy sigh, and rested a hand on Boromir's shoulder. "I am sorry, Boromir."

"I did everything!" the man said desperately, looking up at the wizard with wide, wild eyes. "I – I did everything right, everything you asked me, I – I thought I'd paid, for what I did. I thought I'd paid!"

Gimli saw Gandalf's face grow dark, and the wizard strode around the chair, taking Boromir's shoulders and shaking him firmly. "Boromir of Gondor, this is not your doing. The madness that took your father is not your responsibility, nor is it your punishment!"

"Then why?" begged Boromir, clutching Gandalf's arm. "Why would he do that?"

Gandalf sighed, glancing towards the body on the ground. "We may never know for certain, but I fear… Well, I fear that Denethor could not process his own guilt. That he looked upon what he had done, and found that he needed someone else to blame. I believe, Boromir, that in his mind, this punishment was intended for me."

Boromir sobbed, shaking his head. "But… but how? How could, how could he – how could he do this to me? How…"

No one spoke. No one seemed to know what do say, what to do. Gandalf closed his eyes, and Aragorn looked away. Legolas simply stared, a look of sorrow in his eyes as deep as the mines of Khazad-dûm. Swallowing, Gimli looked away, down at his cousins.

"I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "I'm sorry, Boromir, I should not have lost my cool, but Merry is bleeding."

At once, Boromir looked up in alarm. "Bleeding?"

"I'll have a look at that, Merry," said Aragorn gently, striding around to Gimli's side of the bed.

The dwarf shifted out of the way, ignoring all propriety and crawling around the hobbits' feet to sit beside Pippin instead. Any shame he might have felt for scrambling around like a child was instantly eradicated when Pippin reached out frantically for him, pressing his back against Gimli's legs.

"I'm here," he murmured, taking Pippin's hand and watching as Aragorn gently unbound Merry's wound.

At the sight of the injury, Aragorn's face relaxed a little, and Gimli breathed out slowly. "It's alright, Merry," he said gently. "It's not too bad at all – a little bleeding like this is to be expected, but he's caused no major damage."

Gimli sagged in relief, running his hand over Pippin's hair.

"Thank the Valar," Boromir breathed. "And Pippin?"

Pippin shifted his face ever so slightly, glancing up at Gimli, and he gave a little nod. "My…" he winced, and then raised his hand, signing in Iglishmêk. "My throat hurts, and my head hurts, but I'm alright."

"He's in pain, but he'll be alright," Gimli translated, nodding down at Pippin. "Right, Gandalf?"

The wizard stepped closer, taking Pippin's chin in his hand and staring into his eyes for a long moment. Then he smiled, softly, and stroked Pippin's cheek.

"Yes… he'll be alright. You're a strong one, my dear Pippin," he said, nodding slowly. "You'll be alright."

Relief flooded through Gimli from his head down to his toes, and he rested his head in his hands.

"Oh, my goodness," gasped a voice that was vaguely familiar, and Gimli looked up to see one of the healers in the door, her hand clasped tightly over her mouth. She looked from the arrow in Denethor's eye to the bow in Legolas' hand, and then her eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth to scream.

"Peace, my lady," said Gandalf wearily, standing up and holding out his hands. "You have nothing to fear, the danger had passed."

"Murder," she whispered, shaking her head and clutching the doorframe with shaking fingers. "Treason, murder!"

"No," said Boromir, standing up at turning to face the woman in the door. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in confusion.

"My – my Lord Boromir?"

"There was no murder, Eärwen," he said, his voice cracking. "De…despite what my father…"

She shook her head, looking utterly terrified. "I, I don't understand…"

"Come inside, my dear," said Gandalf. "No one will harm you."

Boromir nodded at her, and she took a tentative step into the doorway.

"I am afraid, Miss Eärwen, that the illness of your lord ran far deeper than even I suspected. You were told of his condition, were you not?"

Gimli stared at the woman, who nodded hesitantly, glancing at the body at the ground.

"The… the Warden said that he, he was losing his mind," she said, looking fearfully back up at Legolas, who lowered his bow almost sheepishly. "He said it was important to keep our silence, for the sake of our lord, but he said, he said that he thought he would recover, that he would be alright!"

