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gilascaveComments, critiques, canonical factoid corrections all welcome! (Though I will just say - yes, the typos. I see them.) ;-)
Everyone else was sleeping. Pippin could tell, by the way Merry was lying so still, and the way Sam and Frodo were breathing slowly and regularly. He did not know about the ranger, but guessed he was as asleep as he would get, sitting at the window and keeping guard over Frodo. Pippin could not sleep, and he wished he could get up and move around a bit.
He dared not move, crammed into the bed with the other three hobbits as he was. He was sure he wouldn't wake Merry, though he might feel Pippin stirring and reach out for him. Merry was a cuddler of the highest order, and Pippin was somewhat surprised he didn't have his cousin's arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, now.
But Sam and Frodo he wasn't certain about, and, more, he was certain the Ranger *would* awaken if Pippin were to get up. He was likely even to tell Pippin not to leave the room.
He couldn't even claim he needed to go out to use the toilet, for the inn had chamber pots in every room, and there were some things a person couldn't fake.
He lay curled up on his side, as he'd been before the ringwraiths had struck. Before, he'd been easily able to fall asleep in the comfortable bed with his friends nearby.
Now he realized he had no idea what he had fallen into, and it frightened him.
It frightened him more than he wasn't certain the others felt the same -- Frodo was frightened, and Sam and Merry obviously worried over him. But Pippin was fairly certain that they were determined, despite it.
Pippin, however, was fully convinced he wanted to go home.
The Nazgul wouldn't follow him, or so he gathered from the explanations he'd overheard. They were after the ring Frodo carried, and after a hobbit named Baggins. They wouldn't even notice Pippin, heading back down the road to the Shire. Back home.
He knew he couldn't. Not because of the fear, or even despite it. He couldn't leave because he knew it would be wrong to abandon his friends to this...whatever it was they were doing. If he got home and was asked where he had gone, what he'd done, he would have been too shamed to say a word.
But he had no idea what he was doing. He'd never heard of magical rings with the power to destroy the world. never heard of Nazgul, barely heard of Rangers themselves. His world had always ever been about the Shire, and knowledge without its borders had been for principles' sake and the sake of his inheritance.
Someday he'd be expected to know many more things about the outside world, and be prepared one day to deal with them. BUt not yet. HIs father hadn't planned to tell him of those things for years yet to come. His studies so far had been about the Shire, its people and its history and enough stories about the Kings to let Pippin understand.
He was going to learn ever more than he'd wanted, or dreamed, he knew now.
No one had warned him that learning about the world would be so frightening.
Pippin pulled the edge of the blanket closer, wrapping the corner around his fist as though to snuggle it. The room was darker than he could ever remember any room being; at home there was always a candle or lamp burning in the hallways, and out of doors the darkness was broken by stars.
He wished someone had left a candle burning, or that the fire's coals could be stirred. A soft red glow of a dying fire would make the room seem safe.
There was one thing he was grateful for, that despite how long Pippin feared he would lie awake staring into the darkness unable to sleep, made all of this seem bearable.
That thing was Merry, pressed up against his back -- familiar and comforting as it ever was, it gave Pippin one thing to hold on to in a night full of confusion and doubt. He wanted, suddenly, that Merry *were* cuddling him, holding him tightly until Pippin had no choice but to fall asleep.
He held himself desperately still, wondering if he dared move enough to stir Merry. Not to wake him, but to trigger that instinctive response. It always worked in the mornings, when Pippin had slept abed with him, and wanted to tiptoe out to find early breakfast. But somehow he was too frightened to even risk that much.
The slightest movement might wake any of them, and Pippin simply wanted to be *asleep*. Unaware of the things like Nazgul and rings and evil, he wanted to close his eyes and be back in the Shire, sleeping in a bed filled with friends because they'd stayed too late at someone's home and the walk back home would be done tomorrow.
He tried to close his eyes, but the darkness didn't change. He opened them again, and turned his gaze towards the blanket. Where the blanket should be, if he could have seen any of it. He rubbed his fingers on the cloth, the only thing he dared move that would not jostle the bed. He knew, if he whispered, woke Merry up and asked, he would get what he wanted.
But as afraid as he was, he feared being a coward more. Being seen as a coward -- surrounded by adults who had fallen asleep as soon as the immediate danger had passed.
