"It was not in vain that the young hobbits came with us, if only for Boromir's sake." - Gandalf, "The White Rider," The Two Towers.

A/N: Thank you to Slightly Tookish for betaing this :)

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Not In Vain

Gandalf had woken some time ago, and he stood now on the edge of the hollow in which they had passed the daylight hours, watching as the sky faded slowly into darkness. White-peaked mountains surrounded him, and in the half-light the flames of distant beacons glowed faintly against the snow, compelling him to make haste. How he wanted to, he reflected as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. They needed to continue on the last leg of their swift journey to Minas Tirith, but it was not yet dark enough and with winged Wraiths so near, Gandalf wished to be cautious.

It was only a small sound that alerted him, but it was close at hand and Gandalf turned immediately, glancing about him sharply for a sign of anything amiss. As he heard it again, his gaze landed then on his young travelling companion lying half-hidden in the long grass. Curled up in his cloak and several blankets, Pippin had his back to him, but Gandalf could tell from the tremors shaking his small frame that he was awake, and crying quietly. Shadowfax lay beside him, and a little hand appeared from beneath layers of cloth to stroke the horse’s nose gently, as the hobbit whispered a few words that Gandalf could not catch, and Shadowfax whickered softly in reply.

The wizard sighed and glanced again at the beacons, impatient to shorten the distance between them and their destination. Yet he was concerned about the young hobbit, for Pippin had barely spoken since early on the first night of their sudden departure from Dol Baran. Once the immediate horror of his encounter with the palantír had faded, the lad had been his cheerful self once more, asking incessant questions and demonstrating again that special Hobbit resilience that gave Gandalf some hope that this journey may not defeat them. Perhaps weariness from all the excitement of the last few days had finally caught up with him. He certainly hoped there was nothing else wrong. Pippin may have brought a certain amount of his pain on himself, but he had done nothing to quell the wizard’s compassion for the youngest member of the Fellowship.

He strode over to his companion and rested his hand gently on Pippin’s shoulder. "Now then, Master Took. I know you are weary, and suffering the grave misfortune of only having my company for the last two days. But we must leave soon. If you wish to talk about anything, or even ask any questions," he added reluctantly, hoping it might raise a smile, "now is the time to do it. This will be our last rest before we reach Minas Tirith."

Pippin sat up, all red cheeks and dishevelled curls, wiping his eyes hastily with the back of his hand, and as Gandalf offered the lad a handkerchief and watched him with a fond smile, he observed not for the first time how out of place in this great War his diminutive companion appeared. But looks were deceiving. The Shirefolk had never stopped surprising him after centuries of acquaintance, and beyond their borders in these great lands, their apparent weaknesses had been a source of great strength. It was those unwilling to admit their failings that had proved to be the most vulnerable of all, he thought, closing his eyes briefly as his thoughts led him to the fallen son of Gondor.

"Is there anything to eat?" Pippin mumbled as Gandalf sat down beside him, gratefully accepting a piece of bread from the wizard. He seemed to sense Gandalf’s watchful gaze as he munched on his cheerless supper, and he swallowed, not looking up as he spoke. "I didn’t sleep well, Gandalf. But I am all right, I think, really."

"Really?" the wizard frowned. "I am glad to hear it. I had thought something might be troubling you. I know it is difficult for you, my lad, being without your cousin." He paused, and added quietly, "I only hope you will not long be parted."

Pippin gazed thoughtfully at the distant flames while he finished eating. "I’ve been thinking about him a lot," he admitted. "I really did make a terrible mistake, and I only hope I’ll get a chance to make it up to him. He’s such a worrier, and it will be dreadful for him being on his own, not knowing where any of us are."

Gandalf smiled a little, and patted Pippin’s hand. "He is not on his own, though. He has friends with him, and they will help him. Worrying about all of you is what gives your Meriadoc his strength, you know. It is not a bad thing."

Pippin looked up at him with a small smile. "I hadn’t thought about it like that, Gandalf. But I still can’t bear to think of him on his own out there. I keep thinking that I might never see him again, and that horrible night will be the last memory he has of me." He paused, and took a deep breath. "I know why I did it, Gandalf. I was a fool, and I let him down, and you, and I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to let anybody down. I feel as though I let Boromir down as well, you know, and I’ll never be able to tell him I’m sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Peregrin?" Gandalf asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"That he died," Pippin replied simply. He turned clear, green eyes up to the wizard and studied him gravely for a moment, as though trying to decide what to say. He paused and took a deep breath, and finally all of his lonely thoughts began tumbling out. "He wanted to go back home to Minas Tirith so much, just like we want to go home to the Shire. And maybe, if he hadn’t died trying to save Merry and me, he would have gone with you instead, or perhaps you wouldn’t have had to be here at all… I don’t know what would have happened. But I wish he could see that shining tower he always spoke of, just one more time. I wish that he hadn’t died to save us, and that I could thank him for what he did. There are so many things I wish, Gandalf," he added, looking down as he stroked Shadowfax’s nose absently, "and none of them can be granted."