A broken sob burst from Boromir's lips and he closed his eyes, pressing the back of his fist to his lips. Gandalf sighed again, sadly.

"We all hoped that he would recover, but alas… What you see before you is the consequence of his madness. The lord broke free of the room we had placed him in, and he tried to strangle our young hobbits in their sleep," said the wizard, wincing as he did. "It was only through luck, and the keen ears of young Denahi, that we made it in time. Legolas fired an arrow, indeed, but it struck only Denethor's shoulder. He put it through is eye himself."

Eärwen looked at Boromir, disbelief shining in her sharp eyes, but when he nodded she covered her mouth once more, and cringed away from the door.

"Now," Gandalf said, his voice heavy. "I would have you keep this information to yourself, Miss Eärwen. It would dishonour the legacy of Lord Denethor beyond repair."

Boromir glanced at the wizard, a confusion that mirrored Gimli's on his face. "You would – you would cover this up? For the sake of him?"

"For the sake of you, and your brother," said Gandalf sadly. "And for the sake of the man your father once was, before bitterness and madness and grief tore his mind to shreds."

Gimli hung his head, his eyes flickering towards Merry's side as Aragorn redressed the awful wound on his hip. Once, maybe Denethor had been a man worth remembering, more than a treacherous, murdering worm, but Gimli would have his name tarnished until the end of time for what he had done.

Except if there had once been a man worth remembering, that meant that Boromir would still have memories of a father, a man who loved him and cared for him. With a heavy heart, Gimli looked up at Boromir, and he sighed. There was only one reason that he would hold his silence, and that would be for the good of his family.

And after one look at Boromir's face, he knew that he would be holding his tongue forever.

"Besides," said Gandalf, sighing heavily, and gazing sadly down at Denethor's body, "I have no intentions of 'covering up' anything, if by 'cover up' you mean to say lie. I am merely suggesting that the details of what Lord Denethor did in his last moments are kept between the people in this room. It is no lie to say that he died from wounds sustained during the course of the battle. Save Faramir, of course, and perhaps Lord Imrahil, no one else need know that the wounds were inflicted to his mind, and largely by himself. Does anyone disagree?"

No one spoke, and after a long while Gandalf bowed his head.

"Very well then. Aragorn, go and fetch us a stretcher, and some dark blankets. Miss Eärwen, if you wouldn't mind fetching these hobbits some warm tea to soothe their throats and minds, that would be much appreciated. Do not speak to any others, if you can help it, but please, tell no lie. I will not have Denethor's death infect the city as a dirty secret."

She looked again at Boromir, waiting for his nod before she tumbled out of the door. Aragorn left the room, only to return a few moments later, and together with Gandalf and Legolas, he moved Denethor's body onto the stretcher he had brought back with him. The wizard sighed sadly as he covered the lord's face and body with a dark, heavy blanket, and as he did Boromir rose onto his feet. He was trembling, and his knees looked ready to collapse beneath him, but he stayed standing, watching.

"Aragorn, will you help me bear the lord to the Houses of the Dead?" murmured Gandalf, and the ranger bowed his head.

"Of course."

"I, I should…" choked Boromir, but Gandalf smiled sadly.

"You should do nothing, Boromir. If it is your wish to help bear your father to Rath Dínen, then of course you may join us, but you do not have to. Your duty to your father is done, Boromir, and there will be time yet to say a proper goodbye. For now, though, you have done enough. It might be better for you to take a little tea yourself, to sit until the shock wears off. Assure yourself that our hobbits are alright, and ensure that Miss Eärwen does not grow too afraid of Legolas."

Boromir hesitated, and then nodded, his lower lip beginning to tremble as Aragorn and Gandalf took the front and back of the stretcher. With a nod to Boromir, Gandalf bore the body out of the door, and Aragorn glanced mournfully over his shoulder, before disappearing around the corridor.

Boromir sobbed, and fell back into the chair by the bed, his head returning to his hands.

Only a few moments later, Eärwen returned with a tray stacked with a teapot and cups, and she poured a cup of steaming brew for each of the hobbits. With the gentle hands of a healer, she encouraged Pippin to sit, while propping Merry up on a couple more pillows so that he could be a little upright without tugging at his wound. The tea was sweet, and had a wholesome, herbal scent, and Gimli breathed in deeply.