Without thinking any more of it, he shifted. As if courage could only come when he did not mean to be, he moved as slightly as he could, creeping backwards to press himself against Merry.
There was a heartbeat when nothing changed. No noise from any of the others, no indication anyone had woken.
No indication Merry had noticed, even unconsciously. Pippin felt his moment of courage fleeing, and was prepared to resign himself to a night of sleeplessness and fear.
Then he felt Merry move, and an arm came over, and he was pulled back against his best friend's chest. Merry buried his face against the back of Pippin's neck, and Pippin let go of the blanket edge and took Merry's hand.
He closed his eyes, and smiled, and soon enough, let himself drift away to sleep.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Sam glanced at the path ahead of him. Frodo was up rather a ways, walking just a few paces behind Strider. Strider himself was moving briskly, despite the pull of muck on his boots. Sam didn't think he would move so fast as to leave the hobbits behind, even if he could have moved faster.
It was a good thing he felt that way, because to look at them one might think they'd be lagging behind by mid-afternoon. Merry and Pippin especially looked like they'd not counted on such a long hike -- though Sam knew it was uncharitable to think so, as none of them had counted on heading out from Bree for anywhere but home.
It was only a few days' walk to Rivendell, according to Strider, and any discomfort they'd feel along the way would surely be erased by seeing the elves' city. Sam thought so, at any rate, and even if Merry and Pippin didn't agree, Sam wasn't of a mind to worry about it.
He thought perhaps he ought to be -- but neither Merry nor Pippin had done or said anything to indicate they expected of Sam what they had right to.
Worrying about whether or not he ought to worry about it, was keeping Sam nicely distracted as they hiked. Slugged, rather, as the mud kept getting thicker. Sam thought perhaps he understood the need for boots, occasionally, as he felt his toes squelch in the mud.
The other hobbits seemed to be doing no better. He watched as Pippin stepped sideways, flailing out quickly to grab onto Merry. Merry caught his arm and steadied him for a moment, ducking his head closer to say something. His words didn't carry, and just as quickly as they'd come together, they parted. Merry let Pippin go with a light slap on the shoulder, and Pippin kept walking, a bit more slowly, but a bit more steadily.
Ahead of them, Strider seemed to have found firmer ground, and was moving more quickly towards a line of trees. Sam was relieved, for his legs were going to be sore tonight as it was, with the walking so difficult. He could see that Frodo had discovered the dryer ground, as he picked up his pace and hurried after Strider.
"There, Bill," Sam said quietly. "THat'll make the walk easier." HE glanced down at the mud-splattered hooves. "Not that you seem to mind much."
Bill shook his head, a bit, as if he heard and understood. Sam just smiled, and patted Bill's neck. Frodo had reached the firm ground now, and his pace was much faster -- gaining easily on the ranger, and leaving the rest of the party behind. Merry seemed to be trying to move faster, but the mud was against him. The faster he moved, the more it pulled, until finally he gave up and just continued slogging.
When he reached the dryer ground he stopped, and looked back at Pippin. The younger hobbit seemed disheartened, not even trying to catch up. Sam urged Bill on, intending to catch up to him.
But Merry was still standing at the edge of the worst of the mud, and SAm heard him say, "You never had this much trouble with mud at the pond."
Pippin paused for a moment, and Sam could imagine the expression on his face. "That was because you pushed me," he said clearly.
Merry nodded, and Sam found himself wondering if they *would*. They hadn't time for getting into trouble -- surely even those two could see that?
He tried to hurry faster, to reach Pippin and offer him a hand, or the other side of Bill's bridle, before Merry could taunt him into flinging a handful of mud.
But Pippin was suddenly moving again, faster than he had all day. Stalking determinedly through the mud, directly towards Merry -- Sam groaned to himself. They were going to start messing around, arguing and wrestling and making an unholy mess of themselves. He hurried as much as he could; perhaps if he were to get between them somehow, he could stop them.
But Pippin surprised him. He walked up to Merry, who held out his hand to pull him free of the last footful of mud. Merry smiled, and slung and arm around Pippin's shoulder, then turned to Sam. "You coming all right?" he asked, in a tone of perfect solicitousness.
Sam almost didn't answer. Then he stammered, "Yes, I'm coming. Me and Bill's all right."
Merry nodded, and turned himself and Pippin back towards the path where Frodo and Strider had gone. He could hear Pippin saying something to Merry, but couldn't make out the words. His tone was cheerful, as was Merry's when he responded, and Sam realized they weren't going to get into trouble, after all.
