Title: A Long And Weary Night
Author: dreamflower02
For:writerj
Rating: G
Summary: Pippin spends a restless night in Minas Tirith before the siege…

Pippin tossed fitfully in the cot they had placed for him in the chambers assigned to Gandalf. His mind was running in circles over the events of the last few days, and the things he had seen and heard.

Impulsive.

That's what he'd always been told he was; a Took's Took, they called him, and as impulsive as they come.

Impulsive.

A tale in a strange inn; a stone down a well.

A look in a palantír.

No. Don't think about that. Not that. Not Him.

An oath sworn.

Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me or the world end. So say I, Peregrin son of Paladin of the Shire of the Halflings…

It had seemed a good idea at the time--to offer his service as a way to pay his debt to Boromir. And he did not regret offering his life to the City Boromir loved.

But Lord Denethor was another matter altogether. Pippin had to admit it, he'd been stung by the dismissive look, almost of scorn-- "--a Halfling still, and little love do I bear the name--" "how did you escape and he did not?" The words and the tone were obvious: Why did my son spend his life for something of as little value as you?

But he had accepted Pippin's oath, and Pippin had for a moment thought him also accepting of Pippin's value.

"…fealty with love, valor with honor, oath-breaking with vengeance…
oath-breaking with vengeance…oath-breaking with vengeance…

For he quickly realized he had simply been used as a pawn, to annoy Gandalf, and to lull Pippin into revealing more of the Quest than he should. He hoped he had kept a guard upon his tongue for once, but Gandalf told him he had revealed more than he meant to. Still, as stern as Denethor was, Pippin had pulled his courage together to try and serve him as best he could, in the face of the horrible odds that were against them. "Just a fool's hope." Gandalf had said to him.

And then there had been Faramir. Faramir, who reminded him so of Boromir, Faramir, whom Boromir had spoken of, so often and so fondly--"my little brother," Faramir who had brought him both hope and despair.

For he had seen Frodo and Sam. He had seen them, alive and well, though in company with that horrid little monster, Gollum. And Pippin had felt his heart lift at the news, and wished there were some way to tell Merry that Frodo and Sam were all right. But then Faramir had uttered those mysterious words "Cirith Ungol" which seemed to strike dread even into Gandalf's countenance, and Pippin had felt the chill of despair once more, though he'd no idea of the import of the name. Anything that could frighten Gandalf the White, who had slain a Balrog and returned from the abyss, had to be something horrid indeed.

Pippin felt a sob threatening, and swallowed it down painfully. "Frodo! Oh, Frodo! What use have I been to you at all? Merry should have kept me from coming after all--I've been nothing but a walking obstacle to you since we left the Shire."

Yet it had all seemed so simple when he‘d insisted on coming along. He remembered the afternoon at Bag End, when he and Merry had been left there alone. How angry Merry had been when he discovered Pippin had known about Frodo leaving all along, and that Pippin had every intention of coming as well! Their quarrel had been bitter, sharp, and soon over, as Merry finally admitted to being relieved. They'd decided to bake some scones for tea, to surprise Frodo when he returned from his errands…

"Merry?" said Pippin quietly, as he took the two large blue nesting bowls from the cupboard. They'd not said a lot since they made up their quarrel, such a rare thing for them that it still felt a bit sore.

"Yes, Pip?" Merry was selecting a couple of eggs.

"I really didn't keep quiet about knowing to make a fool of you."

Merry looked up from the basket of eggs. "I know you didn't Pip. I'm sorry I was so angry with you. It frightened me, rather, to think you wanted to come into such danger when I‘d been to such pains to keep you out. But you've not done anything to me that I'm not doing to Frodo. I'm glad there are no more secrets between you and me, anyway."

Pippin glanced over at him startled. "But still between us and Frodo." He'd not thought of it that way before. "Merry, is Frodo going to be as angry with us as you were with me?"

"I hope so, for it won't last long or hurt so much as what I really fear--which is that he is going to be hurt and disappointed in us for spying on him."

Pippin swallowed. "Has Frodo ever been angry with you?"

Merry nodded. "A time or two. Not often. But this is going to be different, I'm afraid. You and I, Pip, we don't keep secrets, really--it's why this was so hard. But Frodo's always kept secrets."

