To the Loons of the Ernil i Pheriannath thread

who asked the question:

"What would happen if . . .?"

Mind Games

The hull of the boats scraped against the pebbles of the shore. The members of the Fellowship picked up their packs and climbed out onto the narrow strip of beach. Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn dragged the grey boats, still heavy with the supplies they would not be unloading, higher up onto the land. Their fourth day on the Anduin was finished.

It had been an odd day. For one thing Boromir had behaved strangely, mumbling , fidgeting, gnawing his fingernails then paddling hard to bring their boat abreast of the one in which Strider, Sam and Frodo rode. Boromir would look anxiously at the occupants of the other boat then gradually allow the boat carrying himself , Pippin and Merry to fall back into line behind Aragorn’s. Pippin had grown increasingly wary. Merry had noticed that Pippin seemed to be making an effort to stay away from Boromir giving the large man suspicious looks, whereas before he had stayed close to Boromir plying him with questions and pestering him for tales. Pippin had spent the day tensely quiet, his bright green eyes alert missing nothing. Merry had not been able to relax. The seat was too hard. Sitting on the packs and supplies had been too lumpy. The day had been grey with lifeless looking scenery blending with the mists. "Nothing to hold ones attention," Merry had grumbled. Pippin several times had seen a glazed look come to his older cousin’s deep blue eyes and his brows pull together as though something was troubling him. Merry had fidgeted. Merry had fussed. As the boats touched earth, Merry nearly bounded out in his rush to get on shore.

"Come on, Pip, let’s get in some sword practice. There’s moonlight seeping through the mist. We can see well enough."

"Sword practice? In the moonlight?" Pippin raised an eyebrow at his cousin.

"Yes. Do you think we’ll only get attacked in broad daylight, Pippin?" Merry crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head at Pippin. "Let’s see. Weathertop. The wolves. The Watcher. All at night, Pip. I really think it’s a good idea. And Boromir has taught us to practice quietly." Merry took a couple of steps forward and grabbed Pippin. "We’ve been sitting in those wretched boats forever. I’m surprised we can still move at all. Let’s get some practice in. You know, use our muscles before we forget how. Come on! We need to go now before we eat."

"Well," Pippin replied uncertainly. "I suppose it won’t hurt, as long as we’re quiet."

Merry dragged Pip a short ways away from the others. Close enough to still hear them moving about but where they could not actually see them. He and Pippin took their stances, drew their swords and began. Boromir had compared it to a dance, this art of practicing their swordsmanship without touching blades. It was a precise affair. Honing ones ability to match ones opponent move for move. The cousins were rather good at it. They knew each other well, how the other moved and thought. Slowly, then with increasing speed they matched each others moves, each time stopping just short of having the blades touch. Advance with the attack, retreat when parrying. Parry and counter parry. Parry and thrust. The blades catching the moonlight.

"Now!" urged Merry’s voice in Merry’s head.

Merry shook his head a bit to clear it, but his eyes grew distant looking. He brought his thoughts back to the sword play. Parry, counter parry. Counter parry, deceive. Mind your foot work. Keep yourself squarely facing your opponent. Don’t touch blades.

"Before he does more damage." The words in Merry’s head were smooth and seductive. "He will hurt Frodo. He will be foolish again, and Frodo will die."

Merry fought to concentrate on the fencing. But the words were starting to sound right. The look in his eyes began to change.

"He will be foolish. Pippin is always foolish. He will ruin everything. I must protect Frodo. Isn’t that why I came on this adventure? I must protect Frodo." Silky smooth, soft and subtle, Merry’s own voice talking in his head. His gaze grew sharp and cold. "I knew it would come to this anyway. Lord Elrond was right. Pippin should not have come. He killed Gandalf. He will kill Frodo."

The thrust that pierced Pippin was swift and smooth. The blade so sharp that it did not even hurt for a few moments. Then Pippin gasped in pain.

"Merry?" He whimpered

Merry stood frozen. His hand dropped from the hilt of the sword that now protruded from Pippin’s right shoulder. Merry felt cold and numb as soon as the deed was done, the fire that had burned before replaced with an icy void. He stared at his sword as though he had never seen its hilt before. The blade entered at an angle, down and outwards, entering a bit below Pippin’s collar bone skimming his shoulder blade yet not quite under his arm so that it stuck out of the side of Pippin’s back. Merry took a step toward Pippin who nearly tripped in his haste to back away. Pippin’s eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, his face white in the moonlight.

