For Pippinswolf
Dec. 6th, 2004 12:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piploverI wrote this story some time ago for Pippinswolf, when both of us were going through a hard time. Sometimes, there just doesn't seem to be an answer for the way we feel, and I wanted her to know that I understood, at least a little bit.
I am posting it here because I just wanted to let her know that I am thinking of her, and that if she ever needs to talk, or through stones, lol, then I am here.
I love you, Kimby! This is your story, even though you already have your own copy.
It was silent at Bag End, the stars overhead casting their light on the lone figure who sat quietly upon the grass, gazing into nothing as his mind spun dizzily in circles that seemed to have no end.
He had yelled at Merry.
That one thought dominated all the others even as the conversation replayed itself again and again in his mind. He had yelled at Merry, for something so stupid that he blushed just thinking about it.
A stupid fight, because he was a stupid cousin. That’s what it came to, he thought miserably. “All because I can’t get my head straight!” he cursed to himself.
His hands, still calloused from sword practice he would never allow himself to forget, were rough against his face as he covered his eyes. Such a stupid little thing!
“I did the dishes last night, Merry, it’s your turn.”
“I told you, Pip, I promised Estella I would escort her home tonight, I can’t get out of it. I’ll do the dishes tomorrow and the next day, all right?”
“No, it’s not all right!”
“Pippin, what has got into you? It’s just the dishes!”
“You don’t understand anything anymore! You can’t!”
“Maybe I don’t! You’ve been behaving like a great baby the past few weeks, and I’m getting sick of it!”
“Then maybe you should leave!”
“Maybe I should!”
Such a stupid fight, over something that was meaningless. And now Merry was gone, having stormed out of the kitchen in a temper.
And Pippin was alone, in the cool spring night.
“I’m so sorry, Merry,” he sobbed into his hands, wishing that his cousin were there to hear the words. “I don’t know what to do!”
His cousin, who had watched him take his first baby steps, had held his hands to steady him in those first moments of exploration. His cousin that had held him late at night as a child, comforting him against the thunderstorms that had so terrified him. His cousin, whom he had shared nightmares no others could comprehend.
The sobs wracked at his body, doubling him over as he wept bitter tears that held no ending in sight. What was he going to do? What could he do?
Everything about him was as ash in his mouth, his world spinning under his feet until he felt he would surely be spun into the heavens. He was loosing his hold, feeling himself starting to spin away from everything he knew and loved.
And suddenly he wanted to get away, to run as far and as fast as he could, to never come back to this place that held so many memories of a happiness he could not seem to find again.
He lurched to his feet, blinded by tears, and half stumbled, half fell down the slight incline, landing awkwardly at the bottom in a confusion of legs and arms.
“Pippin?”
He heard the voice, but could not respond for the gasps that still tore at his chest, making breathing an effort.
Suddenly arms were around him, holding him close, a steadying anchor against the spinning world.
“I do-don’t kn-know wh-what to d-d-do!” he managed to say between shuddering breaths. “Wh-why w-w-won’t it stop?!” he bellowed, finally managing to pry his eyes open.
Blue orbs stared back into his, an understanding filling them along with the tears that threatened to fall.
“Ma-make it st-stop, Frodo! Please, pl-please make it st-stop!”
It was a plea wrenched from his heart, torn by the sobs that shook his slender frame as he buried his face into the familiar shoulder.
“I can’t, Dearest,” Frodo whispered, heartbroken.
He held his cousin closely, feeling the rapid heartbeat against his own chest, the wracking tears burning his flesh as they soaked his shirt. Slowly he rocked him, as he would a babe, singing softly one of the songs from when Pippin was still in the cradle.
“In the darkness of the night,
Don’t be scared,
Have no fright,
For I am here,
Near at hand,
I am here,
And here I stand,
Softly I sing,
This lullaby,
To sing you away,
Tis not goodbye.
Off you go,
To dream sweet dreams,
Of climbing trees,
And bubbling streams.
In the darkness of the night,
Don’t be scared,
Have no fright.”
