Another story
Mar. 7th, 2004 02:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piploverHello, all.
Its been a few days, but I here is another story. I hope you all like it, though it is darker than my last one. Enjoy!
I Would Live for You
“Merry?” The voice was no more than a whisper, it’s owner broken by hours of harsh weeping that had left the slight body exhausted.
“Yes, Dear Heart?” Merry answered just as softly, his face buried in Pippin’s curls, one arm around his cousin’s shoulders as they attempted to sleep.
The woods of Lothlorien were not quiet, the sound of birds chattering and Elven voices singing their laments filling the silences with sorrowful sound. Frodo, curled up on Pippin’s other side with Sam at his back, added his own soft snores to the symphony of life that surrounded them, even as their weary hearts were filled with the lamentations of death. Somewhere nearby, Legolas could be heard singing his own tribute to the fallen wizard, while Gimli’s grumbling snores added an odd counterpart. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Boromir.
“Do you think –” The small body shuddered once more as sobs threatened to overtake the tiny hobbit, though he bit back the tears bravely and continued. “Do you think that Gandalf is with the Old Took right now, talking about past adventures?”
“Oh, Pip,” Merry half sighed, half sobbed. He could get nothing more out, and for a moment they both allowed the tears to fall once more.
But Pippin’s eyes were too tired and sore from weeping, his mind overcome by all that had happened to allow mere physical release of so great a pain. Soon he lay still, listening, as his beloved cousin’s own grief slowly died to the deep rhythms of sleep.
An eerie calm seemed to settle about the young hobbit, his mind going strangely numb as he felt himself starting to tumble into sleep. He fought the embrace of slumber for a while, struggling to fend off the inevitable, but soon he was spiraling down into an unwelcome darkness, where visions of fire and blackness waited for him.
Once more the image of the Balrog came to him, the bridge, and Gandalf, facing the evil bravely. He felt himself stir, in a far off corner of his mind, and knew that he was twitching, though he could not drag himself from the nightmare.
He felt himself open his mouth to scream out a warning, to defy what had already happened, but no sound emerged. He tried to move, but lethargy bound him as surely as any rope, and his limbs struggled against the heaviness the held him. He could hear, once more, that beloved voice bidding them to fly, to run, and wanted only to hear something else, anything else, to escape from that mouth, for that kind and stern voice to once more be calling him a fool. Or to feel that old and wizened hand resting upon his head, bringing comfort by mere touch and letting him know words of scolding were not grumbled in true anger.
Blackness surrounded him, then, overwhelmed him, and he knew that he would surely drown with it, for he could not breathe, could not take in air that was not polluted with it.
“Hush, now, lad,” a voice whispered out of that vile pitch, seeming with the very words to dispel some of the thick darkness. “What is all this fuss you make?”
“Gandalf!” Pippin cried weakly, afraid to listen to that voice, yet wanting to hear it more than he had wanted air a moment before. He yearned for it, as a flower yearned for the sun as it lay hidden beneath the snow of winter. And like that sun warming the earth from its long slumber, light slowly filled Pippin’s mind, easing the ache, the intolerable agony of loss and leaving only the bittersweet grief of longing.
“Shush, now, my Peregrin. Enough of that. What is past can not be unmade.” The gentle rebuke, like so many he had received from the Wizard over his lifetime, filled him with love and calm as he had thought never to attain again. “You must carry on, lad. You all must, for the sake of Middle-earth and all that you cherish.”
“But-“ Pippin stumbled in that light, in the warmth that seemed to fill even the darkest of places within him. “How? How can we go on without you?”
A laugh, gentle and familiar and achingly beautiful. “Why, that is the simplest of all, Pippin! Just put one foot in front of the other!”
The laughter faded into a soft hum that gradually became a waking reality, fragmenting into the living sounds of the forest. It was still night out, though the dark did not seem so unbearable. Merry shifted slightly beside him, and Pippin squeezed the arm around his shoulders as he closed his eyes again, no more fearing to sleep that night. For in the depths of his mind, in the places that he did not even know existed, a light still shone, and fended off the dark.
The next morning found the hobbits listless and pale, eating little at breakfast and then remaining, limp as dolls, in their nest of bedding. Aragorn watched his small friends worriedly, knowing there was nothing he could do even as his heart cried out against that despair. So much darkness, and not enough light in the morning sky to dispel it.
A heart-wrenching sound brought his head back up from where it had fallen against his chest as he fought his own grief. Frodo had his face buried in his hands, weeping as though his heart would never be whole again.
