Sorry for the delay. 3-day weekend = lazy

As ever, everything recognizable and a few things un don't belong to me

I woke up feeling tired. The sight of Jim's eyes, fixed and staring like he was dead, had haunted my dreams, leaving my sleep thin and restless. I had never seen a dead person before, but that was exactly how I imagined they'd look. It had shaken me to my core, and I knew I never wanted to see something like that ever again. I barely heard Frodo discussing plans with Strider – I was too busy watching Jim. I was really worried about him – I never wanted to see that look on his face ever again. I think Merry and Sam knew; Merry kept shooting me looks and Sam shoveled small tasks into my arms. I could tell they were worried about me, and I appreciated it.

It looked like Frodo and Strider were finshing up with their little conference – with Barliman, I noted absently, wondering when he had come in. I must have been too distracted to notice. Wait, they were calling Jim over. I trotted up to them as well, even though I hadn't been called. "Jim, we will be busy making final arrangements here. As you no doubt overheard, there is only one beast of burden for sale in the entire town. A fellow by the name of Bill Ferny is selling his pony. Can you go acquire it, please?" Strider asked absently, his mind clearly elsewhere. Jim just nodded, apparently recognizing that he probably wouldn't get any more information. "I'm going too," I said. Jim just looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "You don't know the way to Ferny's stable. And what if...you know...happens again? You'll need someone else there." He frowned, face instantly clouding over. "I don't need any help. Especially not from someone who can't even keep his mind on his own work, let alone someone else's!" he growled, almost literally. I turned a brilliant red and dropped my gaze. He had noticed my distraction this morning. Oddly, it was Sam who came to my rescue "Now see here! Pippin's right, Mister Jim! You don't know the way and you can't go on your own. I don't want to hear no more about it, you understand?" he said, planting his fists on his hips and glaring at Jim. Jim looked ready to object, but something about Sam's stance must have told him it would do no good. Sighing, he nodded and turned to the door, motioning me to follow. I nodded my thanks to Sam, and walked after him quickly.

I swore under my breath sentinel-quietly. Somehow, Pippin had attached himself to me and what was worse was that his little friends seemed to be going along with it. I didn't mind him personally – he seemed bouncy and cheerful, if a bit of an airhead – but he was acting like he was my partner, my guide, and it was rubbing me raw. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally detected the unmistakable scent of stable with my damped-down senses. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner we could get this show on the road and the sooner I would find my real guide.

As we drew even with the stable a greasy-looking individual oozed out, all smiles and subservience. I was instantly on guard; this guy reminded me of a used-car salesman. All help, no hassle, just ask to see your "deal" before you handed over your money. I frowned as a slight headache decided to manifest itself; where did that come from? I wondered. Not getting any satisfactory answers from within or without, I returned my attention to Ferny. "I want to see the pony," I stated firmly, cutting off his no-doubt well-rehearsed spiel about the strength and worth of the beast. He started to puff up indignantly "Sir! Do you doubt my word?" I just glared at him, steadily. Deflating with a sigh, he lead the way into the stable. Walking close behind him, I saw my instincts had been right on the money; even the relative darkness of the interior of the stable failed to hide the sharp angles, swayed back, and scars that decorated the pony from nose to tail.

"How much did you say you wanted for it?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice as even as possible. Apparently I hadn't quite managed to pull it off, though, because some note in my voice had Ferny flinching and clearing his throat. "T-twelve silver pennies, noble sir. I'm sure someone of your means wouldn't miss such a paltry sum." I don't know when Pippin had followed us into the stable, but I didn't need his outraged gasp and furious tugging on my sleeve to know that Ferny was asking an absurd price for his glue factory reject. I brushed Pippin off and waved him quiet, then fixed Ferny with my iciest glare. "Five pennies," I said, speaking slowly both to ensure that he heard me clearly and to keep myself from beating the living shit out him. This pony had been abused for a long time, if I was any judge. "Five pennies, and you throw in the tack too."

He puffed up again, his survival instincts taking a backseat to his injured greed and outrage over my terms. "Five pennies! That is outright robbery! You can take your five pennies, sirrah, and-" he got no further as my hand closed over his mouth and lower jaw and slammed him against the wall. I got right in close to his face and said in a low snarl "You will accept my price. You will throw in the tack. You will not say another word where I can hear you or I will break your jaw and make you swallow all your teeth. Nod if you understand." My lack of sleep last night had done nothing for my mood, it seemed, and I was damned if I was going to let some two-bit hustler slow us down any more than I had to. He nodded frantically – as much as my hand would let him anyway. I released and wiped my hand on my pants with a grimace. "Pay the man," I ordered Pippin curtly as I pulled obviously well-worn tack from its place on the wall and fitted it to the pony as best I could before leading it away without another look at Ferny.

