A/N: Written for Marigold's Challenge #15.

Thank you to Slightly Tookish for the beta!

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Great Tales Never End

It wasn’t a place he would have chosen to go to once his duty was ended for the day. He would much rather have gone back to his quarters and shared a joke with Merry before falling into bed and sleeping for an hour or so before dinner. But after aimlessly wandering about for a while, strangely reluctant to do just what he wanted, Pippin found himself staring at the black mountains from the very edge of the citadel, just where Gandalf had once told him there would be no escape from the coming war. He propped himself up by resting his arms on the wall and his chin on his hands and looked about him thoughtfully, despite the heaviness of his eyes.

The mountains weren’t so frightening anymore, now that the dark clouds had gone and the air no longer stank of fear. But the Pelennor fields were still battle-scarred and blackened, the all-too-recent past leaving its shadow still on the landscape. Pippin sighed and looked away from it, turning instead to the Anduin flowing beyond the plains. The river – at least beyond Osgiliath – was untainted by the war and it was a beautiful sight, glinting like a golden ribbon as it wove its way to the distant sea, reflecting the last rays of the evening sun. Pippin watched it for a while, remembering their voyage down river, back when Boromir had still been alive, and Gandalf had not. If only these waters, touched by the grace of Lothlorien, could somehow wash away the stains on this ruined land like they had at Isengard, Pippin thought, and make things new again.

The sounds of men shouting and hammering down below floated up to him and Pippin looked down, his curiosity awakened to see so much activity going on in the lower levels. The gathering dusk was fading and blurring the details, but Pippin could still make out the shapes of the men working tirelessly to rebuild their city. They were stronger than ever, Pippin thought, and they would work through the night if they could, their efforts now renewed by hope and freedom from the deadly shadow that had sought so long to destroy them. Pippin watched them admiringly and glanced down at the symbol blazing on his own chest, smiling a little to himself as it told him of his love for the city and how proud he was to serve it, however uncomfortable it sometimes made him.

He leaned heavily against the wall, trying to ease the weight off his legs, which had been threatening to give way all day. It had been mostly stubbornness, and a little curiosity, that kept him standing there behind the king as Aragorn conducted lots of meetings, making plans for the city, and pursuing the forces that remained hostile to Gondor. The king would have ordered Pippin to rest, of course, if he’d known he was struggling; it was still only a matter of days since Pippin had been out of bed, after all. But the young hobbit didn’t want to be stuck in bed when there were things he could do to help. The end of the war hadn’t changed life in Minas Tirith as much as he’d expected, but he’d accepted his duties with pride and if there weren’t to be parties every night, well, that was hardly something to complain about after all they had gone through.

Lost in thought, Pippin remained standing there for some time, reluctant to join his friends while he was feeling like this. Merry and Frodo would look at him sometimes as if they blamed themselves for all that had happened to him, which was ridiculous really, since things had always had a way of “just happening” to him, especially since he’d got into a habit of causing mischief with every loose stone he found lying about, he thought, rolling his eyes.

Well, he was old enough now to accept his mistakes, and they were burdened with enough sorrows of their own without his to worry about too. So Pippin had been putting on a brave face lately, rather than admitting to any of his hurts. Merry found this intensely frustrating, and Pippin’s lips quirked as he thought about it, but if anyone was worse than Pippin Took at being endlessly worried-over, it was Merry, and Pippin would remind him of this whenever it was necessary.

His ears pricked up then as he heard footsteps approaching him. They were too long and heavy to belong to a hobbit and he turned around curiously to find Gandalf coming towards him quickly. With one glance at the old wizard, Pippin sensed his harried mood and swallowed, wondering instinctively what he might have done wrong. It had been some days now since he’d done anything to deserve one of Gandalf’s reprimands, but Pippin couldn’t think of any other reason why the wizard would seek him out.

“Hullo, Gandalf,” he said brightly, offering him his best smile. It felt a bit wobbly and his voice was a little strained, and he hoped the impatient wizard wouldn’t notice.

“What are you doing here, Peregrin?” Gandalf asked quickly, one shrewd glance and a frown showing he had indeed noticed. “Your cousins tell me they haven’t seen you since lunch. You were expected back when your duty ended, and now they are quite worried.”

Pippin sighed and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t mean to worry them, Gandalf; I just wanted to do a bit of thinking before I went back. They do so like to worry, though. I suppose I should have known better.”

Something in his resigned tone made Gandalf smile, though he studied Pippin intently for a moment before patting his shoulder and turning to look out at the plains below. Pippin turned around and rested his chin on his arms again, following Gandalf’s gaze.

“I understand,” Gandalf replied. “It is all right to want some time to yourself, though it concerns me that you have come here to do your thinking. There are many brighter places in the city now, as Sam and Legolas would be happy to remind you,” he said with a wink.

Pippin raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. “Yes, I suppose there are. I hadn’t really thought about it. I just ended up here, I suppose.”

He sighed and looked up at the mountains where the sky was darkening, a sudden stab of unexpected horror making him shudder, and then he understood what Gandalf meant, and glanced up at the wizard anxiously. “I suppose… I’m a bit confused today. I’ve been listening to Strid—erm, Aragorn talking about all the battles that still need fighting. It doesn’t seem fair that anyone should be hurt or killed now, when it’s all over.” He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. “It’s not all over though, is it, Gandalf? It’s not what I was expecting. It’s not like in the old stories, nor as easy,” he said quietly, gesturing at the ruin brought about by a single battle. “I want the story to end.”

Gandalf didn’t reply for a long moment, but when he did his voice was gentler than Pippin had heard it since he had wept into the wizard’s beard back in Ithilien, when he found himself alive and mostly whole, but still so far away from home and still without Frodo and Sam. Gandalf had reminded him then of all they had to be thankful for, telling him how proud the fellowship was of their young knight, and Pippin had fallen asleep with a smile as he spoke, lulled by the sound of his voice.