Slowly the words had the desired effect, and Pippin began to calm under that steady, beloved voice. Frodo continued to rock him, as the tears continued to fall, with no end in sight to the endless grief he knew all too well.
“I yelled at him, Frodo,” Pippin finally whispered, face still buried in the other’s shoulder. “I don’t even know why.”
“I know, Sweetling, I know,” Frodo answered, touching his maimed hand to the curls against his chest. He stared at the gap between thumb and fingers, and his eyes closed. “I know,” he repeated.
“I – I’m broken inside, Frodo,” Pippin breathed, his breath catching on his cousin’s name. “I don’t know if I can ever be fixed.”
There was nothing he could say as he continued to hold his beloved cousin, his dear friend.
“I just feel so angry at times I could throw something, and I don’t know why!”
Frodo nodded his understanding, an idea suddenly forming in his mind. Tenderly he pushed his cousin back a bit by the shoulders, to stare into the red and swollen eyes.
“Then let us do it, Pip-lad,” he said softly.
For a moment Pippin did not understand, face confused as he tried to grasp what his cousin was saying. Then slowly, like a sun rising, comprehension dawned. He nodded, once, and allowed Frodo to help him stand.
They walked silently for a time, neither one of them needing to speak as they headed away from Bag End and Bag Shot Row, away from the friends that worried and fretted. They walked for a good hour, stumbling in the dark, helping each other to stand with trembling hands.
Then they reached it.
It was a small clearing, not very far from the road, hidden by the trees with a stream bubbling soothingly off to one side. Without speaking they set about gathering all the rocks they could find in the inky darkness, conducting this chore with a single-heartedness that seemed to engulf both of them.
Finally, when each had a pile of nearly thirty fist-sized rocks each, they stood side by side, staring off into that darkness that surrounded them.
It was Frodo who moved first, balancing his stone in his hand with a thoughtful expression on his pale face.
“For Sam!” he yelled suddenly, throwing the projectile for all he was worth. There was a dull thud as it hit an obstacle beyond their sight.
Pippin hefted his own rock, his eyes dark and brooding as he yelled, “For Merry!”
They both picked up another stone, and as one yelled their own grievance into the night as they threw.
“For Gollum!”
“For Boromir!”
Then another, and another, until they were cursing and crying and flinging rocks without thought or attention to direction.
“For my finger!”
“For the Entwives!”
“Boromir!”
“Faramir!”
“Bloody. Stinking. Orcs!”
“Orcdraught!”
“I want my happiness back!”
“I want to stop hurting!”
And finally there were no more rocks to throw.
The two of them stood, panting and sweating, gazing off into the distance as a faint light shone on the horizon. When Pippin turned to Frodo, his eyes were wearied, shadowed in the darkness.
“I guess, sometimes, there just aren’t enough stones,” he whispered softly, though the tears dampening his eyes did not fall.
Frodo nodded, sinking down onto the ground as he closed his own tired eyes.
“We should head back,” he said after a moment of silence, looking up to see Pippin gazing over his shoulder, a faraway look in his eyes. “Pip?”
He followed his cousin’s gaze, and saw the reason for his stare. The sun was rising.
“The sun is always going to come up, isn’t it, Frodo?” he asked softly, distantly. “It will rise and set and rise again, for as long as we live, and nothing we do shall stop it or speed it up.”
Unsure where his cousin was going with his train of thought, Frodo stood unsteadily, swaying with exhaustion.
“We can cry a million tears, or sleep a thousand sleeps, and this sun will still rise.” He turned those shadowed eyes away from the cresting light, to gaze into his cousin’s face. “Because of you, Frodo. Because of what we all did, this sun shall rise tomorrow, and Rosie’s new babe will see rainbows, and flowers will bloom again at Bag End.”
“And the grass shall grow thick,” Frodo added, finding his lips turning upward in a smile that had been all too rare. “With hummingbirds buzzing about our heads.”
“And dragonflies,” Pippin whispered, his own lips tilting up.