"I don't understand." Pippin brought the bowls over to where Merry stood.

Merry was quiet for a moment, as he measured out butter and buttermilk into the smaller bowl. Pippin measured the honey for him, and poured it in. "Currants," Merry muttered, "I wonder does Frodo have--oh, thanks, Pip." He put a couple of handfuls in and began to whisk the mixture.

"I can almost always tell you what Frodo's *feeling* about something. I've known him long enough, after all. But I can hardly ever tell you what he's *thinking* about something. He's close about himself, Pippin, you know that."

Pippin took down the flour box, and began to measure the flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon, which he stirred up with a large fork. He kept the flour box out--they'd have use of it again when it came time to knead the dough. "He is." Pippin was a bit surprised to realize that he did know this. He'd never thought about Frodo being close before--yet really, he was.

"Well, so long as he lets us come, I guess that's all that's important."

"I don't see how he can refuse, really," Merry replied. "Not when he knows we would follow by ourselves it he doesn't. He'd much rather have us ‘infants' under his eye than bumbling along behind him." Merry pulled such a droll face when he said it that Pippin grinned, and flicked some flour at him, and soon they had been laughing and having a flour fight…

And what good had he done Frodo after all? What use had he been to Frodo and Sam? Oh yes, he'd been told that he and Merry were to help keep Frodo's spirits up--but even that had ceased to be possible, especially after they had left Lothlórien. Poor Frodo, weighed down with that blasted Ring, and the cares of all the world on his shoulders!

Whatever had possessed him to run off the way he did? To leave his Merry and his Pippin behind? Of course, trying to protect them again. Pippin didn't know for certain, but he was quite sure Frodo had probably tried to leave Sam as well, only Sam had been too clever to be left.

He'd probably never know--no! No, he mustn't think that way! Frodo had been fine a couple of days ago--Faramir had said so! They *would* be all right! They had to be!

He thought once more of Faramir, how it had seemed just on seeing him, that this was someone he had known for a long time. Of course, Boromir had told them a lot about his brother…

"You are doing very well, my friends," Boromir had said, after practice one day. "I think that you are enjoying yourselves now."

Merry had grinned up at the Man. "It's fun, like rather a rough game, really. I never thought I would like it--I just thought it was something we needed to know."

Boromir had smiled down at them. "That's much like something my younger brother Faramir said, after I had begun to train him. He had never thought he would like weapons training until he began it." A wistful look came on his amiable face. "Of course, he still preferred to spend his time with his books; and I am afraid he only ever enjoyed sparring with me. But he was good. And he has been able to defend himself for a number of years now…"

And now poor old Boromir was gone. Tears welled up, and Pippin turned into his pillow, as he recalled the arrows--thunk! thunk! thunk!--he stuffed an edge of the pillow into his mouth to stifle his sobs. No point in waking Gandalf. Boromir's look of agonized apology, as he realized he could not save Merry and Pippin from capture--that was Pippin's last memory of his friend. He wept bitterly for a while, and then found himself tossing on the cot once more.

Why could they not have defended themselves better? Why couldn't help have been closer?

And another guilty thought--why had they allowed themselves to be captured alive? Surely if he and Merry had been slain, then Aragorn and the others would have followed Frodo, perhaps helped him, so that he would not be trotting around with that Gollum…

And then he felt even worse, for thinking it would have been better to be slain with Merry! How could he wish for his Merry to be slain? But he couldn't silence the tiny voice in the back of his head, that said--"At least you'd be together. Now you'll probably both die, hundreds of leagues apart--no comfort there."

No! No! No!

No more of that!

Merry was with the Rohirrim and with good old Strider and Legolas and Gimli. They wouldn't let *anything* happen to his Merry! He was sure of that, if he was sure of anything at all. They'd take good care of Merry.

Though his heart gave a flutter at the thought of how Merry would fare if he should perish here in this horrible stone City. He knew, none better, the kind of grief that would claim his Brandybuck cousin.

And they hadn't even been able to talk after his folly. Merry had been angry. He'd turned away, wouldn't even meet Pippin's eye. He'd quickly forgiven him, Pippin knew, for though they'd not spoken, Merry's comforting hand had been on his brow, before Gandalf snatched him away on Shadowfax.