This time, though, Pippin was on his feet and Gandalf’s approach was less gentle than his tone. “Tales end simply enough when they are told from a comfortable distance around a warm hearth,” he said softly, a faraway expression in his eyes. “But for those of us who are living in one, it may go on and on, long after the grand events have ended. The whole picture is not yet clear, Pippin, for there are countless stories to be told, and none of them end as simply as we might wish.”

Pippin frowned as Gandalf met his eyes again, wondering if there was a grain of comfort to be found in the wizard’s words, and Gandalf paused, putting one arm around Pippin’s shoulder, just as he had when they stood on the balcony in their quarters during that long night before the battle.

“But it will end, won’t it, Gandalf?”

“Yes, it will end. Or rather, your part in it will end. But it was never going to be as easy as Bilbo’s tales of ‘there and back again’ might have had you believe, my lad. Yes, you have known that for some time, I know,” he added, before Pippin could open his mouth to protest. “But tales fit for the ears of young hobbits have little to say about the costs of perilous journeys and evil times.”

“Well then,” Pippin faltered, “Now I know more than I should like to, I am glad we all grew up innocent of them. We were lucky,” he mused, staring down into the darkness below where the sounds of rubble being cleared still echoed around the stone walls. “But I think we learnt it the hard way, Gandalf. I don’t think I will ever forget how I felt when I stood here and saw the armies of Mordor gathering down on the plains, or when I saw you fall in Moria… or when Merry was so hurt, and I thought he was going to die.”

With tears in his eyes, he looked away. Gandalf was right – when so much had happened, it was surely impossible to close the book on what had happened here, and expect things to return to normal. “I suppose rebuilding the city and making the earth green again are simple things in comparison,” he said eventually, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“Perhaps they are,” Gandalf replied, squeezing Pippin’s shoulder gently. “But rebuilding the world is all part of the healing process. The city still seems rather solemn to you Shire-folk, for you have always been free, but those who lived under the Shadow have never known such a time as this; and when the time for celebration comes, I'm sure you will feel differently.”

He paused, his smile fading. “You will never forget, of course, though your memories will seem less real in time. Indeed… much that was sacrificed, you would wish to remember.” Pippin nodded wordlessly, his heart aching for poor Boromir, and all the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor who had died defending these walls.

Gandalf glanced meaningfully at Pippin. “The world of Men will wish to remember you four hobbits,” he said emphatically, “and what you gave so that they might be free.”

Pippin nodded again. That was all very well, but none of them wanted to dwell on that too much. Once the physical scars around them healed, he supposed they wouldn’t be confronted with it all the time, reminding them of how recently it had all looked so grim for them all.

And then there was the thought of returning to a place that held no reminders of fear or darkness; nothing but what was safe and honest and good.

“It will be easier when we are home again,” he said finally, his heart lifting at the mere mention of the word. “I shan’t forget, and I don’t wish to, but I expect we shall think we dreamt it all, when we see the Shire again.”

Gandalf looked away into the west and, as Pippin watched him, he thought a momentary shadow passed across his face, making the wizard seem suddenly terribly old and frail. But he couldn’t be sure and he’d rather pretend he hadn’t seen it, because the shadow was gone again in an instant and Gandalf glanced back at Pippin quickly, patting him on the hand.

“Yes,” he smiled. “No doubt everyone you left behind will think so too.” The wizard and hobbit shared a conspiratorial grin, and then Gandalf was his business-like self once more.

“Come away from here, now, my lad,” he said briskly, gesturing to Pippin to walk with him. “It’s time you found your cousins. I know you’re tired, but Merry’s concern, I fear, had rather more to do with your being late for an appointment in a tavern with Legolas and Gimli, than with where you had wandered off to.”

“Was he now?” Pippin raised his eyebrows as he walked alongside the wizard, hurrying across the wide courtyard towards the gate to the lower levels. He grinned up at Gandalf, weariness ebbing away at the mention of Merry’s name. “Well, I suppose Merry’s concern isn’t always unwarranted. I had quite forgotten about it.”

“I believe he knew that, which is why I came to find you.”

“Goodness. Have our drinking habits become the business of wizards, now the war is over, Gandalf?”

Gandalf chuckled. “This wizard has made it his business for many years to trouble himself with the Shire-folk and all they hold dear to their hearts, however absurd.” He smiled down at Pippin, his pleasure at seeing the lad returning to his old self again evident in his eyes. “I suppose you might say that it is a joy to have no greater burden on my mind than the matter of a misplaced hobbit.”

Pippin beamed at him. “I certainly hope you will join us then, Gandalf. Gimli and Legolas are interested in hearing all about how Buckland was founded and how the Tooks took over the Thainship, and I’m sure you must know a bit about that.”

“Thank you, Peregrin,” Gandalf replied wryly, “but I think you are both more than capable of telling that story without any help from me. Another night, perhaps.”

“Another night, then,” Pippin agreed cheerfully.

Soon, they turned a corner and heard the sounds of laughter and song spilling from the open windows and doors of The Seven Stars. Merry was easy to spot in the entrance, talking to Faramir, and the older hobbit’s face lit up as he noticed the latecomers.

“Merry!” Pippin exclaimed as he ran over to him, feeling strangely as though it had been days rather than hours since he’d last seen his cousin.

As Merry looked Pippin over with his practised eye, Pippin had just enough time to smile his thanks at Gandalf before he was caught up in a relieved embrace and dragged inside, to eat and drink and amuse their friends with tales of the Shire – tales that never ended that night, because there was always another to tell.