Today.
Sam sighed. Why couldn't it have just been he and Frodo, making this trip? He felt uncharitable as soon as he thought it, and ducked his head down as though any of his companions could see his thoughts on his face. He liked Merry and Pippin well enough, and he hadn't any doubt their hearts were in the right place -- they were here to help Frodo, after all, and there was nothing to criticise about that. He was grateful for their company, in that respect -- he knew Mr. Frodo would be needing all the support he could get.
Little as Sam knew what this journey was going to bring, he did know that friendly companions were going to be for the better. Friendly, and trustworthy companions, Sam added to himself, with another glance up ahead, to where he could just see Strider through the trees. He had nothing to go by but the feeling in his gut, to judge the man that Strider was. That feeling told him he was honest, and able to guide them to Rivendell. But the feeling didn't tell him whether the ranger had a hidden agenda, or loyalties which would test him promise to do so.
Sam could only judge his own, in that respect. For that, he was the only one he trusted. Gandalf as well, he supposed, if the old wizard showed up again. But there was proof of his intentions as well. Sam couldn't think of what would delay the wizard, save something more important than helping Frodo carry the ring to safety.
That he had not shown in Bree, worried Sam a great deal. He knew it worried Mr. Frodo, and Strider, as well, but none of them seemed to have an answer for it, other than getting along to Bree ahead of the black riders.
Sam watched the others, now making their way more easily through the scant brush. Merry and Pippin he could not judge, beyond the fact that in all his years, he'd never known either to go back on his word. They'd never been tested like this, Sam knew -- none of them had ever had to do more than stand up in the face of bullies, or indignant relatives, or, once, years back, the shouting, red face of the Master of Brandybuck, blaming mischievous children for ruining his birthday speech.
Sam grinned as he remembered how Frodo and Merry had stood there, in front of Pippin, Fatty, and Doderic, denying any accusation that it had been more than an unlucky accident. But what they'd undertaken now, was much more serious. Sam had no idea if Frodo's cousins' loyalty would be tested enough to break, or not.
His own, he had no doubt of at all. He'd promised, himself, Gandalf, and his father, that he would stay with Frodo through it all.
He meant not to fail.
Everyone else was sleeping. Pippin could tell, by the way Merry was lying so still, and the way Sam and Frodo were breathing slowly and regularly. He did not know about the ranger, but guessed he was as asleep as he would get, sitting at the window and keeping guard over Frodo. Pippin could not sleep, and he wished he could get up and move around a bit.
He dared not move, crammed into the bed with the other three hobbits as he was. He was sure he wouldn't wake Merry, though he might feel Pippin stirring and reach out for him. Merry was a cuddler of the highest order, and Pippin was somewhat surprised he didn't have his cousin's arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, now.
But Sam and Frodo he wasn't certain about, and, more, he was certain the Ranger *would* awaken if Pippin were to get up. He was likely even to tell Pippin not to leave the room.
He couldn't even claim he needed to go out to use the toilet, for the inn had chamber pots in every room, and there were some things a person couldn't fake.
He lay curled up on his side, as he'd been before the ringwraiths had struck. Before, he'd been easily able to fall asleep in the comfortable bed with his friends nearby.
Now he realized he had no idea what he had fallen into, and it frightened him.
It frightened him more than he wasn't certain the others felt the same -- Frodo was frightened, and Sam and Merry obviously worried over him. But Pippin was fairly certain that they were determined, despite it.
Pippin, however, was fully convinced he wanted to go home.
The Nazgul wouldn't follow him, or so he gathered from the explanations he'd overheard. They were after the ring Frodo carried, and after a hobbit named Baggins. They wouldn't even notice Pippin, heading back down the road to the Shire. Back home.
He knew he couldn't. Not because of the fear, or even despite it. He couldn't leave because he knew it would be wrong to abandon his friends to this...whatever it was they were doing. If he got home and was asked where he had gone, what he'd done, he would have been too shamed to say a word.
But he had no idea what he was doing. He'd never heard of magical rings with the power to destroy the world. never heard of Nazgul, barely heard of Rangers themselves. His world had always ever been about the Shire, and knowledge without its borders had been for principles' sake and the sake of his inheritance.