Silence fell over them, and he noticed the rattle of Pippin's teacup against the saucer as his hand trembled violently. Offering a weak smile, Gimli reached out and took Pippin's hands in his own, and the hobbit flickered frightened eyes towards him, offering an even weaker smile in return. After a moment, Pippin's eyes flickered towards Boromir, and then they filled with tears, and looked down at the bed.

"I am sorry, Boromir," said Legolas softly. "I – I – forgive me."

Boromir winced, but he slowly looked up and shook his head. "No… there is nothing, nothing to forgive. For what he was doing… You did not kill him."

Legolas did not look entirely convinced by this, and he looked away. To Gimli's surprise, he thought he could catch sigh of a mist of tears in the elf's eyes. "But without my arrow…"

"He was going to kill Merry," Boromir interrupted, his voice so full of pain that it hurt to hear. "You had no choice. If you hadn't… It's a wonder you didn't shoot him straight in the head."

"The thought passed my mind," murmured Legolas, "but he was your father."

Her teeth hovering above her bottom lip, Eärwen stepped forward slightly. "My Lord Boromir? Do, do you wish me to fetch you the Warden?"

Boromir glanced up at her, shaking his head wearily. "No. Thank you, Eärwen. What the wizard said was the truth. I – I saw it myself."

The tightness of fear eased out of the woman's shoulders, but sadness flooded her face and she bowed her head. "Then I am sorry, my lord. My heart is with you."

For a moment, Gimli wondered if she was apologising because she had already sent word to the warden, but Boromir put a hand on his heart and bowed his head, and Gimli relaxed slightly.

"Rion," said Boromir suddenly, looking up at Eärwen. "Have you heard, my lady, has Rion been found?"

Eärwen nodded, but fear tightened her eyes. "Yes, my lord, but he… he is not well."

Pippin gave a little whimper, and a wave of fresh grief crashed onto Boromir's face. "I am sorry," the man said.

"What happened?" asked Pippin, his hoarse voice catching painfully in his throat.

Eärwen glanced at him, and swallowed. "You, you spoke with Rion before the battle began did you not? You saw what state Osgiliath had left him in?"

His fingers digging tightly into Gimli's hand, Pippin nodded. "She – oh! He, or they?" he broke off, glancing between Eärwen and Boromir, and Gimli frowned heavily. Eärwen was growing a little pale, her shoulders drawing back and fists curling as though she was preparing to launch into a defence, but Boromir gave a weary smile.

"I tell you, Eärwen, none in this room would think less of your sister for the path she has taken. Among their people it is not strange to see a woman among the guard or within the army, and they will keep her secret safe, I swear it," he said, glancing at Pippin. "Though Pippin may need reminding of the need for secrecy every once in a while."

A little red-faced, Pippin nodded. "I'm sorry. Rion is your…"

"My sister," murmured Eärwen, her eyes lingering on the hobbit for a long moment, before turning to Boromir. "They found her in the second level, covered in rubble. She should not have been fighting, she, she was already wounded, and badly. Her face… But they brought her back, they brought her in at twilight, and she… Her ankle is shattered, and she has not stirred to consciousness. And her eye… we could not save her eye."

Pippin sucked in a sharp breath and Gimli winced in sympathy, stroking his cousin's hair.

Eärwen sighed, and nodded. "But she is strong. Stronger than most. If anyone can pull through this…"

Boromir nodded. "She certainly is. My heart is with you both, Eärwen. If we may help…"

She nodded, and a silence fell upon them. Gimli could feel Merry and Legolas looking curiously at Pippin and Boromir, and it was a curiosity that he felt too, but he did not have the heart to ask about secrets and sisters and jumbled pronouns. Not now.

After a short while, Gandalf and Aragorn returned, and Gimli looked up expectantly.

"There is much to discuss, but we are all weary now," said the wizard heavily. "I have sent word to Lords Imrahil and Faramir, to be delivered at dawn. An hour after the sun rises, we will take council – most probably in the room of Faramir, if he wishes to be a part of the discussion, and in a war room if not. About one thing, Denethor is right – we may have won the battle, but this war is far from over. Someone will call on each of you, ere the meeting begins. For now, try and get some sleep. Gimli-"

Gimli scowled. "If you think I'm leaving this room-"

"I was not going to suggest it," said Gandalf gently. "I was only going to say that perhaps Legolas might like to remain too – that way if you wish to set a watch and alleviate your fears, you each may grab a few hours of rest before dawn."