"You meant it!" Pippin hissed through clenching teeth. "I . . . I saw it in your eyes. Stay back! You . . . you meant it." Pippin turned to stumble toward the camp with his hand clenched to his shoulder, fingers spread around the hilt of Merry’s sword.

Aragorn sat by the small camp fire, needle, thread and over-shirt in hand, making repairs to his shirt sleeve. He had torn his over-shirt, his undershirt and gotten a nasty scratch on his left arm the night before while doing some scouting of last night’s campsite. He was mending the over-shirt first then would wear it while mending the undershirt. It was too cool to go shirtless. Sam and Gimli had gone in search of a bit more fire wood. Frodo lay wrapped in his blankets supposedly napping, though Aragorn knew he was awake. Boromir was scouting to the north of their camp, Legolas to the south. Aragorn did not bother to look up from his mending at the soft sounds of hobbit feet coming up behind him.

"Strider?" It was Pippin’s voice.

"In a moment, Pippin. I’ve only a few more stitches to take."

"Now, Strider," Pippin’s voice said in a shaky whisper. A small trembling hand rested on Aragorn’s shoulder. He looked up as Pippin added, "Now would be good, Strider."

The dim light of the small fire gleamed off a sword hilt sticking obscenely from the little hobbit’s shoulder. Pippin swayed, and Aragorn grabbed him easing him to his knees. Legolas appeared as if from nowhere, as Elves are wont to do, dropping to the ground behind Pippin to hold him steady allowing Aragorn to use both hands while accessing Pippin’s injury.

"I see there has been an accident, Pippin," Aragorn said trying to get a feel for how badly in shock the frightfully pale young hobbit was. As he looked at Pippin’s face, he saw Merry come slowly and quietly up behind Legolas. If possible, Merry looked worse than his little cousin did.

"No." Aragorn had to lean close to Pippin to hear his words. "No . . . accident. Meant it . . . Merry meant it."

Aragorn looked at Merry but said nothing. This was an unbelievable thing. He knew Merry heard having seen his eyes widen a bit at Pippin’s words. But Merry seemed past being able to respond. Aragorn returned his attention to Pippin. The bleeding wasn’t too bad, no veins or arteries had been cut. Aragorn was certain the lad’s condition was more shock over thinking his cousin had hurt him intentionally.

"Pippin. I have to draw the sword out. Do you understand?"

The Took’s green eyes slowly closed and opened again. His head nodded slightly.

"It will be as quick as I can manage. I don’t want to make the wound larger. Legolas is holding you. Can you feel him holding you?"

Another slight nod.

"What has hap . . . ?" Frodo gasped as he came up behind Aragorn.

"Hold his hands, Frodo. Keep his hands away from the blade." Aragorn sternly ordered, and Frodo moved to do as he was told. Legolas slipped a hand over Pippin’s mouth to stifle the scream that tore from him as Aragorn drew the blade out. Pippin slumped unconscious into Legolas’ arms.

Pippin awoke while Aragorn cleaned, stitched and dressed his wounds. When it was all attended to, Aragorn gave the youngster a sleeping draught, wrapped him in his blankets then laid him down near the fire. Aragorn then turned his attention to Merry. Frodo had taken him aside. He found them in the shelter of a few boulders at the edge of the firelight. Frodo’s arm lay across Merry’s bowed shoulders.

"I need to speak with you, Merry," Aragorn said as he went down on one knee before the pair.

Frodo gave his cousin’s shoulders a squeeze before standing up. He leaned over and put his mouth to Aragorn’s ear. Quietly, so that Merry’s sensitive hobbit ears wouldn’t hear, he whispered, "He has said nothing to me. Nothing at all." Frodo then went to sit beside his other cousin, gently stroking Pippin’s soft, unruly curls while beginning to softly hum a tune. Sam and Gimli had returned. Sam started to fix the meal, while Legolas quietly told them what had happened.

Aragorn sat cross-legged in front of Merry.