Someday he'd be expected to know many more things about the outside world, and be prepared one day to deal with them. BUt not yet. HIs father hadn't planned to tell him of those things for years yet to come. His studies so far had been about the Shire, its people and its history and enough stories about the Kings to let Pippin understand.
He was going to learn ever more than he'd wanted, or dreamed, he knew now.
No one had warned him that learning about the world would be so frightening.
Pippin pulled the edge of the blanket closer, wrapping the corner around his fist as though to snuggle it. The room was darker than he could ever remember any room being; at home there was always a candle or lamp burning in the hallways, and out of doors the darkness was broken by stars.
He wished someone had left a candle burning, or that the fire's coals could be stirred. A soft red glow of a dying fire would make the room seem safe.
There was one thing he was grateful for, that despite how long Pippin feared he would lie awake staring into the darkness unable to sleep, made all of this seem bearable.
That thing was Merry, pressed up against his back -- familiar and comforting as it ever was, it gave Pippin one thing to hold on to in a night full of confusion and doubt. He wanted, suddenly, that Merry *were* cuddling him, holding him tightly until Pippin had no choice but to fall asleep.
He held himself desperately still, wondering if he dared move enough to stir Merry. Not to wake him, but to trigger that instinctive response. It always worked in the mornings, when Pippin had slept abed with him, and wanted to tiptoe out to find early breakfast. But somehow he was too frightened to even risk that much.
The slightest movement might wake any of them, and Pippin simply wanted to be *asleep*. Unaware of the things like Nazgul and rings and evil, he wanted to close his eyes and be back in the Shire, sleeping in a bed filled with friends because they'd stayed too late at someone's home and the walk back home would be done tomorrow.
He tried to close his eyes, but the darkness didn't change. He opened them again, and turned his gaze towards the blanket. Where the blanket should be, if he could have seen any of it. He rubbed his fingers on the cloth, the only thing he dared move that would not jostle the bed. He knew, if he whispered, woke Merry up and asked, he would get what he wanted.
But as afraid as he was, he feared being a coward more. Being seen as a coward -- surrounded by adults who had fallen asleep as soon as the immediate danger had passed.
Without thinking any more of it, he shifted. As if courage could only come when he did not mean to be, he moved as slightly as he could, creeping backwards to press himself against Merry.
There was a heartbeat when nothing changed. No noise from any of the others, no indication anyone had woken.
No indication Merry had noticed, even unconsciously. Pippin felt his moment of courage fleeing, and was prepared to resign himself to a night of sleeplessness and fear.
Then he felt Merry move, and an arm came over, and he was pulled back against his best friend's chest. Merry buried his face against the back of Pippin's neck, and Pippin let go of the blanket edge and took Merry's hand.
He closed his eyes, and smiled, and soon enough, let himself drift away to sleep.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Sam glanced at the path ahead of him. Frodo was up rather a ways, walking just a few paces behind Strider. Strider himself was moving briskly, despite the pull of muck on his boots. Sam didn't think he would move so fast as to leave the hobbits behind, even if he could have moved faster.
It was a good thing he felt that way, because to look at them one might think they'd be lagging behind by mid-afternoon. Merry and Pippin especially looked like they'd not counted on such a long hike -- though Sam knew it was uncharitable to think so, as none of them had counted on heading out from Bree for anywhere but home.
It was only a few days' walk to Rivendell, according to Strider, and any discomfort they'd feel along the way would surely be erased by seeing the elves' city. Sam thought so, at any rate, and even if Merry and Pippin didn't agree, Sam wasn't of a mind to worry about it.
He thought perhaps he ought to be -- but neither Merry nor Pippin had done or said anything to indicate they expected of Sam what they had right to.
Worrying about whether or not he ought to worry about it, was keeping Sam nicely distracted as they hiked. Slugged, rather, as the mud kept getting thicker. Sam thought perhaps he understood the need for boots, occasionally, as he felt his toes squelch in the mud.
The other hobbits seemed to be doing no better. He watched as Pippin stepped sideways, flailing out quickly to grab onto Merry. Merry caught his arm and steadied him for a moment, ducking his head closer to say something. His words didn't carry, and just as quickly as they'd come together, they parted. Merry let Pippin go with a light slap on the shoulder, and Pippin kept walking, a bit more slowly, but a bit more steadily.
Ahead of them, Strider seemed to have found firmer ground, and was moving more quickly towards a line of trees. Sam was relieved, for his legs were going to be sore tonight as it was, with the walking so difficult. He could see that Frodo had discovered the dryer ground, as he picked up his pace and hurried after Strider.
