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Strongest Currents By Songspinner With the unaccustomed taste of ashes on his lips and roars and screams echoing in his ears, Peregrin Took pushed past yet another knot of soldiers. He felt the cobblestones under his scratched and bleeding feet, but kept running. Someone had told him that Gandalf was by the gate, and he kept that picture in his mind: the great white horse with its powerful rider. He had to find the wizard…Faramir’s life depended on it, and he could not fail Boromir’s brother. The sense of urgency was overwhelming, and Pippin found himself fighting back tears as he grew more desperate. The young hobbit was battered and buffeted by taller folk hurriedly moving in the opposite direction. He hopped up onto a nearby barrel to scan the street, hoping for a glimpse of Shadowfax. Frantic green eyes swept across a street choked with debris and smouldering piles of wood, watching the stream of people pushing and shoving as they tried to reach safety. Pippin called out, shouting Gandalf’s name and hoping for an answer. With his mind whirling, he jumped down and pressed onward, a memory flashing through his mind. The waters of the Brandywine had grown swifter and Pippin truly, truly hadn’t noticed. But now that he thought about it, it made sense after such a lot of melting snow. The green smell of this spring day had been too tempting for a pair of hobbit lads, and he and Merry had decided to take out one of the boats. And now that boat was being carried away, and no amount of calling Merry’s name was slowing it down. Gasping for breath, Pippin turned and ran as fast as he could, the sharp, biting air cutting into his lungs. He had to reach Brandy Hall, he just had to! Uncle Saradoc could help… he just knew it… As he burst into the main chamber of the Hall, all eyes turned to him, startled. "Pippin, really…" Someone began, but his uncle cut them off, whoever it was. "What is it, lad? What’s happened?" His sharp, grey eyes scanned his nephew’s face and he knelt quickly to grasp his shoulder. "M…Merry’s in the river, in a boat, and it g…got carried away in the current! I tried to follow; I did…" Pippin managed to gasp out before his legs gave out. And before he could register more than the stone floor hitting his knees, his uncle was up and out the door, shouting for a mount from the stables. The sound of pounding feet and hooves echoed through the Hall. He’d run fast enough and now he could rest. Sinking into a nearby chair, Pippin ran a thumb over the scar on his hand. He’d sworn brotherhood with Merry the previous summer, and he knew he’d kept that promise now. He knew now that Merry would be safe, that his Uncle Saradoc would find his cousin and put things right. He suddenly heard the wizard’s voice clearly over the din, and pushed through the panicked crowds as though cutting through river water. One small hobbit couldn’t fight a river, but Faramir would be safe if Pippin could find Gandalf. They’d lost one son of this house after Gandalf had fallen, and Denethor’s words of dismissal aside, Pippin’s duty was to the house of the Steward. When Pippin ran a finger automatically over the scar on his hand as he gasped out his news of this new friend’s plight, and let himself be pulled up onto the horse’s back in front of the wizard. Amid the danger and urgent decisions, Pippin felt a sort of relief that newer promises would now be kept. He knew now that Faramir had a chance, and that Gandalf would put things right. And as Shadowfax sprang forward, the swift-moving crowd parted as the water in the Brandywine might be cut by the prow of a boat. |
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