"I will stay," said Legolas, bowing his head to Gimli. "If you wish it."

Gimli glanced down at the hobbits, and Merry gave a weak little nod.

"I wish it," he mumbled, and Pippin nodded, peeking up from Merry's shoulder to glance up at the elf.

"Come Boromir, Aragorn," said Gandalf gently. "Let us try and get some rest, and leave these poor hobbits in peace."

Boromir nodded slowly, but as he rose from his chair he swayed, reaching out to the bed to steady himself. As he did, Pippin reached out, squeezing Boromir's hand. He opened his mouth, and then winced, shaking his head and raising his other hand to sign.

Gimli had to clear the lump from his throat before he could translate. "He says he's sorry."

Hitching in a shuddering breath, Boromir nodded. "Me too," he murmured, and then Aragorn stepped forward, taking his arm and leading him from the room. Gandalf bowed his head and followed them out, closing the door behind him, and Gimli sighed.

"Don't worry too much about sleeping," he said, making his voice as gentle as it could be as he stroked Merry's hair. "If you think too much about it, you won't get a wink of it. Just close your eyes. Rest. I'll watch over you, you'll be just fine."

Closing their eyes, the hobbits huddled together beneath the blankets, but Merry pressed his shoulder against Gimli's leg, and Pippin reached across his cousin to wrap his fingers around Gimli's tunic. The dwarf leant back against the headboard, sighing softly.

"I will take the first watch, my friend," murmured Legolas, sitting in the chair beside the bed and resting his bow across his lap. "You should try and get some rest too."

It would be a lie to say that Gimli was not tired – exhaustion seemed to have turned his bones to solid lead, and misery swam through his mind, begging him to rest. But to sleep after what had happened?

"Just close your eyes," said Legolas. "Take your own advice. You do not have to sleep. Just close your eyes, just for a little while now."

Grumbling beneath his breath, Gimli did as the elf suggested, but only moments after he began to rest his eyes sleep pulled him down, sucking him deep into a dark, dreamless slumber. It was not broken until morning, when he felt a hand shake his shoulder.

"It is time for Gandalf's council, my friend," said Legolas, and Gimli blinked away the morning sun.

"Why didn't you wake me for a watch?" he grumbled. "You ought to have slept too."

"You looked like you needed it more than I. Come, the others are already there."

Gimli glanced down to see Merry watching him expectantly. Pippin was standing nearby, his chin resting on the bed, but when he stepped back, Gimli could see black bruises circling the hobbit's neck and he gritted his teeth.

"Damned fiend," he snarled, glancing at Merry's neck and seeing the same marks. "Were it not for Boromir the corpse would be torn to shreds by now."

Merry smiled slightly. "We know. Gimli, will you carry me? To the meeting?"

Gimli paused, glancing at Legolas. "I'm not sure it's the best idea to move you, lad, with a wound like that."

"But I want to know what's going on!" protested Merry, and from the way that Legolas looked pointedly out of the window, Gimli guessed that the discussion had already been had once before. "I deserve to know what's happening. Gandalf wants to talk about Frodo and the others, I know he does, and I want to know what the plan is."

"And I will tell you what it is," swore Gimli. "Word for word. But I won't risk that wound opening again – you need to rest. We almost lost you, Merry, and I won't – you will stay here."

Merry folded his arms over his chest, glowering mutinously down at the sheets of the bed. "Fine."

"I'll stay with you, if you want me too," said Pippin, and Gimli winced. The younger hobbit's voice was still hoarse, and painful to hear.

Merry sighed heavily. "It's alright, Pip. I think you should go. You can tell me all about it later."

"Will, will you be alright, on your own?"

"He won't be alone, lad," said Gimli firmly. "Denahi will stay with him, and I'll see that there's a guard on the door. One we can trust."

"Gandalf has already sent one," said Legolas. "A man named Beregond. He stands outside now."

"He's the one that saved my life," added Pippin, and Gimli nodded.