“There, now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam murmured, though his own voice was thick and slightly choked, and wrapped his arms around his dearest friend. Merry soon joined him, and lastly Pippin, all with damp eyes as they tried to offer what comfort they could.
“It w-was foolish of me to br-bring you along,” Frodo sobbed, his breath coming in hiccupping gasps. “I d-don’t know wh-what I shall do if a-anything ha-happens to you!” This last was followed by a strangled wail, and Aragorn was certain the world would shatter with the sound of it.
But as he went to stand, to offer his own comfort to the pile of hobbits, Pippin pulled back slightly from the group, wiping his eyes and setting his jaw firmly as he met the astounded looks of his cousins and Sam.
“I know what I would do,” he said softly, and there was a moment when the world seemed to hold its breath for the answer. He met each of their damp gazes with one of his own, but there was something new in those reddened green eyes that none of them had seen before. He gently reached over with one nimble hand and wiped the tears from Frodo’s cheek, smiling gently. “I would live for you, dearest cousin. I would live each day as though I were living it for the both of us.”
Something in his tone, in the sincerity, seemed to finally reach past the heartache to Frodo’s soul, and he stared for a moment more at his cousin who he had helped raise. Then his arms were around Pippin, holding him close, and he was crying once more, though these were gentle tears.
“We shall live each day as he would wish us to,” Frodo breathed into those unruly curls that he loved.
“And know that he is ever in our hearts,” Merry added just as softly, his face pressed into Pippin’s back as he himself allowed his tears to wash away some of the pain.
Sam nodded, unable to speak, arms still wrapped around Frodo, so onlookers could not tell where one hobbit began and another ended.
Aragorn settled back down, feeling his own grief begin to lift. And unbeknownst to him, in that blackest corner of his heart where all his doubts and despairs laid claim, a light began to burn, casting those worries into shadows.
And a gentle voice laughed.
Its been a few days, but I here is another story. I hope you all like it, though it is darker than my last one. Enjoy!
I Would Live for You
“Merry?” The voice was no more than a whisper, it’s owner broken by hours of harsh weeping that had left the slight body exhausted.
“Yes, Dear Heart?” Merry answered just as softly, his face buried in Pippin’s curls, one arm around his cousin’s shoulders as they attempted to sleep.
The woods of Lothlorien were not quiet, the sound of birds chattering and Elven voices singing their laments filling the silences with sorrowful sound. Frodo, curled up on Pippin’s other side with Sam at his back, added his own soft snores to the symphony of life that surrounded them, even as their weary hearts were filled with the lamentations of death. Somewhere nearby, Legolas could be heard singing his own tribute to the fallen wizard, while Gimli’s grumbling snores added an odd counterpart. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Boromir.
“Do you think –” The small body shuddered once more as sobs threatened to overtake the tiny hobbit, though he bit back the tears bravely and continued. “Do you think that Gandalf is with the Old Took right now, talking about past adventures?”
“Oh, Pip,” Merry half sighed, half sobbed. He could get nothing more out, and for a moment they both allowed the tears to fall once more.
But Pippin’s eyes were too tired and sore from weeping, his mind overcome by all that had happened to allow mere physical release of so great a pain. Soon he lay still, listening, as his beloved cousin’s own grief slowly died to the deep rhythms of sleep.
An eerie calm seemed to settle about the young hobbit, his mind going strangely numb as he felt himself starting to tumble into sleep. He fought the embrace of slumber for a while, struggling to fend off the inevitable, but soon he was spiraling down into an unwelcome darkness, where visions of fire and blackness waited for him.
Once more the image of the Balrog came to him, the bridge, and Gandalf, facing the evil bravely. He felt himself stir, in a far off corner of his mind, and knew that he was twitching, though he could not drag himself from the nightmare.
He felt himself open his mouth to scream out a warning, to defy what had already happened, but no sound emerged. He tried to move, but lethargy bound him as surely as any rope, and his limbs struggled against the heaviness the held him. He could hear, once more, that beloved voice bidding them to fly, to run, and wanted only to hear something else, anything else, to escape from that mouth, for that kind and stern voice to once more be calling him a fool. Or to feel that old and wizened hand resting upon his head, bringing comfort by mere touch and letting him know words of scolding were not grumbled in true anger.
Blackness surrounded him, then, overwhelmed him, and he knew that he would surely drown with it, for he could not breathe, could not take in air that was not polluted with it.
“Hush, now, lad,” a voice whispered out of that vile pitch, seeming with the very words to dispel some of the thick darkness. “What is all this fuss you make?”