"There, Bill," Sam said quietly. "THat'll make the walk easier." HE glanced down at the mud-splattered hooves. "Not that you seem to mind much."
Bill shook his head, a bit, as if he heard and understood. Sam just smiled, and patted Bill's neck. Frodo had reached the firm ground now, and his pace was much faster -- gaining easily on the ranger, and leaving the rest of the party behind. Merry seemed to be trying to move faster, but the mud was against him. The faster he moved, the more it pulled, until finally he gave up and just continued slogging.
When he reached the dryer ground he stopped, and looked back at Pippin. The younger hobbit seemed disheartened, not even trying to catch up. Sam urged Bill on, intending to catch up to him.
But Merry was still standing at the edge of the worst of the mud, and SAm heard him say, "You never had this much trouble with mud at the pond."
Pippin paused for a moment, and Sam could imagine the expression on his face. "That was because you pushed me," he said clearly.
Merry nodded, and Sam found himself wondering if they *would*. They hadn't time for getting into trouble -- surely even those two could see that?
He tried to hurry faster, to reach Pippin and offer him a hand, or the other side of Bill's bridle, before Merry could taunt him into flinging a handful of mud.
But Pippin was suddenly moving again, faster than he had all day. Stalking determinedly through the mud, directly towards Merry -- Sam groaned to himself. They were going to start messing around, arguing and wrestling and making an unholy mess of themselves. He hurried as much as he could; perhaps if he were to get between them somehow, he could stop them.
But Pippin surprised him. He walked up to Merry, who held out his hand to pull him free of the last footful of mud. Merry smiled, and slung and arm around Pippin's shoulder, then turned to Sam. "You coming all right?" he asked, in a tone of perfect solicitousness.
Sam almost didn't answer. Then he stammered, "Yes, I'm coming. Me and Bill's all right."
Merry nodded, and turned himself and Pippin back towards the path where Frodo and Strider had gone. He could hear Pippin saying something to Merry, but couldn't make out the words. His tone was cheerful, as was Merry's when he responded, and Sam realized they weren't going to get into trouble, after all.
Today.
Sam sighed. Why couldn't it have just been he and Frodo, making this trip? He felt uncharitable as soon as he thought it, and ducked his head down as though any of his companions could see his thoughts on his face. He liked Merry and Pippin well enough, and he hadn't any doubt their hearts were in the right place -- they were here to help Frodo, after all, and there was nothing to criticise about that. He was grateful for their company, in that respect -- he knew Mr. Frodo would be needing all the support he could get.
Little as Sam knew what this journey was going to bring, he did know that friendly companions were going to be for the better. Friendly, and trustworthy companions, Sam added to himself, with another glance up ahead, to where he could just see Strider through the trees. He had nothing to go by but the feeling in his gut, to judge the man that Strider was. That feeling told him he was honest, and able to guide them to Rivendell. But the feeling didn't tell him whether the ranger had a hidden agenda, or loyalties which would test him promise to do so.
Sam could only judge his own, in that respect. For that, he was the only one he trusted. Gandalf as well, he supposed, if the old wizard showed up again. But there was proof of his intentions as well. Sam couldn't think of what would delay the wizard, save something more important than helping Frodo carry the ring to safety.
That he had not shown in Bree, worried Sam a great deal. He knew it worried Mr. Frodo, and Strider, as well, but none of them seemed to have an answer for it, other than getting along to Bree ahead of the black riders.
Sam watched the others, now making their way more easily through the scant brush. Merry and Pippin he could not judge, beyond the fact that in all his years, he'd never known either to go back on his word. They'd never been tested like this, Sam knew -- none of them had ever had to do more than stand up in the face of bullies, or indignant relatives, or, once, years back, the shouting, red face of the Master of Brandybuck, blaming mischievous children for ruining his birthday speech.
Sam grinned as he remembered how Frodo and Merry had stood there, in front of Pippin, Fatty, and Doderic, denying any accusation that it had been more than an unlucky accident. But what they'd undertaken now, was much more serious. Sam had no idea if Frodo's cousins' loyalty would be tested enough to break, or not.
His own, he had no doubt of at all. He'd promised, himself, Gandalf, and his father, that he would stay with Frodo through it all.
He meant not to fail.