"Right. Off we go then." But he stepped closer to the bed instead of towards the door, and pressed a knife into Merry's waiting hand. "I'll see you soon, Merry."

The hobbit nodded bluntly, and squeezed Pippin's hand, and then Legolas led the way out of the door. Pippin walked very close to Gimli, his arm brushing against the dwarf's as they headed down the corridor. They did not have far to walk – Gandalf had set council in a chamber not far out of the healing halls. He was there with Aragorn and Boromir on either side, and Éomer stood by the window, his face grey with a lack of sleep, but his eyes were hard and determined. Beside him were Halbarad and Imrahil, and behind them stood the elven twins. Elladan and Elrohir looked more sombre than Gimli had ever seen them, and he did not like how much that disconcerted him. Faramir was not there, but Gimli did not blame him. If Gimli had been in his shoes…

No. Gimli did not blame Faramir at all.

When he had taken stock of who was there, Gimli let his eyes fall on Boromir. There were deep, dark circles beneath his heavy eyes, and his skin was pale, almost grey. If he had slept for a single minute, Gimli would be surprised. When Boromir saw Pippin, however, the corner of his mouth curled towards a ghostly smile, and he nodded his head in greeting.

"How are you feeling, Pippin?" he asked, his voice tight, but strong.

Pippin smiled back, but his hand rose unconsciously to his throat, and Gimli and Boromir both flinched. "I'm alright," said the hobbit quietly, and Gimli cold see that the rasping of his voice was as painful for Boromir to hear as it was for the dwarf.

"And we are all glad to hear it," said Gandalf, stepping forward with a warm smile. "I'm glad you are here, for we have much to discuss, and little time in which to do it. Come, we shall sit."

He gestured to a ring of chairs that had been set out, much like those at the council of Elrond, and together they all sat down. Gimli settled himself between Pippin and Legolas, and Boromir took Pippin's other side, smiling weakly again when the hobbit patted his hand kindly.

"By now, everyone here knows what happened in the Houses of Healing last night," said Gandalf heavily. "Aside from those of us here, only three souls know the entire truth – Merry, Faramir, and the Healer Eärwen, who was unlucky enough to walk in on the aftermath of the affair. I think it would be best if it remains that way. The death of the Steward was announced this morning, and the official cause of death was an arrow-wound sustained during the course of battle. The Stewardship has passed to Boromir, but I fear there is little time for ceremony, either of grief or celebration. We cannot afford to rest upon our victory for long – Sauron has suffered a defeat, yes, and a mighty one at that, but his forces still outnumber ours, and I doubt not that he had some plan formed for this eventuality. In one thing, Denethor was right – we have not won this war. We have but one hope, one way in which we might be able to gain an advantage enough to win, and that hope is now with Frodo."

A rumble of agreement ran around the room, and Gimli glanced at Éomer and Imrahil. He was not sure when they had been told the details of Frodo's quest, but Gandalf must have done it at some stage, as neither man looked confused.

"Unfortunately," said Aragorn, his voice heavy as a death knoll, "the victory we won here will have done little to aid him. There will be thousands of orcs swarming the lands of Mordor, tens of thousands, and after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Sauron may well draw more forces back behind his walls. They stand between Frodo and Mount Doom, and if they stay there, Frodo has no chance of crossing unseen."

Éomer leant back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Then we are doomed. Three hobbits and a dwarfling cannot fight the armies of Mordor alone, and if they cannot sneak through unseen…"

Pippin shuddered, glancing fearfully at Gimli. The dwarf swallowed, and took a deep breath.

"We have to do something," he said, trying to make his voice blunt rather than desperate. "There must be something we can do, some way we might help them."

"That, my dear Gimli, is what we must try and find. A way to help, even from afar." Gandalf sighed, and looked towards the window to the east. "Yet it is hard to say what might be done. Éomer is right. If we do nothing, doom will come upon us before long."

An uncomfortable silence swept into the room, and Gimli glanced out of the same window. In the distance, on the smudge of the horizon, he could make out the mountains of Mordor, and hatred curled in his gut. They were there, Frodo and Sam and Nelly and Bróin, his young cousins were there, and alone.

