Disclaimer - Sadly, none of these characters and places are mine. The only thing I own is the rock that Pippin falls asleep on. Don't sue me - what you'd get wouldn't be worth the legal costs.

A/N - This is a companion piece to 'Everything Goes, Everything Stays', but it isn't essential to have read that before you read this. This shows Pippin's side of the story during the final days of the War of the Ring. So, obviously, it contains RotK spoilers.

Chapter 1 - The endless night

Clouds rumbled low on the horizon. The group, who had stopped for their first long rest in the day and a half since leaving the White City, began to grow restless. All apart from one. A small figure, no more than a child to the unknowing eye, lay, clothed in the regalia of Gondor, slumped against a large rock. A roll of thunder announced the impending storm.

"Peregrin." A man approached the exhausted figure and shook his shoulder gently. "Peregrin, wake up."

The halfling stirred and rolled to face Beregond of the guard. "What's going on?" he asked sleepily.

"A storm is coming. We must march further while we can and then seek shelter. Once the rain sets in we will be unable to advance far. Or quickly." he added. "Now you must get up Pippin. A soldier of Gondor must not show himself up amongst the many troops." Beregond left Pippin and alerted his leader that all were accounted for.

Grudgingly, Pippin eased his stiff and aching limbs away from the rock, feeling sure that the imprint of a thousand small stones remained on his back. He adjusted the heavy armour and stretched himself out. How long had they been marching for? Days, weeks surely? Minas Tirith seemed such a long way away, yet he had seen it at first light the day before. There he had left behind his best friend and only companion of his kind. Merry. He wondered how Merry was. Probably having the time of his life in the many inns of the White City, Pippin thought as he approached the assembling ranks. He wondered if Merry had forgotten him, then dismissed this thought with a sigh. The haunting anguish displayed on his friend's face as the group departed had confirmed that he would be remembered.

Pippin took his place toward the front of his company, feeling awkward and somewhat out of place as he walked past the many soldiers of men; all tall and powerful in appearance, looking grim and ready to fight. This was what they had been trained for, thought Pippin. Or had they? In his final days with Merry in Minas Tirith he had seen many of the preparations for the war. The gathering of the professional soldiers and the counting of weapons. But he had also seen many young, untrained men, all being conscripted to do their duty, all wanting to know that they had done their part in the defence of the world. Some were not even as old as him.

The increased pressure from standing up and the effort of moving caused Pippin's feet to ache abominably, and he berated himself for rejecting the offer of soft boots to walk in. He had not realised the road to Mordor would be this long. He did not know how much further they had left: the featureless land told no tale of distance to the hobbit. It seemed to remain as it was now: cold and grey; the once grassy plain flattened and stained with mud. How Pippin wished he was to be marching only on the soft grasses of the Shire. Nothing had prepared him for this. Of course he had glanced over maps and scrolls during his days in Minas Tirith and, before that, Rivendell, but the elaborate details and script had meant little to him as they did not tell him how many days - and so he had continued with his duties or left in search of second breakfast.

The first droplets of rain rang clear on the armour of the men, and so they commenced on the next stage of the march; the troops differentiated only by the raised up standards and slight changes in dress for their faces were all the same. They were marching further from safety and nearer to the uncertainty and evil of the Black Land.

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It took an hour and a half for the soldiers to reach any form of shelter. As it was it was only on the edge of a wooded area on the outskirts of Ithilien, but it was better than remaining unprotected when the rain was coming down in droves. It was as if the sky was trying to complete its own futile task: to wash clean the shadows of evil. There was only one who could do that.

Pippin was given leave his troops for his evening meal and so it was with the three hunters, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, that he spent the rest. Gandalf the white wandered ceaselessly amongst the troops, not wanting, or not needing, to rest, only to discuss stratagems with the captains. The four huddled under canvas, unable to find wood dry enough, even under the shade of the trees, to light a fire with. The chill moved even Legolas' heart.

"How long until we march, Estel?" the elf asked, spreading his damp cloak out in an attempt to have some dry garments for the march's continuation.

"We move at midnight." the ranger replied, "Whilst we are not afraid of our enemy knowing we are abroad, we would prefer it if he remains unaware for some time longer. Thus we will travel under cover of nightfall."

"All is night now." was Legolas' reply.

"How I long for the sun," said Pippin, fancying that he was back in the Shire, or even in Rivendell or Lothlorien, where the sunlight would play on his features and bring joy to all who saw it. There was no sun in this wilderness, only shadows, night and grey dawn. It was an endless night; one in which they would find no day until the fate of the quest had been decided and the shadow had either taken hold or been destroyed.

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Pippin passed the three hours after his unsatisfactory meal sleeping silently in the makeshift tent, whilst his companions prepared to move further towards the Black Lands. The rain had subsided and the air was now surprisingly crisp, the dark of the night indistinguishable from the ever increasing shadow. In a state between rest and waking Pippin heard only the murmuring of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli and, in this departure from consciousness, discerned them to be the voices of Merry and the Healer, Ioreth, who had attended to him following his injury.

"I am ready to leave now, Mistress. Will you please find me my sword and a helm. I wish to march with the soldiers of Rohan." Merry was stood at the foot of his freshly made bed, his small pack on his back, his injured arm hanging limply by his side. He was clothed in the regalia of the soldiers of Rohan.

"I'm sorry, Master Meriadoc, but I am under strict authority to make you remain within these Houses until you are fully healed. You are not to go to Mordor." Ioreth gently pushed the halfling back towards his bed.

"I have to go to Mordor. I will not stay behind and know that I have done nothing to aid my friends."

"You cannot leave this House," the healer had argued.

"I cannot let my friends die."

"Master Meriadoc! You know what I saw the other night during your recovery? I saw the hands of a King! Your friends are in the company of a King: they will return."

"Begging your pardon, Mistress Ioreth, but you do not understand. My friends' lives do not depend on the presence of a King, they depend on two halflings, alone in the Black Lands! If they do not succeed in their quest, me remaining in the Houses of Healing will not matter because there will be no Houses of Healing. There will be nothing!"

"Then it will not matter that you remained behind."

"I cannot sit and wait for the end. I wish to ride out with the soldiers, to know that, even if the end should come, I, a hobbit from the Shire, did all that was in my power to prevent it."

At that moment a herald had come in, to inform that the soldiers were leaving.

Ioreth's voice had softened. "You cannot go, Master Merry."

Merry had looked at her, an apology in his eyes. "I know."

Merry walked out to say farewell to his friends. He embraced Pippin and had ruffled his younger cousin's hair.

"Don't leave me Pip."

"I have to."

The troops at the front began to march. Pippin looked away to prevent his cousin from seeing his tears. He had to be strong now. The surge of soldiers pushed him forwards.

"This isn't goodbye."

"Don't leave me, Pippin. Don't go. Pippin."

Pippin cast a final tortured glance towards his cousin, who was sobbing profusely and chanting his name.

"Pippin...... Pippin......"

His shoulders were shaking with distress.

"Pippin..... Pippin...."

The hobbit opened his eyes to see Aragorn shaking him.

"We have to go now. We cannot yet risk travelling far by day."

Pippin knew Aragorn was wrong: there was no day, yet he knew his meaning. Yawning and scrabbling in his pack for food, Pippin prepared to march once again.

The endless night was continuing.

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A/N - Do you think I should continue? Do you think I should pack up writing altogether and become a cleaner? Do you think I could be the next JK Rowling (J/K)?

Regardless of whether you actually want to answer any of those questions..... leave me a review! Please? Feedback makes me very happy, and the happier I am the better I write! Or something like that.....

So go on... !

Rachel xxx