CHAPTER 2: TO HIS DOOM

“We could be sending him to his doom,” Gandalf muttered, “just like Frodo.”

“No!”

At the sound of a strained cry behind them, Aragorn whirled around to see a small figure hunched in the shadow of a pillar.

“Peregrin Took!” Gandalf said. “First you give your injured cousin a weapon, and now you’re eavesdropping?”

“Take it back.” Pippin’s face was drawn, vulnerable, but there was an accusation in his gaze.

Aragorn shared an uncomfortable glance with Gandalf before turning to the young hobbit. “Pippin, we--”

“You said you’re sending him to his doom. Like Frodo. They’re not doomed. Neither one is doomed.” Pippin’s voice cracked on these last words, and Aragorn noted for the first time the paleness of his face, the dark under his eyes, the way his shoulders were taut with anger and the stiffness of a body pushed past all weariness.

“I--I’m sorry you heard that.” Aragorn closed his eyes. “How much did you overhear?”

“I heard enough,” Pippin said, his tone still defensive. He took a few steps out of the shadows, but he crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t walk all the way over to them. “You don’t know anything about Frodo. Or Merry. You can’t say--”

“Peregrin Took, you misjudge us,” Gandalf said. “But we don’t have time to argue. Much needs to be done. If you don’t wish to hear such things, don’t eavesdrop on private conversations!”

“Mithrandir?”

Gandalf’s head jerked up, almost guiltily. A young guardsman dressed in mail stood hesitantly in the entrance to the courtyard, clearing his throat. “Your presence is requested, sir. Shall I tell them you are otherwise occupied?”

Gandalf hesitated, then tapped out his pipe. “No, no need. I will be there momentarily.” He turned back to Pippin. “Ask Aragorn what you feel you must know. Perhaps he will be able to satisfy your curiosity, though since I have known many Tooks, I doubt it. A good day to you both.” Gandalf nodded at the man and hobbit, then strode purposefully from the courtyard, his white robes only slightly brighter than the pale stone of the corridor.

Once Gandalf left, Aragorn turned his attention to the young hobbit guardsman.

Pippin was dust-streaked, battle-worn, his sable surcoat frayed at the sleeves. But he stood with back straight and chin raised, the stance of a soldier pushed to the very limit of his endurance but due to his good training would not allow himself to falter.

Aragorn felt a pang of regret--earlier, he’d been so focused on Merry that he hadn’t noticed Pippin’s fatigue. Well, instead of giving him more errands to do, his only orders for the night would be rest. And they might as well start now, with a seat on one of the benches that faced away from the wall top toward a small marble fountain in the courtyard, where the clouds and darkness could stay at their backs, out of sight (even if never out of mind).

Once seated, Aragorn tried smiling at the hobbit, but Pippin sat stiffly beside him.

“Well, that was pleasant,” Pippin muttered. “Gandalf needn’t always be so cross with me. Sometimes I wonder whether he likes me at all.”

Aragorn sighed. “Of course he likes you, Pippin. He just has a lot on his mind.”

“So do you,” the hobbit said, “but you still talk politely.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but he knew he would lose this particular battle. So instead, he got right to the point. “Pippin, there’s something you should know. Merry will be facing certain...dangers if he fights now.”

“His arm,” Pippin said, jaw set.

“Worse than that, I’m afraid.”

“Well, what is it then?” Pippin looked down at his feet, turned his head away from Aragorn. “I’m not a child. You needn’t spare my feelings.”

“No,” Aragorn said, startled. “No, I wouldn’t. It’s the Nazgul, Pippin.”

Pippin shuddered at the word, the battle for Minas Tirith still seared in his brain, sharp as a sword point. Ringwraiths. The black shapes in the sky, diving relentlessly, delivering death. The terrible screeches that ripped at his mind until he felt fear tearing at his senses, tearing so violently that he felt all thoughts abandoning him, his body twisting in anguish, a physical reaction to the voice of evil, to the sound of inescapable death.

“They will want Merry dead for killing one of their own,” Aragorn said. “And we cannot know how his wounds will be affected by their presence.”

Pippin’s head jerked up. “And will you still let him fight--even though--even though you know this?”

Aragorn looked into Pippin’s eyes. “Would you deny him this? The chance to fight for Frodo?”

Pippin bit his lip. It still made him shudder in disbelief when he remembered that Merry had helped to kill such a creature. But Merry had overcome the Witch-king of Angmar. Perhaps he could overcome the other Nazgul, too. And he was determined. So very determined.

“No,” Pippin said. “I would not. But I’m his younger cousin. I’m not over-used to denying him, especially since I could always follow him into the greatest adventures.”

Aragorn nodded. “I will not say there is no danger for Merry if he goes to battle. But there is danger for us all, here at the end of all things. If Frodo and Sam fail--”

“They won’t.”

“--then leaving Merry behind would only delay the inevitable.”