Beside him, Pippin shifted uncomfortably, and then he cleared his throat. "What… what if we marched on Mordor?" he said, and the men stared at him incredulously. He went a little red and glanced down at his hands, but when he spoke again Pippin's voice was strong and unwavering, even beneath the pain layered through it. "I know we haven't enough soldiers, that we'd be lucky beyond hope to get out alive, but… if we gathered an army and marched to the Black Gate, then he, he would have to counter us, wouldn't he? He would move his army to the gate, and he wouldn't be looking so much at his own lands. It might get rid of some of the orcs for a while, and that, that might give Frodo and the others more of a chance."

"A diversion," murmured Legolas, as the others stared at Pippin. Gimli thought it over in his mind, and he nodded slowly.

Damn the world that it has come to this, he thought.

"Certainty of death? Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?"

"Pippin may have a point," said Gandalf carefully. "Though Sauron may suspect a trap."

"He won't," said Aragorn, sitting upright with eyes that glowed with resolve. "Not if Andúril leads the assault. He will not have forgotten the blade of Elendil."

"So we cheat death by an inch only to throw our lives away?" protested Boromir. "The armies of men are exhausted, and depleted, and such a quest – we shall not return. Can we really lead an army forth in good conscience, knowing full well that none may return? We speak of peoples; lives, not of riches or weapons."

"Aye," said Éomer grimly. "I fear if Rohan rides on Mordor, our country will not survive it. Already we have been away too long. But we will ride nonetheless, if that is the only way to give hope to the world. If this is the path you will choose, Aragorn, then Rohan is with you."

Aragorn nodded. He looked at Boromir, and then to Gandalf.

"Can you think of any other way?" the Ranger asked.

The wizard shook his head slowly. "No. The thought had passed through my mind, too, and I have not been able to think of a single better solution. I believe… well, I believe it is the only way."

Aragorn looked back at Boromir. The younger man sighed, rubbing his jaw, and then he sighed, and gave a nod.

"We will have to be careful, and clever, to ensure that there are some men left to guard the city, to protect the women and children. If we fail, they will need a last defence." He paused, and then nodded slowly. "The boys – the soldiers that aren't yet sixteen years old, they should remain behind. Faramir could lead the city, but he is still weak, and after what happened last night – Well, he needs a pair of legs."

Imrahil stared at his nephew for a long moment, and then he turned his eyes to Aragorn, studying him for a long moment. Then, finally, he bowed his head to Aragorn. "If it is your wish, Lord, I will stay in Minas Tirith, and take command of the city until you return, or Faramir recovers his strength. I do not mind coming with you, but if both you and Boromir are to march out then someone must remain behind. Besides, if Boromir and Aragorn ride to war together, then I am sure Mordor will tremble."

"That would be a great comfort to me, if you stayed," said Aragorn. "We will gather as many men as can be found, as many as are willing to march, but we will take no one against their will."

"We will follow you," said Elrohir, putting his hand on his heart.

"Into the Black Land itself, if we get so far," added his twin, and Halbarad nodded.

"You are my kinsmen, Aragorn, and my king," he said. "I will follow you into this fight."

Gimli snorted. "Well, I'm certainly not about to let Men and elves have all the fun."

"I feel it goes without saying that I plan on following you," added Legolas.

"And I'm coming too," said Pippin, and once again all eyes fell upon him. This time, he did not look down, or away. Instead, he jutted his chin up and drew back his shoulders, and took a deep breath. "I know you all think that I shouldn't, that I should stay here, but I can't. I won't. Merry showed me the letter from Auntie Esme. I know that the war has reached the Shire, and that it's probably reached Erebor too by now. I can't fight there, on either front. I can't protect my family in the Shire, or in the Mountain, but I can still fight. I can fight here. And I have to."

The men all stared at Pippin with grief and fear carved into their faces, and Legolas was staring as though he had never seen a hobbit before in his life, but Gimli understood.

"Are you certain?" he asked in Khuzdul, and Pippin nodded.

"Yes. I am certain."

"You do not have to do this, there will be no shame if you do not," pressed Gimli gently. "I will not stop you, if it is what you truly wish to do, but if you think it's what you should do, that is different."

"I want to fight," said Pippin, and then he said it again in the common tongue. "I want to fight. I – I have to."