“Gandalf!” Pippin cried weakly, afraid to listen to that voice, yet wanting to hear it more than he had wanted air a moment before. He yearned for it, as a flower yearned for the sun as it lay hidden beneath the snow of winter. And like that sun warming the earth from its long slumber, light slowly filled Pippin’s mind, easing the ache, the intolerable agony of loss and leaving only the bittersweet grief of longing.
“Shush, now, my Peregrin. Enough of that. What is past can not be unmade.” The gentle rebuke, like so many he had received from the Wizard over his lifetime, filled him with love and calm as he had thought never to attain again. “You must carry on, lad. You all must, for the sake of Middle-earth and all that you cherish.”
“But-“ Pippin stumbled in that light, in the warmth that seemed to fill even the darkest of places within him. “How? How can we go on without you?”
A laugh, gentle and familiar and achingly beautiful. “Why, that is the simplest of all, Pippin! Just put one foot in front of the other!”
The laughter faded into a soft hum that gradually became a waking reality, fragmenting into the living sounds of the forest. It was still night out, though the dark did not seem so unbearable. Merry shifted slightly beside him, and Pippin squeezed the arm around his shoulders as he closed his eyes again, no more fearing to sleep that night. For in the depths of his mind, in the places that he did not even know existed, a light still shone, and fended off the dark.
The next morning found the hobbits listless and pale, eating little at breakfast and then remaining, limp as dolls, in their nest of bedding. Aragorn watched his small friends worriedly, knowing there was nothing he could do even as his heart cried out against that despair. So much darkness, and not enough light in the morning sky to dispel it.
A heart-wrenching sound brought his head back up from where it had fallen against his chest as he fought his own grief. Frodo had his face buried in his hands, weeping as though his heart would never be whole again.
“There, now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam murmured, though his own voice was thick and slightly choked, and wrapped his arms around his dearest friend. Merry soon joined him, and lastly Pippin, all with damp eyes as they tried to offer what comfort they could.
“It w-was foolish of me to br-bring you along,” Frodo sobbed, his breath coming in hiccupping gasps. “I d-don’t know wh-what I shall do if a-anything ha-happens to you!” This last was followed by a strangled wail, and Aragorn was certain the world would shatter with the sound of it.
But as he went to stand, to offer his own comfort to the pile of hobbits, Pippin pulled back slightly from the group, wiping his eyes and setting his jaw firmly as he met the astounded looks of his cousins and Sam.
“I know what I would do,” he said softly, and there was a moment when the world seemed to hold its breath for the answer. He met each of their damp gazes with one of his own, but there was something new in those reddened green eyes that none of them had seen before. He gently reached over with one nimble hand and wiped the tears from Frodo’s cheek, smiling gently. “I would live for you, dearest cousin. I would live each day as though I were living it for the both of us.”
Something in his tone, in the sincerity, seemed to finally reach past the heartache to Frodo’s soul, and he stared for a moment more at his cousin who he had helped raise. Then his arms were around Pippin, holding him close, and he was crying once more, though these were gentle tears.
“We shall live each day as he would wish us to,” Frodo breathed into those unruly curls that he loved.
“And know that he is ever in our hearts,” Merry added just as softly, his face pressed into Pippin’s back as he himself allowed his tears to wash away some of the pain.
Sam nodded, unable to speak, arms still wrapped around Frodo, so onlookers could not tell where one hobbit began and another ended.
Aragorn settled back down, feeling his own grief begin to lift. And unbeknownst to him, in that blackest corner of his heart where all his doubts and despairs laid claim, a light began to burn, casting those worries into shadows.
And a gentle voice laughed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 02:50 pm (UTC)Thank you!
Date: 2004-03-08 05:59 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 03:53 pm (UTC)Thank you!
Date: 2004-03-08 06:03 pm (UTC)thank you!
Date: 2004-03-09 07:59 pm (UTC)Re: thank you!
Date: 2004-03-10 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 07:16 pm (UTC)Of course!
Date: 2004-03-08 07:20 pm (UTC)Big grin!
no subject
Date: 2004-03-09 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 10:44 pm (UTC)“Why, that is the simplest of all, Pippin! Just put one foot in front of the other!” - what a wonderful motto !
I look forward to read more of your writings :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-09 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-10 12:10 am (UTC)it's especially beautiful to read playing Grey Havens in the background hehe
great job!
no subject
Date: 2004-03-18 11:06 pm (UTC)Thank you for sharing it.