There was silence for a moment; then, as one, they started back down the road they had traveled that night.
Into the sunlight.
I am posting it here because I just wanted to let her know that I am thinking of her, and that if she ever needs to talk, or through stones, lol, then I am here.
I love you, Kimby! This is your story, even though you already have your own copy.
It was silent at Bag End, the stars overhead casting their light on the lone figure who sat quietly upon the grass, gazing into nothing as his mind spun dizzily in circles that seemed to have no end.
He had yelled at Merry.
That one thought dominated all the others even as the conversation replayed itself again and again in his mind. He had yelled at Merry, for something so stupid that he blushed just thinking about it.
A stupid fight, because he was a stupid cousin. That’s what it came to, he thought miserably. “All because I can’t get my head straight!” he cursed to himself.
His hands, still calloused from sword practice he would never allow himself to forget, were rough against his face as he covered his eyes. Such a stupid little thing!
“I did the dishes last night, Merry, it’s your turn.”
“I told you, Pip, I promised Estella I would escort her home tonight, I can’t get out of it. I’ll do the dishes tomorrow and the next day, all right?”
“No, it’s not all right!”
“Pippin, what has got into you? It’s just the dishes!”
“You don’t understand anything anymore! You can’t!”
“Maybe I don’t! You’ve been behaving like a great baby the past few weeks, and I’m getting sick of it!”
“Then maybe you should leave!”
“Maybe I should!”
Such a stupid fight, over something that was meaningless. And now Merry was gone, having stormed out of the kitchen in a temper.
And Pippin was alone, in the cool spring night.
“I’m so sorry, Merry,” he sobbed into his hands, wishing that his cousin were there to hear the words. “I don’t know what to do!”
His cousin, who had watched him take his first baby steps, had held his hands to steady him in those first moments of exploration. His cousin that had held him late at night as a child, comforting him against the thunderstorms that had so terrified him. His cousin, whom he had shared nightmares no others could comprehend.
The sobs wracked at his body, doubling him over as he wept bitter tears that held no ending in sight. What was he going to do? What could he do?
Everything about him was as ash in his mouth, his world spinning under his feet until he felt he would surely be spun into the heavens. He was loosing his hold, feeling himself starting to spin away from everything he knew and loved.
And suddenly he wanted to get away, to run as far and as fast as he could, to never come back to this place that held so many memories of a happiness he could not seem to find again.
He lurched to his feet, blinded by tears, and half stumbled, half fell down the slight incline, landing awkwardly at the bottom in a confusion of legs and arms.
“Pippin?”
He heard the voice, but could not respond for the gasps that still tore at his chest, making breathing an effort.
Suddenly arms were around him, holding him close, a steadying anchor against the spinning world.
“I do-don’t kn-know wh-what to d-d-do!” he managed to say between shuddering breaths. “Wh-why w-w-won’t it stop?!” he bellowed, finally managing to pry his eyes open.
Blue orbs stared back into his, an understanding filling them along with the tears that threatened to fall.
“Ma-make it st-stop, Frodo! Please, pl-please make it st-stop!”
It was a plea wrenched from his heart, torn by the sobs that shook his slender frame as he buried his face into the familiar shoulder.
“I can’t, Dearest,” Frodo whispered, heartbroken.
He held his cousin closely, feeling the rapid heartbeat against his own chest, the wracking tears burning his flesh as they soaked his shirt. Slowly he rocked him, as he would a babe, singing softly one of the songs from when Pippin was still in the cradle.
“In the darkness of the night,
Don’t be scared,
Have no fright,
For I am here,
Near at hand,
I am here,
And here I stand,
Softly I sing,
This lullaby,
To sing you away,
Tis not goodbye.
Off you go,
To dream sweet dreams,
Of climbing trees,
And bubbling streams.
In the darkness of the night,
Don’t be scared,
Have no fright.”
Slowly the words had the desired effect, and Pippin began to calm under that steady, beloved voice. Frodo continued to rock him, as the tears continued to fall, with no end in sight to the endless grief he knew all too well.