"Merry?"

There was no response.

"Merry, we have to talk. I know you heard what Pippin told me."

Nothing.

Aragorn took Merry’s chin in his hand and raised his head until their eyes met. A strangely haunted look filled the hobbit’s indigo eyes. When he blinked, he did so slowly.

"Merry, you can hear me, can’t you."

A quick spasm shook Merry’s body. His eyes again slowly closed and reopened.

"Yes," he said thickly. "I . . . can. I hear you, Strider."

Aragorn continued to hold Merry by the chin; Merry made no attempt to get loose. "Was it as Pippin said? Did you . . ." He had begun to say "run him through" but the words felt cold in his mouth. "Did you do this intentionally?"

Merry blinked his slow blink again. This time it seemed to bring more focus to his eyes. Aragorn could see the tears begin to pool along Merry’s lower eye lids. "No. I didn’t . . . I don’t . . ." Merry took in a sharp breath. "I don’t think I did. I don’t . . ." He took in another breath and closed his eyes. He sighed, reopening eyes that now seemed clearer as the tears traced crooked lines down his cheeks.. "I don’t remember what happened. Is Pippin going to be alright? He won’t . . . he isn’t . . . going to die, is he?" The last few words were said so quietly that Aragorn didn’t actually hear them, but he knew what they were.

"No. His wounds are not serious. There are few places which would have been less dangerous. There are some veins and arteries in the area, which were not injured, but no vital organs. That would not have been so had the blow landed to the left of his breastbone. That would have pierced his heart and killed him instantly." Merry shuddered. "It is more grievous that he thinks you wanted to hurt him. It would devastate him, if he realized you wanted to kill him."

Merry pulled his chin from Aragorn’s hand and hung his head. "I didn’t try to kill him. I didn’t do it on purpose, Strider."

For some reason, Aragorn was not sure this was the truth. At least he was unsure that it was the whole of the truth. He thought for a few moments then reached over to give Merry’s shoulder a squeeze. "Go and sit with him. Frodo needs to get his rest, and I think you need to be helping Pippin."

Merry stared at Aragorn. He looked as though he might say something but didn’t. So he got up and went to where Pippin was lying. He spoke a bit with Frodo, who then left to go to his own blankets. Merry settled himself to sit cross-legged next to Pippin.

In the quiet dark of the early morning with only a soft glow from the low fire to light them, Merry felt Pippin stir and saw him open his eyes. As soon as he focused on Merry, terror filled Pippin’s eyes. He drew a deep breath in order to yell for help, but Merry’s hand was tight over his mouth before a sound escaped it. Pippin emitted a frightened squeak, as Merry lowered his head close to Pippin’s ear.

"Hush, Pip. You’ll wake everyone else. Might even draw orcs or something. Don’t be loud. Do you understand?" Merry pulled his head back to look into his cousin’s eyes. Pippin shook his head no. "Pip, I won’t hurt you." Another shake of Pippin’s head. Merry swallowed hard. Pippin had never been this afraid of him, and he didn’t blame him. "I promise, Pippin. Understand? I promise I won’t hurt you." Some of the tenseness left Pippin as he slowly nodded, then Merry uncovered his mouth.

"Why, Merry?"

Merry could barely breathe around the lump in his throat. He stared into the orange flames and fought hard to take in a wheezing breath. Pippin just lay there looking at him.

"It started a day or so before we left Lorien," Merry whispered in a voice barely his own. "You know how when you think, it sounds like your own voice in your head?" He looked at Pippin only long enough to see him nod his head then returned his weary gaze back to the flames. "It started with thinking about Moria. My voice in my head bringing to mind you and your questions at the western gate. Your ‘foolish questions’ as Gandalf called them. Slipping on the steps . . . your foolish stone." Merry could feel the change in Pippin. A tenseness. This was a very tender subject. Merry knew that Pippin had been battling with blaming himself for Gandalf’s fall. "When we left Lorien, it got worse. It seemed I was remembering every little foolish thing you have ever done. Bad memories would come into my mind at any moment, and I’d start to get irritated with you. Today in the boat, I could barely look at you. I was wracked with my voice going on and on about you and your foolishness. I told myself that you were a danger. A danger to everything and everyone. That Lord Elrond was right. You shouldn’t have been allowed to come. I thought of the sword practice. I knew I had to do something, and that could be a way. That I had to do something before . . . "

"Before I killed Frodo."