Gandalf said nothing, but put his arm around the hobbit and allowed Pippin to lean on him as the lad lapsed into silence again. He thought again of the warrior of Gondor and how grieved he himself had been to learn of his demise. It had been hard for the younger hobbits to hear the news when they were all reunited at Isengard, to have their fears confirmed, for they had been closer to the Man than any of the others had been. But to his knowledge, neither of them had spoken of him until now. There had been no time for grief, with events moving so quickly and so much for them to catch up on and find out about. They had certainly not waited long to bombard him with questions, he thought with a sudden smile. First Merry, on the ride from Isengard; and then Pippin, never one to be outdone by his older cousin.

Perhaps it had been unwise to reveal so little, especially where these two were concerned. Gentle and loyal creatures though they were, their ability to see what was being kept from them, and their appetite for going in search of their own answers, had not waned even though they were now becoming aware of how dark the consequences of their plot in the Shire had been for them. It had pained Gandalf deeply to see that natural Hobbit inquisitiveness lead them all so nearly into disaster.

But Pippin and Merry had already proved themselves worthy of being on this Quest, and Gandalf did not doubt that they both had great achievements ahead of them, greater than they could imagine. Even if Pippin was not privy to some of the deeper workings of the plot against Sauron, he did at least deserve to know that he was meant to be here, that he need not feel guilty, and that Gandalf had never regretted allowing him to come.

Eventually, he spoke. "All we can do is try to come to terms with what has befallen us, and seek to overcome it. You and Meriadoc have already shown yourselves capable of that when you escaped from the orcs. That was no small achievement, my lad, and it gladdened my heart enormously to see you both alive and so well, in Isengard of all places."

"Did we surprise you, Gandalf?" Pippin asked, a spark returning to his eyes for a moment.

"Surprise me?" the wizard echoed him. "Not in the least. I had spoken with Treebeard, of course. And why do you think I supported your inclusion in the Fellowship? It certainly was not for your intelligence, if that is what you are thinking," he said, with a wink. "I knew even before the Ents marched to Isengard that your part in this story would be an important one."

"I don’t understand," Pippin said. "Why did you let me come? All the while we were travelling with the orcs, I felt that I have only been a piece of baggage since we left the Shire, a burden to be passed around. It makes me very sad to think that Boromir died trying to save us, because we were foolish enough to run off like that, and in the end, we were just taken by the orcs anyway." He looked up at Gandalf and frowned. "And now I’m bothering you with my problems, when you have far more important things to be thinking about."

"Peregrin Took," the wizard objected, holding up his hand to quiet the hobbit. "I shall decide what is important, if you don’t mind." His voice softened as he continued, "I supported you before Elrond for many reasons, and nothing you have done on this journey has given me any reason to think I was wrong. Your love for Frodo, and your loyalty, have helped him enormously, my lad. I know that he thinks of you still, and such thoughts give him strength." He placed his hand over Pippin’s smaller one gently as the hobbit looked up at him, his eyes shining with tears.

"Though it may seem to you that you are unimportant, you are playing your part in a plan that is bigger than any one of us," he continued. "Everything that happens has a purpose, whether or not we are aware of it at the time. And only time itself will reveal the consequences of our actions. You have most certainly never been a burden," he added, his eyes twinkling as he smiled down at Pippin. "A fool you may still be – but not a burden."

Pippin smiled back at him gratefully, and squeezed the wizard’s hand. "I am glad to hear it. Thank you, Gandalf." But the smile faded almost immediately, and he swallowed, a flicker of some dark emotion passing across his eyes. "Are you trying to tell me that Boromir’s death happened for a reason?"

The question surprised the old wizard and for a moment he was lost for words; wanting to ease Pippin’s heart, but not to tarnish his memory of his friend. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, knowing that under any other circumstances he would probably not have contemplated curing Pippin’s inquisitiveness on this subject. Perhaps his relief that the young Took had emerged relatively unscathed from his experience with the seeing stone was making him overly indulgent.

Pippin was watching him curiously, with a determined light in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw that Gandalf was far more accustomed to seeing on his cousin Merry. With that, he smiled. The lad deserved to know. He had learnt the lesson two nights before that curiosity and questions often lead to painful and unwanted answers, and perhaps now he would be able to bear the responsibility that comes with knowledge.

"Yes, my lad. I believe it did," he said gently. Pippin’s eyes widened slightly, but remarkably, he said nothing, compelling the wizard to continue with only the look in his eyes.

"I did not see what happened to him," the wizard confessed after a pause, choosing his words carefully. "I believe that only Aragorn and Frodo between them know the truth, though I suspect neither will ever tell of it."