“They won’t fail,” Pippin said, louder, and looked over his shoulder to the horizon, the dark peaks and thick clouds. Somewhere amidst them there were two small figures...and all their hopes, unseen.

Aragorn saw the young hobbit’s dirt-smudged face tighten with a dark thought, and quickly sought to draw him from it. “Pippin, listen. You must stay by Merry at all times when we fight. He will need you. If he is in distress, get him to the edge of the battle. You must keep him safe.”

Pippin came back to himself with a shake of his head. “I made a vow when I found Merry on the field of Pelennor,” he said. “I told Merry I wouldn’t leave him. That I would look after him. I won’t break it now.” He managed a taut grin. “If the Nazgul want him, they’ll have to get through me first.”

Aragorn nodded, his throat too tight to speak. And here was the hobbit who doubted his own courage when they started their journey?

Pippin stood up. “I think I’ll give Merry the news, now. With your leave?”

Aragorn nodded again, but as Pippin passed him he reached out and placed a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

Pippin cocked his head at him. “Strider?”

“After you talk with your cousin, you must rest, Peregrin Took. You cannot fight if you are battling exhaustion as well as orcs.” Aragorn caught Pippin’s eyes to make sure he understood.

Pippin returned the gaze, then looked away quickly. Something in Aragorn’s look--the pride, the concern--for a moment, Pippin could have been in the Shire, glancing into his father’s eyes. But that life seemed so far away and long ago. Pippin coughed to cover the turmoil of emotion that sprang up in his chest, then turned abruptly to Merry’s room.

Still seated on the bench, Aragorn watched his smallest guardsman leave, his brow wrinkled with new concerns.

~~~

Merry was sitting on the edge of his bed when Pippin opened the door to the chamber and slipped inside. He sprang to his feet. “Well? What did Aragorn say?”

Pippin looked up at his cousin, and Merry couldn’t read his face, for all the conflicting emotions that seemed contained beneath the surface--relief, worry, wistfulness, fear?

“You will fight,” was all Pippin said.

“Yes!” Merry said, even as Pippin fell onto the bed, flopping over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“Hoy, what’s this about?” Merry said, sitting down next to him. “Shouldn’t you be glad? You won’t have to stay behind with me now.”

Pippin had closed his eyes in weariness, but now he cracked one eye open. “I was never going to stay behind.”

“That’s what you say,” Merry said.

Pippin shook his head. “You shouldn’t go,” he whispered.

“What?” Merry said, stung. “But you said Strider--”

“If you reconsider Strider would understand.”

“I--of course I won’t reconsider. Don’t you want me with you?”

“Yes!” Pippin said, face stricken. Then his shoulders slumped. “I--I mean, no.”

Merry frowned and held his silence. Pippin would tell him what was wrong if he waited long enough--especially when he was in such an anxious, tremulous state. Pippin fidgeted on the bed, kicking his dusty feet against the coverlet.

Finally, in a voice so low Merry could hardly hear it, Pippin said, “I’m afraid something awful will happen to you.”

“Oh Pip,” Merry said, and placed his hands on both sides of his cousin’s face so Pippin was forced to look up at him. “Is that all?”

Pippin hesitated, then pulled away from his cousin. “It’s quite enough, thank you,” he said huffily, refusing to meet Merry’s eyes. “You don’t seem to care a whit for yourself, so someone must worry.”

Merry sighed. He knew Pippin was keeping something from him, but when he got into this sort of mood, there’d be no wrenching it from him.

Pippin peeked at his cousin through the corner of his eye. Merry knew he was keeping something from him; he was wearing that resigned, suffering older cousin look on his face again. It made Pippin want to tell him everything, but he couldn’t. If he mentioned the Ringwraiths, he knew what Merry would remember (You fool. No man can kill me. Die now!), and he couldn’t bear to bring that darkness back into Merry’s eyes. So instead, Pippin laughed.

“You look like the cat kept out of the cream,” he said.

“That’s because you’re hiding something from me,” Merry returned.

Pippin made his eyes go wide and innocent. “Me? Hide anything? From you?” Merry rolled his eyes as Pippin made a great show of checking his pockets.

“Nothing in here, naught but dust--you didn’t want any dust, did you, Merry?” Pippin said, as he held out dust-streaked fingers beneath Merry’s nose.

Merry snorted and pushed Pippin away. Pippin threw up his dusty hands to steady himself, balancing precariously on the edge of the bed for a moment, then tumbled off, landing in a heap on the floor.

“Merry!” Pippin scrambled to his feet. “What’d you do that for?”

“Trying to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off your face,” Merry said as Pippin began to laugh. “It didn’t work, apparently.”

And it won’t make me forget you’re hiding something from me, either, Merry thought, as Pippin bounced back onto the bed, stole Merry’s pillow, and proceeded to fall asleep with astounding speed.