The words fell between them like a boulder. They had the force of a scream though they had barely been whispered. Merry’s chin rested on his chest. He couldn’t say a word. He waited. He waited for his dearest friend to say something.

"It’s the Ring, Merry"

Merry lifted his head enough to see Pippin staring at him. Considering what he had just said, Pippin’s expression was eerily calm. His bright eyes held an odd knowing.

"It’s the Ring," Pippin repeated. He worked his left hand out of his blankets to take hold of Merry’s right hand that was lying limp on the ground beside Merry’s leg. "Have you ever really thought about it, Merry? What does it feel like? Is it as smooth as it looks or does it have nicks in it? Is it heavier than it looks? Is it lighter?" Pippin’s voice was growing more intense, his thumb rubbing hard on the back of Merry’s hand. There was a fire in his eyes that Merry had seen before when his cousin was curious about something, but stronger and colder than ever before. "I wondered, is it hot? Cold? No temperature of it’s own at all? And, Merry," Pippin clutched Merry’s hand so hard it hurt, his voice an urgent whisper, "what’s it like to put it on? How does it feel to disappear? Can you see yourself, though no one else can? Does it tingle? It’s supposed to have all this power, Merry. Can you feel the power when you hold it? When you wear it?"

Merry was under Pippin’s spell. His mind swam with things he had never thought of before. Then it all started to fade away as the light dimmed in Pippin’s eyes.

"It knew how to get into my head, Merry, just like it did to you. It was my own voice asking the questions, wanting the answers." Pippin closed his eyes and turned his head away. He let go of Merry’s hand searching out his scarf to fiddle with instead. "Whoever is on watch thinks nothing of one of us hobbits going and checking on Frodo. Aragorn did nothing last night when I walked over and sat next to Frodo. I don’t remember it all, but I came to myself with my hands so close to Frodo’s throat I could feel his warmth." Pippin looked at Merry, his eyes wells of sorrow. "I was going to strangle him in his sleep because I knew he would never let me touch the Ring while he lived. I don’t know what stopped me. I got up and stumbled like a drunk back to my blankets and shivered the rest of the night with a cold that went to the very center of me." Pippin looked away.

"It told me you were a danger, Pip. That I would have to kill you to save Frodo. But you know, it was already working on Sam, as well." Merry nudged Pippin to get his attention. Pippin shifted his gaze from the shadowy forms of the rocks at the edge of the camp to his cousin’s face. "I had started thinking badly of Sam. That he had no right to be so close to Frodo, him not even being related or anything. It was setting me up to go after Sam after I . . ."

"After you had finished with me." Pippin reached over and took Merry’s hand again, suddenly gripping it firmly. He raised himself up on his left elbow. "I know! I know what stopped me, Merry!" Pippin’s face lit up with excitement. " ‘Twas Gandalf!"

"Ssshh, Pip. Gandalf?"

"Yes. He told me, ‘Wake up, Pippin my lad. You don’t want this.’ He said it kindly and gently. He stopped me, Merry! Gandalf stopped me!"

"You know, he stopped me too. I heard someone say ‘No, Meriadoc.’ My sword was in position to . . . to . . , but my hand got pushed to the side at the last moment."

Merry and Pippin looked at each other with relieved amazement.

"Should we tell the others?" They each asked at the same time, then quietly laughed together.

"They would never believe us," said Merry as their laughter subsided.

"They might believe you, older cousin. They would definitely not believe me."

They laughed a bit more as they both began to feel clean and whole again. But Merry still felt concerned.

"We’ll need to be watchful, Pip, even of each other."

"Right. I hadn’t thought of that."

"You start hearing those questions . . ."

"I’ll come and tell you. And if you start being suspicious of Sam or I . . ."

"I’ll come and tell you."

Pippin sat up to free his left arm so they could shake hands on their agreement. Merry got his blankets and spread them out next to his young cousin. They were both nearly asleep when Pippin mumbled, "I hate to say this, but I think we’d both best keep an eye on Boromir." With that, they fell asleep.