Con men like him grated my nerves, and I somehow felt that a run-in with the local PD over assaulting someone, even someone as obviously sleazy as Ferny, would slow us down considerably. Pippin caught up a short distance down the street, bouncing like a kid at his first basketball game. "That was amazing! I heard Bill Ferny drives a hard bargain, but you taught him a lesson right enough!" Inwardly, I smiled at the praise, but I knew if I showed any hint that I was pleased I'd never be able to get rid of him.

"How old are you?" I asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from me. He stopped bouncing and blinked, apparently nonplussed. "I'm 31(?)," he stated proudly. I stopped and stared at him."What is it?" he asked, confusion evident in his voice. "You expect me to believe you're 31?" I asked, looking at him askance. He looked hurt. "I really am! Though Merry says he doesn't believe me sometimes, when he says I'm acting foolishly." I looked at him steadily, and a dull flush suffused his cheeks. "You don't believe me either, do you." It wasn't really a question, and he looked like a puppy that had just been kicked as he said it. I cursed myself even as I softened; I could never resist that look. "Only when you don't act your age," I told him gently as I began walking towards the inn – I had been told it was called "The Prancing Pony" - that we had been staying at and he hurried to catch up.

We walked in silence for a little while, but I am not the most patient person in the world. When I caught Pippin staring at me again for the third time in as many minutes, I couldn't take it any more. "Pippin, why are you staring at me?" I demanded, fed up with the constant sideways glances and furtive looks. He twitched and flushed, but answered me clearly. "I'm trying to forget the way you looked last night," he tried to say steadily, but I could hear the tremor in his voice. I stopped and stared at him again. What about last night – ah. Of course. The zone-out. He seemed to struggle briefly with himself before the dam burst. "It was horrible! You looked like you'd died. I'd never seen a dead person before, but you looked just like I'd imagined a dead person would. And there wasn't a mark on you! Not a drop of blood anywhere. And your eyes – they were staring. You were looking at something I couldn't see, and it sucked the light out of your eyes. It just faded away until you looked like you had glass beads instead of eyes." He shuddered and closed his eyes, before opening them again and looking me guilelessly "It might be selfish, but I don't want to see that. Not ever again." I saw no subterfuge in his eyes, no hint of ulterior motives, and I felt the last of my annoyance slip away. I'd never seen myself when I zoned, but I'd heard similar reactions from people who had had the dubious pleasure of trying to wake me up.

"It's called a zone," I said softly, and he looked confused. "It's called a zone," I said a little louder "It happens when I focus too much on one thing." He nodded seriously. I started walking, debating with myself whether or not I should ask him to sub for my guide. On the one side, anyone who wasn't my guide and who tried to fill in his shoes had only met with very limited success. On the other, I seemed to be trapped in fantasyland ala Stephen King and it seemed to be a very dangerous place to zone out, even for a little while. I sighed and stopped again. Pippin looked at me curiously, but before he could say anything I held up a hand. "You say you don't want me to zone out again?" I asked carefully. He nodded so vigorously I thought his head might fall off. "Easy there. Well, I usually have a partner with me – he distracts me so I don't get too focused on one sense and lose touch with the rest of the world. We ended up separated, somehow, and I have no idea where he is. Until I find him, I need someone to help me out. It's relatively easy for you; just talk to me whenever I'm using my senses, and keep one hand on me as much as possible. It keeps me grounded, see, and "keeps that look out of my eyes," as you put it. What do you say?" He smiled with relief and said "Anything." He slipped his hand into mine, and I marveled at the feel of it - it was so small, like a child's hand. A surge of protectiveness welled up in me, and I silently vowed to keep him as safe as I would my true guide for as long as he needed me to.

"Though you might regret asking me to talk to you later. Merry says I run at the mouth, but I keep telling him that I'm only trying to pass on as much wisdom as I can..." I tune out his words and listen to his voice while simultaneously breathing in his scent, feeling the texture of his skin, and looking at him closely with my eyes. He isn't my guide – but he'll just have to do. I ached deep inside when I thought of my guide, a pang of loneliness assaulting me from the same area as the ache centered itself. Where are you? I called out along the unseen bond I could feel with my guide. I didn't receive an answer, and I felt so alone.

(?) I think Pippin is 31. If I'm wrong, tell me so and I'll be more than happy to fix it