Reminder:: This is under copyright. Nothing of mine is under said copyright.

Took a bit longer than I would have liked. x_x

But I hope this comes as a happy surprise to you! I hope to get to chapter thirty-eight. This week. Delightful!

Following by the direct dating system found in Appendix B, today is the day that Minas Tirith is besieged and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields commences. The Ides of March! Exciting, right? Celebrate by chopping off the head of your nearest fell beast. It's not recommended that you light yourself on fire and cast yourself off the gable of your home. Not cool. Pun intended.

Well, enough of that! This is the first of my sporadic updating sequence. I'll have to tell you now that I adore Billy Boyd and much of the Pippin I write is designed with him in mind. So he gets to keep a few things that are not canon to the book. Hope you enjoy. =3

Chapter Thirty-Five :: Waiting

I'm such a fool.

The fields below were too quiet. Muscles tensed; nearly everyone in the city was waiting. Waiting on the brink. Our eyes were moist and our hearts were heavy. The hope Faramir had brought was leaving with him.

And I ran away.

How stupid could I possibly be? I let my girlish timidity frighten me away. Hell, the gesture was nothing short of kind and comforting – it wasn't like he was desperately in love with me or something.

But I was.

And I had ruined the last moment I would have with him. Possibly forever. The council met as promised this morning, but before a soul stepped into the room, they knew where Faramir was going. And it wasn't to the wall. He was going to the garrisons. The Lord Denethor was adamant – he didn't stand a chance.

I let my arms fall from my chin and leaned on my elbows on the cold sill. Of course, I wasn't allowed anywhere below the courtyard, but I had managed to find a servant's stair that got me a level lower. If I was caught I'd be thrown into the miserable White Hall until the orcs came for me and killed me there.

This war wasn't something to be won. It was a display. It was a show of how well you could gracefully die. Where would you be? Who would be the last person you were to see? What would you be doing? Would you die the death of a hero saving his men? Would you die the death of a coward trying to flee the horror? Would you be cheated and die without a second thought, without a last word; struck by a stray arrow that missed its target? Would you die the death of a poet and if there were but minstrels still around to sing your song, it would be sung throughout the centuries for its valor, simplicity, and honor? Would you die alone?

My fate was increasingly looking like the latter. Unless Denethor somehow magically wanted me around. Seemed logical enough. If I looked so much like his wife, maybe he would want to see me and pretend I was she before he closed his eyes. I doubted that we would get that sort of luxury though. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach turned as I thought of a poisoned orc blade gutting me, plunging through my innards in hot misery. God, I'm morbid for a little girl.

That's all I really was though. I thought, looking down at Faramir. Mithrandir was with him. Still trying to convince him to do otherwise. Really, though, Denethor had made a convincing debate. Even the Prince agreed that the defenses were weak. Though he hadn't suggested throwing Faramir into the tide of them.

Mithrandir was kind, but his words went unheeded. Faramir was busy rallying as many men as could be spared to depart. He would leave within the hour.

Faramir straddled his horse and looked back at the walls of the upper city before making his way to the Gate. His eyes scanned the walls for a moment – I half-expected him to see me – but the moment did not last and he turned away.

Ironically, the days were starting to pass quickly. Faster than as of late anyways. It had already been a day since Faramir left across the Pelennor. It's like time sped up once we wanted it to slow and vice versa. Rumors of Rohan dwindled with every hour. The chance they would come to rescue us was too slim to count on.

There was a positive side though – maybe they could survive. They could escape somehow. Gondor would dutifully stand against the wrath of Mordor as it always had and give Rohan, the last free men of Middle-Earth, time to escape to live another day, another lifetime.

Still, rather doubtful. Mordor's power would have grown enough by then after swallowing Gondor to track down the people of Rohan and devour them as well.

I felt so numb. Numb to everything in the world. Someone could have punched me in the face and I would have shrugged. To hell with it all. Let's get this over with.

And then Denethor had the hobbit sing.

Peregrin was a bundle of nerves. He wasn't accustomed to living in such a terrible atmosphere on rationed food. The food was new, but the atmosphere was stale in my memory. I was one of the many long faces to add to the list of despair in the city. Mithrandir was the only one who seemed to want to get anything done. Without the Prince of Dol Amroth's persuasion, the soldiers would have given up and ignored the wizard long ago. I was glad they were both here.

Poor Peregrin shouldn't have been forced into such a silly request. But he stood his ground as the Steward took his dinner. And I stood facing one of the many statues of long forgotten kings.

"Home is behind…" He began in a small, timid voice. "The world ahead… And there are many paths to tread."

I turned to face him. Peregrin's young voice rose in both clarity and strength. "Through shadow. To the edge of night. Until the stars are all alight…"

The Lord Denethor paid him little heed.

"Mist and shadow… Cloud and shade…"

Tears sprung to my eyes.

"All shall fade…"

Death of the City. Death of Men.

"All shall…"

Death of us all.