"Alright then," said Gimli, around the lump in his throat. "Good to know that I'm completely doomed." Pippin frowned, but Gimli grinned. "What? Even if by some mad twist of fate we survive this thing, Fíli will skin me alive for letting you march off to war, Peregrin Took."

Pippin gave a small smile, and bowed his head slightly. Gimli caught sight of Gandalf staring at them, a sad smile on his face, and then the wizard sighed.

"So be it. If we are to be of any help to Frodo, we must march before noon tomorrow, I fear. Every hour that we waste hastens Mordor's victory."

"Then there is no time to lose," said Aragorn. "Gandalf, Halbarad, see what you can do about gathering provisions, supplies. Legolas, Gimli, seek out the armoury, see what can be repaired and fortified. Elladan, Elrohir, you too. Eómer, ready your men, and if you can, see what you can do about horses for the rest of us."

"The Rohirrim can be ready in an hour," said Eómer. "Where shall we find more horses?"

"Most of the homesteads in the Pelennor Fields have been razed," said Imrahil, "and many more outside the mountains, too. We have stables in the city, but scarce more than a hundred horses, it will not be enough."

"Not for the whole army to ride," agreed Aragorn, "But the more horses we have, the less the men will have to carry, and the faster we will travel."

"I will send out riders to every village and homestead we can reach," swore Eómer. "If there are horses to be found, we shall find them."

Aragorn bowed his head. "Thank you. Imrahil, I would have you take charge of the guard, of those who will remain in the city. Find the young boys bearing arms and ready them to protect the city. If he is willing, Boromir and I shall rally the troops, and gather all who would dare to fight. Any who wish to remain behind, we will send to you, with your leave."

Imrahil bowed his head. "As you wish. I'm sure that you will find few cowards here, my lord."

"I am sure I will find next to none," said Aragorn. "But I may find farm boys who have seen more blood than they can take, or grocers who have already given all the strength that they have to their kingdom, or soldiers who have watched too many comrades die."

"Very true, Aragorn," said Gandalf, rising from his chair. "Let us go now – time is wasting, I fear."

"Wait! What do you want me to do?" asked Pippin anxiously, and Aragorn smiled at him.

"Rest, Pippin. Do not fear, we will not leave you behind. Not if this is the path on which you are set. But you suffered last night – you are wounded. So rest, just for today." Sorrow bled into Aragorn's eyes, and he sighed. "Tell Merry what is happening, and watch over him. I do not think he will want you out of his sight today."

Pippin bowed his head, but he nodded, and hopped down from his chair. Gimli followed, and looked up at the three elves. "I'll meet you in the armoury."

Legolas nodded, and the twins bowed, and Gimli and Pippin returned to Merry.

The older hobbit said nothing as Pippin relayed the meeting. He just watched and waited, with a grim, grave look in his eyes. When Pippin declared his intention to fight, Merry's jaw tightened and his fists clenched, but he did not move otherwise, and he did not speak. He just waited, staring at his cousin until Pippin finished talking. Then, and only then, did Merry swallow, and whisper, "Are you sure?"

Pippin nodded, tears in his eyes, and Merry bowed his head.

"Alright then," he murmured. "I – I can't come with you, Pip."

"I know."

"I can't look after you."

"I know."

"Come – come back?" Merry pleaded, looking back up at Pippin's face with eyes that swam with tears. "Afterwards. Please come back."

"I'll try," promise Pippin, his voice a breathless whisper, and Gimli felt a lump in his throat.

"Of course he'll come back," he scoffed, sounding much more certain than he felt. "He's a Took – he's got Bullroarer's blood in his veins."

Pippin smiled weakly and Merry gave a ghostly laugh, and Gimli grinned, pretending that his heart was not about to give out in his chest.

"Right, I'd better go and make sure the elves don't dull all the swords in the city. I'll be back later, lads."

The two hobbits nodded, and Pippin jumped up onto the bed beside Merry. The last thing Gimli saw when he looked over his shoulder was his two cousins curled together, nestling into each other's arms with bruised, blackened throats, and the weight of doom on their shoulders.

I hope you enjoyed that chapter! The next one should hopefully be up fairly soon, but I can't guarantee that circumstance won't conspire against me again. Please do let me know what you thought of this chapter if you have the time, and until next time, take care!