“I yelled at him, Frodo,” Pippin finally whispered, face still buried in the other’s shoulder. “I don’t even know why.”
“I know, Sweetling, I know,” Frodo answered, touching his maimed hand to the curls against his chest. He stared at the gap between thumb and fingers, and his eyes closed. “I know,” he repeated.
“I – I’m broken inside, Frodo,” Pippin breathed, his breath catching on his cousin’s name. “I don’t know if I can ever be fixed.”
There was nothing he could say as he continued to hold his beloved cousin, his dear friend.
“I just feel so angry at times I could throw something, and I don’t know why!”
Frodo nodded his understanding, an idea suddenly forming in his mind. Tenderly he pushed his cousin back a bit by the shoulders, to stare into the red and swollen eyes.
“Then let us do it, Pip-lad,” he said softly.
For a moment Pippin did not understand, face confused as he tried to grasp what his cousin was saying. Then slowly, like a sun rising, comprehension dawned. He nodded, once, and allowed Frodo to help him stand.
They walked silently for a time, neither one of them needing to speak as they headed away from Bag End and Bag Shot Row, away from the friends that worried and fretted. They walked for a good hour, stumbling in the dark, helping each other to stand with trembling hands.
Then they reached it.
It was a small clearing, not very far from the road, hidden by the trees with a stream bubbling soothingly off to one side. Without speaking they set about gathering all the rocks they could find in the inky darkness, conducting this chore with a single-heartedness that seemed to engulf both of them.
Finally, when each had a pile of nearly thirty fist-sized rocks each, they stood side by side, staring off into that darkness that surrounded them.
It was Frodo who moved first, balancing his stone in his hand with a thoughtful expression on his pale face.
“For Sam!” he yelled suddenly, throwing the projectile for all he was worth. There was a dull thud as it hit an obstacle beyond their sight.
Pippin hefted his own rock, his eyes dark and brooding as he yelled, “For Merry!”
They both picked up another stone, and as one yelled their own grievance into the night as they threw.
“For Gollum!”
“For Boromir!”
Then another, and another, until they were cursing and crying and flinging rocks without thought or attention to direction.
“For my finger!”
“For the Entwives!”
“Boromir!”
“Faramir!”
“Bloody. Stinking. Orcs!”
“Orcdraught!”
“I want my happiness back!”
“I want to stop hurting!”
And finally there were no more rocks to throw.
The two of them stood, panting and sweating, gazing off into the distance as a faint light shone on the horizon. When Pippin turned to Frodo, his eyes were wearied, shadowed in the darkness.
“I guess, sometimes, there just aren’t enough stones,” he whispered softly, though the tears dampening his eyes did not fall.
Frodo nodded, sinking down onto the ground as he closed his own tired eyes.
“We should head back,” he said after a moment of silence, looking up to see Pippin gazing over his shoulder, a faraway look in his eyes. “Pip?”
He followed his cousin’s gaze, and saw the reason for his stare. The sun was rising.
“The sun is always going to come up, isn’t it, Frodo?” he asked softly, distantly. “It will rise and set and rise again, for as long as we live, and nothing we do shall stop it or speed it up.”
Unsure where his cousin was going with his train of thought, Frodo stood unsteadily, swaying with exhaustion.
“We can cry a million tears, or sleep a thousand sleeps, and this sun will still rise.” He turned those shadowed eyes away from the cresting light, to gaze into his cousin’s face. “Because of you, Frodo. Because of what we all did, this sun shall rise tomorrow, and Rosie’s new babe will see rainbows, and flowers will bloom again at Bag End.”
“And the grass shall grow thick,” Frodo added, finding his lips turning upward in a smile that had been all too rare. “With hummingbirds buzzing about our heads.”
“And dragonflies,” Pippin whispered, his own lips tilting up.
There was silence for a moment; then, as one, they started back down the road they had traveled that night.
Into the sunlight.
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no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 06:33 am (UTC)