"Fade."

The ephemeral hymn ceased as abruptly as it had started. I wanted to say so many things. 'That was beautiful!' 'Sing it again.' 'You're very talented.' But instead I found my feet carrying me towards the door. I was starting to blubber and I wasn't about to lose it in front of a couple of the strongest men I had ever met.

I shut the great doors behind me without the help of the servants who were still positioned there, idly lost by the song. I held my hands to my face to control my breathing. My face was hot and wet. I hated crying. It was so messy.

Taking a deep breath, I wiped my hands on my skirt and took a few paces forward down the steps. I nearly crashed headlong into a bustling messenger.

Feeling more impulsive than I had in days, I took him by the arm before he could escape me. "What news has come for the White Tower?"

He looked me up and down, unsure who I was or why I should be asking him such questions. But this was war and time was short. He would satisfy my request. "The Enemy has taken the passage of Anduin. Captain Faramir is retreating for the walls of Pelennor, ten times outnumbered."

I let his arm go, feeling the dread rising up in me. The man nodded at my reaction and stormed through the doors to offer a more detailed message to his lord. Of course, I was expecting this, but I still didn't want to believe it. Faramir really did have no chance…

I was walking to the wall before I knew quite where my feet were carrying me. My legs just pressed against the stone and I knew to stop.

Rapid steps were coming up the stairs that led to the courtyard. I didn't pay any attention to them until I heard the signature rap, rap, rap that went along in time with the boots.

Swiftly turning around, I watched as Mithrandir appeared at the entrance. He caught sight of me almost immediately and his scowl of duty became a soft, tired smile.

"Good morning." He greeted pleasantly.

"Hardly." I returned. I caught myself though before he could get away this time – he was a busy man – er, wizard – after all. It wasn't an opportunity I could throw away. "Wa-wait. Please. I… want to talk to you."

The old wizard sighed, but not rudely. It was more approving if anything. "Yes." He nodded slowly. "These times are dark, and I have been putting this off long enough."

Didn't know I was on the To-Do List.

I just nodded, pretending to understand. I automatically followed Mithrandir to the center of the courtyard where four soldiers stood just out of earshot, backs facing the dead tree.

"The White Tree of Gondor. The Third in fact."

I looked up at the dead plant with curiosity. "The third? Did they all die then?"

"Don't be so quick to assume there are no others." The wizard smiled. "There is hope yet for this city."

The mini motivation was nice and all, but I was feeling antsy. The last time we had a little chat, he was more vague than I would have liked. I mean… What was this Messiah nonsense Peregrin was talking about? It all seemed a bit far-fetched to me…

"You must be feeling some sort of confusion about the 'Messiah' theory." He said, reading my mind. He saw how startled I was and smiled. "Peregrin Took told me he let some things slip. But Young Pippin didn't harm anyone with his carelessness. Not this time."

"Pippin? Is that his nick name?"

Mithrandir was amused. "So many questions you may ask and you choose that one?"

I shrugged. "He interests me."

"Then yes, that is his 'nick name.'"

"I'm afraid I'm going to ask more questions than that."

"Always a problem with the young. Very well."

I smiled. "I suppose I'll ask the most obvious: why are you here?"

"Was not the most obvious to me."

"I heard the stories." I ignored his comment. "Did your fellowship break at the death of Boromir?"

Mithrandir looked sad. I felt bad for asking. "The Fellowship failed… before the death of the Lord Boromir."

"I'm sorry." I apologized almost icily. I had enough things to be sad about – if I would dwell on things out of my control any longer, my face would implode. Or I would be a wreck, rocking on the floor at Denethor's feet crying over everything. I was sick of being pathetic.

"My turn to ask a question." He volunteered. I patiently waited, deeming it fair. "How did you come by the blue wizards?"

Without holding anything back, I told Mithrandir then under the dead tree of all my adventures in the East. It wasn't hard to keep talking after my spiel and I had soon described for him (in probably excessive detail) of my home in Rohan with Beleg and Linius and Huan and Alatar. I finally stopped as my story reached Denethor and my resemblance to Finduilas. If I went further, I'd be too easy to read and I hated vulnerability just as much as I hated being useless and weak. Besides, my life in Gondor would not interest him. We were on a time crunch after all.

After mulling my story over, taking his time like chewing on a piece of hard candy, Mithrandir finally passed a hand over his staff and switched his balance to his other foot. "That clears things up, if only a bit. I haven't spoken with them in a lifetime…"

He was obviously referring to the blue wizards and I was half-worried that he had stopped listening to me and was stuck on that point. I certainly wasn't going to repeat myself. God, that was nearly half an hour ago!

But Mithrandir banished my fears. He nodded again. "Already, you have seen so much war."

"And I'm just a child." I finished his thought. Everyone's thought. My thought.

"I wouldn't say that." He said. "You have grown in your travels; you have given yourself over to the Steward. That is more than the wild child of Rohan would do."