Pippin tossed a bit more, throwing off the light coverlet, which had begun to seem too heavy. He glanced over to where Gandalf was lying, and wished he could dare crawl in with the old wizard for comfort the way he had with his cousins when he was small. But he wouldn't dare now, not after what he'd done with the palantír.

"…anyway my dear hobbit, don't put a lump of rock under my elbow again!" "you knew you were behaving foolishly and wrongly…" "the burned hand teaches best…"

"Burned hand…" or a flaming Eye…No! No! Don't think of that!

Today--today had not been so bad, standing at Denethor's side, waiting to run what errand he might be given, though the occasion had not arisen. Did Denethor even trust him to run an errand? Yet it had given Pippin hope he might yet prove useful.

But to listen to the way Denethor spoke so scornfully to Faramir, that had appalled him. The contempt, the derision, it made Pippin's heart ache. How did Faramir stand it?

His own father now, Paladin could be scornful enough, yet never, even when his father was angriest, even when Pippin was most frustrated, did he doubt Paladin's love for him.

"Peregrin, this essay on Bandobras is dreadful. Did you even *look* at any of the records? All you have here is what any hobbit knows from listening to tales! Where are the dates? Where are the facts? Why did Bandobras end up in the Northfarthing?"

Pippin had shrugged sullenly, and rolled his eyes. A big mistake.

"Peregrin Took!" his father roared, quickly gaining Pippin's full attention. "You had better show more respect! Perhaps I should cancel this year's visit to Bag End?"

"Father!" Pippin's agonized cry came from the heart. He'd not seen Merry or Frodo since Yule.

Paladin looked at him in grim silence. "No, I've a better idea. When Frodo and Merry arrive tomorrow, I will give Frodo a complete list of studies for you to complete while you are away. I know that he will see to it that you do not slack." His father breathed hard, for a moment, and then his shoulders had slumped in weary defeat. In a far gentler tone, he said "I don't know why, Pippin, but for some reason you care far more for the good opinion of your cousins than you do of mine. I would be foolish indeed to deprive you of the ones who can motivate you to do your best. Clearly it is not I."

His father's look of dejection had pierced Pippin far more deeply than his scorn and anger. With a wordless cry, he had hurled himself into his father's arms.

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm so sorry," he had sobbed. "I love you, I do."

A strong hand had rubbed his back, "There now, my Pippin, I know you do…"

But now Pippin kept thinking of Denethor's cold look.

"Do you wish then, that our places had been exchanged?"

"Yes, I wish it indeed…"

To wish Boromir alive was one thing. Pippin fervently wished it himself. But to wish his brother had died instead--that was more than Pippin's heart could fathom. How cruel, how cold…

He swallowed, and turned onto his other side, and then sat up briefly to turn his pillow over. He flopped back against it. He had to get some sleep somehow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, he would talk to Faramir. He would say *something* to him, to cheer him, to let him know how much Boromir had loved him, to let him know how brave he had been to let Frodo and Sam go…

He finally drifted into a fitful doze, broken by dreams of flame and shadow. When he awakened to the sounds of Gandalf moving about, the room was still dark and dim.

"It is morning, Peregrin. You must rouse yourself if you wish breakfast before you take up your duties."

With a sigh and a nod, he got wearily to his feet, washed from the cold water in the basin, and dressed in his livery. Truly, he'd not much appetite, but he went to the buttery, and availed himself of a small cup of thin ale and the bit of bread and cheese that he was allotted.

He still had a bit of time before he had to report to his lord. Perhaps he could speak to Faramir first. He saw Beregond hurrying down a corridor, and ran to catch him up.

"Beregond! Do you know where I might find the Lord Faramir?" he asked breathlessly.

The Guardsman stopped for a moment. "He is not in the City any longer, Pippin. He rode out just a short while ago. He has been sent to see to the outer defenses…" With a nod, Beregond hurried on. He was already on duty himself.

Pippin stood rooted to the spot.

Gone.

Would he ever see him again? Would he ever be able to repay the debt he owed him for his kind treatment of Frodo and Sam?

Perhaps. But right now he owed a duty to Faramir's father. He turned and made his way to report to the Steward.