A/N: Thank you to Pipwise for the beta!

Pippin found Gandalf standing in the garden of the Houses of Healing, smoking thoughtfully as he gazed over the walls toward Mordor. Wordlessly, Gandalf offered him his small leather pouch of pipeweed, which Pippin gladly accepted.

“I never thought that I would be in one battle, and now I am going to another,” Pippin mused half to himself as he filled his pipe. He glanced up and searched the wizard’s aged face. “It will be much worse than the battle was here, won’t it, Gandalf?” he asked casually enough, though his eyes were troubled.

Studying the hobbit beside him closely, Gandalf puffed on his pipe for a moment before he spoke. “I will not lie to you, my lad. Yes, it will be much worse than anything anyone has ever seen. After all we are marching on the Black Gate, not going on a walking party through Tookland,” he said, though his voice was gentle and his eyes kind.

“I’ll have you know, Gandalf, that there are unspeakable dangers in Tookland,” Pippin replied, his eyes full of the usual mischief.

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. “I do not doubt it,” he replied. “It is full of Tooks, after all.”

Both wizard and hobbit shared a long laugh at this, but soon they grew silent once more and stared at the darkness lying like a blanket over the east.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave Merry behind,” Pippin admitted after a time. “I know he will worry about me terribly, and he’s still not well. Who will look after him?”

“Yes, I am certain that Merry will be in quite a state,” Gandalf agreed gravely. He glanced down at Pippin and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But your cousin is safe in the Houses of Healing and will have his every need tended to as a hero of the battlefield and a friend of the king. Although I suppose that he will only want you by his side,” he said with an understanding smile.

Pippin tucked his pipe back into his pocket with a sigh. “This is something I must do, Gandalf,” he said softly. “It is just so very difficult.”

“We all do what we must, Pippin,” Gandalf replied. “Once more your road takes you from Merry, but we must hope that there will be a swift reunion.”

“With Frodo and Sam, too,” Pippin said with a hopeful smile.

“Yes, my lad,” Gandalf replied, casting a long look at Mordor once more. “With Frodo and Sam as well.” A large yawn caused the wizard to return his attention to the hobbit beside him. “Off to bed with you now, Peregrin. It will be a long and tiring journey, and you must rest while you may.”

“Good night, Gandalf,” Pippin said, turning away. He took two steps before unexpectedly turning back and throwing his arms around the wizard’s waist, hugging him tightly. And then with a smile and wave Pippin was off again, disappearing into the Houses of Healing as Gandalf sighed wearily and once more looked to the east.

Pippin gently shook Merry’s shoulder. “Wake up, Merry.” Despite the ache in his heart he could not help but smile as his cousin burrowed further into his pillow and tugged the blanket over his head. “Merry, I’m leaving soon.”

That roused his cousin at last, and Merry sat up, blinking in the predawn light. He smiled briefly and Pippin managed a smile in turn as he silently held out Merry’s shirt and breeches and helped with the buttons and braces.

“Don’t forget to do your exercises, Merry,” he reminded him, chafing his cousin’s cold hand with both of his own. “Strider will be very angry if he returns to find your arm stiff and cold, and now that he is the king he will likely imprison you in a dungeon.”

“And post you as my guard, I suppose,” Merry replied with a small smile. “I’ll remember, Pippin. Don’t worry about me.” Worry about yourself, his eyes seemed to say, though Pippin knew that his cousin would take on that task as well.

Merry went over to his bedside table and fumbled a little with a lumpy cloth-wrapped bundle lying there. “Did you eat yet?” he asked anxiously. “I saved a bit of the meat from yesterday’s supper, and some bread. I don’t have any jam or butter, but do you want to have some now, or take it with you?”

“I ate a little before I woke you,” Pippin said. “But I’ll take this with me, for when I get hungry later.” With a grateful smile he tucked the bundle into his pack.

They could see that it was growing lighter outside, and soon it would be time for Pippin’s company to muster on the field.

“Come on,” he said quietly, taking Merry by the arm and leading him to the door. “It wouldn’t do for me to be late today.” And, he thought, it would be best if they did not have to rush at the end.

Taking their time, they made their way through the quiet corridors and outside, where the pale sunshine was steadily rising higher in the sky. A quick glance over the walls revealed that some of the troops were already lining up on the Pelennor.

“I think you should wait here,” Pippin said, glancing around. “You won’t have too far to walk back to your room.”

Merry nodded, unable to speak, and clung tightly to Pippin’s hand. They stood there in silence, watching as the men continued to pour out onto the field below. Soon Beregond and Bergil approached, wearing matching grave expressions, and Pippin gently pulled his hand free from Merry’s hold.

They had said their goodbyes the night before, and now there was only the final task of parting, which they were determined to do with a smile. Pippin wrapped his arms tightly around Merry in a long and bittersweet hug, and then stepped back and went to Beregond’s side, smiling and squinting in the sun.

Merry managed to smile as well as he watched Pippin disappear into the crowd of tall men. With Bergil beside him he stood at the wall, waiting for Pippin’s company to emerge through the gate and onto the Pelennor below.

Pippin fidgeted restlessly with his belt, checking to make sure it was buckled tightly before tugging at his sleeves of mail. He was in the midst of re-adjusting his helm when he felt a pair of hands settle over his own, and looked up to see Aragorn watching him with concern.

“We have a fine morning for travel,” Pippin said with a tremulous smile.

Still holding the hobbit’s hands, Aragorn crouched down before him. “I can think of several other duties for you, Pippin,” he began quietly.