I smiled slightly at the allusion, trying to agree with him. I suppose I had become more of a 'lady' since those days. Ironic that my name wasn't Lady anymore.

"At first, I was quite surprised, I do admit. The Messiah I have heard so much about is a woman."

I fidgeted. It was an uncomfortable term. Messiah. I could remember the connotation and I had a vague inkling that I knew a different Messiah in a different lifetime. With a candlelight mass and something called Christmas…

"I first heard tell of these 'prophets,' as they call themselves, in Edoras." Mithrandir continued, understanding my silence. All I could do was listen; there really wasn't anything to say. "Men from the East who speak of the one who fell from the sky. Daughter of Eru?"

"Who is Eru? I'm sorry – was that a dumb question?" I asked meekly. "I hear people say his name sometimes, but I never really understood…"

"I do not have an answer." Mithrandir answered simply enough. Guess it was taboo. Or he really didn't know. Probably a mixture of both.

"Alright then – what are they expecting of me? This 'Messiah?' Do I have to do something?"

"You don't have to do anything at all. Life's full of choices."

I was annoyed how he danced around subjects and spoke in riddles, but his council was precious to me. There was no one I could really talk to. I haven't held a decent conversation since I last saw Ioreth. I missed her so terribly…

"But… what are they saying about me? I'm sorry; I sound so selfish."

"You've a right to ask and know though you apologize too much." Mithrandir said. "If you so wish to know, the Easterlings tell of the 'Child of Eru' who was sent by Ilúvatar himself to destroy the Dark Lord Sauron and rid the peoples of Middle-Earth of his great shadow."

"Sounds melodramatic." I commented.

"Prophecies often are."

"But they can't honestly believe that." I said, almost laughing. "That's so ludicrous!"

"Oh, I would not be so quick to say so. The world works in mysterious ways. Besides, you have a few thousand followers going on pilgrimages to the spot you said you were – what did you say? – spot you awoke?"

"Pilgrimages? What, are they mad?"

"Certainly not. They are clinging to the only hope given them. Do not be so quick to judge the men of the East. They have lived under the reign of Mordor far longer than any other. Their women are captured, their men trained in war or slaughtered, and their children taken to the Black Land to worship the Eye. Inadvertently, 'Child of Eru,' you gave these wasted people a hope they could believe. You are a tangible being. You actually exist. That's more than can be said for the countless unseen gods they are forced to pray to."

I felt a strange mixture of pity and in all honesty flattery. For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely special. I could close my eyes and see a dozen faces similar to mine, standing all in a row. They were people I felt attached to but I could not put a name or a sound to their faces. They came only in my wildest dreams or in my most vivid nightmares, melting away or lost to the screeches of metal. They were so detailed! They haunted me and I knew them. I had to. They were a part of me. But the blond heads had more in common than this unspoken kinship – we all looked alike. I was one of a matching set. Bizarre that it took an alternate life and a group of religious fanatics to worship me for me to finally feel like an individual.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the thoughts. What did this mean? "I can't. I can't be a Messiah. Let them worship the symbol – not me. I haven't done a single useful thing in my life."

"Perhaps your time has not come." I looked to Mithrandir. He winked. "Yet."

I grinned doubtfully but hoped he was right all the same. "One last question. I promise."

"Never make promises you cannot keep."

"Master of Riddles…" I dubbed him, shaking my head. "How do you know Mordor is looking for me?"

"I will not count that. You can answer that yourself. Have you not felt the grip of shadow in your heart?"

More like on my heart. It was such a physical thing. He was perfectly right. All those times I had looked East or thrown myself down in despair – could that have really been more than me being an angst-y teenage girl? Well, it was always a bit extreme. And I couldn't deny the voice that called to me sometimes… or my strange sleep-walking. Alright, question answered.

"Why do they want me?" I asked in barely a whisper, looking over my shoulder at the East like the voice would tell me itself.

"I cannot answer that question either." Mithrandir said. "But the prophets you so adamantly disbelieve say that they wish to corrupt the Messiah, withering all attempts at defiance. A godly gift seems like quite a threat, wouldn't you agree?"

"But he's not afraid of anything." I stated, suddenly referring to Sauron like I knew him on a personal level.

"That is not true. He is always afraid – of many things." He corrected. "He fears for his lost Ring, the trinket that could prove his ruin or his triumph. He fears for this strange 'Messiah' that his faithful slaves whisper will come to destroy him – Eru is not taken lightly by anyone, young Finwen." It was the first time he called me by name, distracting me from asking about the ring. Ring? What ring? "And he fears the heir of Isildur. For the return of the King."

"Will he return, Mithrandir? Truly?" I asked softly, still keeping my eyes Eastward.

"I'm afraid you ran out of questions." He teased lightly. "And we have both run out of time. Come – there is much to be done. And I would rather not have you out of my sight for too long. Though I'm sure the Steward Denethor keeps a relatively close eye on you, I am not in the mood to fancy his opinion."