Pippin shifted impatiently, though his eyes did not stray from Gandalf’s. "Tell of what, Gandalf? Will you finish this tale before the sun rises?"

Gandalf frowned at the lad, wondering again if this was wise, yet knowing all the same that he would have no peace now if he did not continue, and none if he did, especially not if Peregrin got it into his head that he would answer all of his questions from now on. Hobbits, he thought with a weary sigh.At times like this he could not help but wonder just exactly who was in charge.

Resigned now that he would have to continue down the path he had chosen for himself, he gave in. "I believe that Boromir fell under the spell of the Ring before the Orcs attacked you," he said, watching Pippin closely. "And that he tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

Pippin opened his mouth in surprise and disbelief, and then closed it again, and the hobbit looked away into the distance, apparently thinking back to all the pain and confusion of that day.

"He went off," Pippin faltered, "while we were waiting for Frodo to make up his mind. And then he came back looking very uncomfortable. He said he’d seen Frodo, but wouldn’t say anything about it."

He gazed at the flames on the mountaintop, brighter now against the sky, and his expression was troubled. "Merry and I were already a bit worried about him when we were in the boats together. He kept muttering to himself, and he got more and more distant. It was a little bit frightening, really." As though Pippin felt he was betraying his friend to say such things, his voice lowered until Gandalf could scarcely hear him. But as he turned back to Gandalf, determination to hear the rest showed plainly on his face. "He didn’t try to hurt Frodo, did he, do you think? He was our friend, Gandalf… though even now I don’t know what the Ring has the power to do. But he still died trying to save Merry and me. Nothing changes that," he said fiercely.

Gandalf nodded reassuringly. "Of course, my lad, it doesn’t make him any the less your friend. But you knew from the beginning that the Ring had the power to corrupt, and sadly Boromir succumbed to Its call, for his loyalty to Gondor drew him to It, and It to him. He was a noble man and his loss saddens me too, but he was unable to resist. Just as you were unable to resist the lure of the palantír," Gandalf reminded him, and Pippin paled.

"I still don’t understand," he whispered.

"Boromir was in peril, Peregrin. He tried to fight the lure of the Ring, for he was a good and brave man, but it eventually became too strong for him to fight." He paused, and raised his hand to rest on Pippin’s shoulder. "I believe that he escaped that curse in the end. In defending you and your cousin, he died a warrior, and a hero."

Pippin opened his mouth to interrupt, but Gandalf had more to say. "That you were captured despite his efforts was not a matter of you letting him down, or of his failure, but a thing that was simply meant to be. If you had not been captured, you would not have gone to Fangorn, and the Ents would not have marched on Isengard. We would probably not be here at all in that case. None of us would be riding to Minas Tirith."

He looked down at Pippin who was gazing at the mountains, his eyes filled with tears. "Do you really think that?" he asked quietly after some moments of silence. "That we helped save him?" He shook his head. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "It might take me a while to understand that." He leaned into Gandalf’s side and went quiet.

"Yes, Peregrin, I do think that." Gandalf replied, nodding slowly. "I believe that he escaped from a much worse doom when he chose to die for your sakes. There is little wisdom in dwelling on what might have happened had the orcs not attacked, but I do know that he would no longer have been the same man that you knew. Such is the power of the Ring."

Pippin shuddered and pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. Gandalf sensed his thoughts and patted Pippin’s curls lightly, "Of course, Hobbits are made of sterner stuff than Men. That is why I trouble myself with you all… against my better judgement."

"Thank you, Gandalf, for telling me," Pippin said eventually, in a quiet but firm voice. "I still miss Boromir. I still wish he hadn’t died. But I am glad I understand better now, and that I can still think of him as my friend. I think perhaps he tried to save us to make up for wanting the Ring."

"And because he loved you both," Gandalf replied gently.

He clasped Pippin’s shoulder, feeling a rush of pride and relief wash through him at the lad’s thoughtful words, though his heart ached for the young hobbit as Pippin turned to him with a small smile and sad eyes, and said brightly, "Shall we leave now, then? It is quite dark."

It was. The beacon’s flames now blazed brightly in the darkness, and the landscape about them had slipped into shadow. They rose then, and together they picked up their few scattered belongings in readiness for the final night’s journey.

Gandalf lifted Pippin up onto Shadowfax’s back, with his cloak wrapped snugly around him, and then leapt up behind him. Within moments the great horse was flying across the earth once more, bearing them safely on his back as the landscape disappeared beneath his feet.

Pippin yawned, and rested his head against the wizard’s arm as his eyes began to close. "I still miss Merry, too," he said softly, and yawned again. Gandalf nodded to himself, tightening his arm around the hobbit, relieved that he would sleep this long night away, for he had no words to make Pippin’s loneliness any the easier to bear. Only reunion with his dear cousin would heal that wound, and Gandalf did not yet have the power to see so far ahead.

They rode on til dawn.