“No,” Pippin said quickly, desperately. “Please don’t send me back like a child.”

“I would not dream of it,” Aragorn replied. “I speak only of honorable tasks. It is not too late for me to assign you to Faramir’s guard.”

“I must go, Strider,” Pippin said, shaking his head. “I know you understand.”

For a long moment their eyes met, one pair determined and the other sad but without pity. With a nod Aragorn finally stood and let go of Pippin’s hands.

Pippin smiled and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword to keep from fidgeting again. “Well, I hope I don’t make a mess of things somehow,” he said, glancing around at the troops lining up around them. “Although with this crowd I suppose I shall go unnoticed.”

With a smile in return, Aragorn clasped Pippin’s shoulder tightly before going to where the Captains had gathered.

For a moment Pippin watched them before turning to look back at Minas Tirith. He thought he could see Merry and Bergil standing together where he had left them, two small figures amidst the crowd that had gathered to see the army of the West depart. Though his heart grew heavy, he watched them until finally the trumpets sounded. Then Pippin fell into step with the rest of his company, marching steadily to where his road led beneath the dark clouds of Mordor.

Pippin saw little of his friends, aside from Beregond and the rest of his company, in the days that followed, for the others rode ahead with the Captains. It soon became difficult to tell when one day ended and another began; they all seemed to blend together much as the landscape did – green Ithilien fading into the grey and ruined lands of the enemy. Meals were gloomy and the men even more so, growing more and more quiet as they approached the Black Gate.

Beregond was as kind as ever to Pippin, but it was still lonely to be a hobbit amongst so many grim men. Unable to bear another evening of such cheerless company, Pippin wrapped himself in his blanket after his meager supper and closed his eyes against the bleak faces of his companions.

Pippin thought first of Merry, wondering how his cousin was faring all alone in the city, if he was eating and resting enough, and if his arm still troubled him. His thoughts soon strayed to Frodo and Sam, and he wondered where they were, and if they were tired and hungry and afraid. Pushing aside these thoughts, Pippin let his mind wander to the Shire and its green hills and cool lakes, pretending that he was there now as he drifted into a restless doze.

When Pippin started awake a short time later darkness and silence hung over the camp and Legolas sat beside him, watching him intently.

“Is it morning already?” Pippin whispered.

“No,” Legolas replied softly. “It is just past midnight.” He smiled at Pippin. “How have you fared thus far? It has been a long journey.”

“Oh, I’ve walked longer,” Pippin said with a grin. “And so have you.”

Legolas chuckled lightly. “You always manage to make any situation more cheerful. It has been far too quiet without you these past few days.”

“I’ve been quiet too,” Pippin admitted. “There is not much to say anymore.”

“No,” Legolas said with a sigh. “I suppose there is not.” Stretching out his long legs and leaning back on his elbows, he regarded Pippin critically. “You have not been sleeping well,” he said after a time.

“After having a real bed in Minas Tirith, I’m afraid I have forgotten just how uncomfortable sleeping on the ground can be,” Pippin said lamely, with a half-hearted shrug.

“I have rested in less comfortable places,” Legolas replied. “And so have you.” He studied Pippin for another long moment before he looked up at the sky and softly began to sing.

It was an old song with a haunting melody, and though Pippin did not understand the words he felt an almost unbearable sadness press down on him. Tears stung at his eyes, and Pippin tried in vain to suppress them but they bubbled over, silently trailing down his face.

Legolas continued to sing long after Pippin’s quiet sniffles turned into the deep breathing of sleep and the last campfire went out.

The host set up camp for the final time, lighting their fires with the dry pieces of wood they found in abundance in this wasted land. They spread out their blankets as usual, but found little rest on this night as wolves howled in the distance and mysterious creatures shrouded in darkness circled around their camp.

Gimli found Pippin sitting close to the fire, his sword lying across his knees and cradling his hand.

“I was sharpening my sword and somehow lost my grip,” Pippin said, holding up his bleeding finger. He smiled a little, though his face was wet.

“Hmmph,” the dwarf grumbled, holding Pippin’s hand close to the fire and squinting at it. The cut was not deep, and Gimli dug around in his pack until he found a few strips of clean cloth. Squeezing a few drops from his waterskin onto Pippin’s finger, Gimli tenderly cleaned the wound and bound it tightly.

“There you are, lad,” he said gruffly, releasing the hobbit’s hand and taking up his short sword and a stone. “Let’s see what we can do about sharpening this.”

“Thank you, Gimli,” Pippin said quietly. The dwarf grunted in response but offered the hobbit a smile, and the shrill scraping of stone on metal did little to keep their minds off the eerie sounds of the creatures surrounding them, or where their road would lead them tomorrow.

Stunned and dazed, Pippin did not recall how he made his way back to his company after Gandalf rejected the terms listed by the Messenger. The idea of Frodo suffering such a terrible fate was unimaginable, and he hardly dared to think of what had become of Sam.

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Pippin back to the present. It was Beregond, and he stood beside him, his face grave but his eyes concerned.

“Take courage, Master Peregrin,” he said. “It is almost time.”

Pippin nodded, his mouth set in a grim line as adjusted his helm and took his place in the front line, with Beregond at his side. All around him were the tall men of Tower Guard, the Dunedain and sons of Elrond, the men of Dol Amroth, and stretching back, an army six thousand strong, some of his closest friends among them.

Taking strength from each person there, Pippin drew his sword and waited. And when the enemy streamed out of the gate, he was ready.