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piploverIn a Heartbeat: Chapter Four
Pippin slept restlessly for the better part of the morning, his dreams uneasy and his side aching, sweat beading his upper lip. He was as oblivious to Frodo’s gentle urgings to Merry to take some rest as he was to Aragorn’s frequent checks, the strong hands blending into the background of his sleep.
When he did wake, shortly before the noon bell was rung, he found himself staring for long moments up at the elaborately painted ceiling, the thoughts in his mind settling into place as sand after a wave. The blankets that covered him were almost too warm in the sunshine that poured in from the unseen window, and he carefully pushed them down, revealing his bare chest.
The necklace, resting against his collarbone, was cool against his skin, and he found himself reaching up absently to wrap his fingers around the delicate wings. Inexplicably, he felt tears start to form in his eyes, and fought them down.
“Pippin?” The voice was gentle, soft as a petal’s touch, and it flowed over him like a soothing balm.
The young hobbit turned his gaze to stare at Frodo, looking at him worriedly even as he moved from the chair that Merry had previously occupied. He gazed at his cousin, laying a tender hand to Pippin’s brow, frowning at the tears that remained unshed in brilliant green eyes.
“Frodo,” Pippin whispered, finding his voice with difficulty around the lump in his throat.
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Frodo asked softly, worry colouring his tone.
“What happened to those men?” Pippin asked, his gaze searching the other’s face, sorrow filling his words. “Why did they come?”
The elder hobbit sighed, closing his eyes against the intensity of that stare before moving the chair a bit closer and sitting back down, then taking Pippin’s hand in his own.
“Pippin,” he began, very softly. “They were sent here to kill Strider. You know that. They would have, too, if not for you, and everything that we – we went through, that we accomplished, would have ended.” Frodo’s voice was thick, filled with strain. “The – men – they are to be put to…put to death tomorrow at sunset.”
“Nooo,” Pippin whimpered, closing his eyes. Guilt filled him, an overwhelming wave that threatened to drown him in its wake as tears spilled down his cheeks.
"Pippin, hush sweetheart," Frodo soothed, though his own voice was unsteady. "If Strider allowed these men to live, every assassin for hire would be willing to risk going after him. He would never be able to relax his guard. He - he has to do this, much as I wish it were otherwise."
“He shouldn’t have to make that decision!” Pippin whispered around the lump that was threatening to choke him. “Too many – too many have been lost already!”
“I know, Pippin, I know,” Frodo agreed, stroking his young cousin’s cheek tenderly, wiping away some of the tears with his bereaved hand as he did so. “But Strider is King, now. He will have to make those decisions, much as we may wish it were otherwise. Believe me, dearest, that it was not an easy decision for him to make. None of us want this, but –“ Frodo’s voice caught in his throat for a moment before he continued. “Sometimes, we do have to decide between life and death. And those men chose death when they accepted, willingly, to try and kill our friend for something as meaningless as a little gold.”
Pippin nodded mutely, trying to control his tears. He knew what Frodo said was right, but his heart was torn in two between sorrow that more lives were to be lost, and a deep fury that the men had brought this upon themselves.
How dare they? Pippin thought with a sudden, fierce anger that vanished his tears and added a deep flush to his cheeks. How dare they try and take our friend away from us? How DARE they try and kill my King! They made their choice, and now they leave us none! Stupid, stupid, stupid men!
“Pippin?” Frodo asked uncertainly, surprised by the sudden colour rushing to his cousin’s face.
“Why are people so – so stupid!” Pippin demanded, the steel in his eyes contrasting with the tear marks on his cheeks. “Did they really think they could get away with it? Do they think we’re incompetent?” Pippin sat up, startling Frodo so much he jerked back, taken by surprise at the sudden movement.
Pippin ignored the pain that his actions caused, and spent a moment glaring about him, as though suddenly offended by his surroundings.
“Here I am, taking up Strider’s bed, and why?” he demanded, glaring at his astonished cousin, who was suddenly at a loss as to how to deal with this new side of Pippin. “Because Men are stupid, that’s why!” Pippin answered when no words were forthcoming.
The young hobbit clutched his side as he leaned closer to Frodo, who pushed himself back against the cushions of the chair in surprise.
“Did they really think they could just walk in here and do what they wanted? That we guards wouldn’t stop them? Well, they were wrong, weren’t they? And now they’re going to pay for it! And poor Strider has to deal with me in his bed, and poor Merry is making himself sick with worry! And for what?” Pippin was nearly growling now with suppressed rage, Frodo staring at him with wide, amazed eyes.
“Ummm,” Frodo finally murmured, his eyes leaving Pippin’s face long enough to gaze at the door longingly.
“Because they’re stupid!” Pippin nearly yelled.
The door opened with a speed that had Frodo sighing in relief as he jumped off the chair and almost ran to Aragorn’s side. The King took in the scene in confused worry, a frown creasing his brow.
“What is going on?” he finally asked, making his way slowly to Pippin’s side, who seemed to have lost some of his anger and was gingerly holding his side. “Pippin? What happened?”
“Its my fault, Strider,” Frodo whispered, coming to stand beside the King and his cousin. “I told him what had been decided about the – about the assassins.”
Aragorn’s scowl deepened, and the gaze he turned on Frodo was disapproving.
“I asked, Strider,” Pippin said in a soft voice that was a far cry from his earlier tone. “I – I needed to know.”
Aragorn sighed deeply, sitting heavily in the chair that Frodo had just vacated and placing his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were sorrowful, resigned almost.
“It has to be done, Pippin,” he started, voice suddenly sounding weary.
“I know, Strider,” Pippin cut him off, his free hand absently seeking the necklace about his neck as he bowed his head. “They made their choice, and now they must suffer the consequences. I only wish that you didn’t have to be the one to pass judgement on them. You are so good, and kind.”
A hand, strong and calloused, gently touched his bare shoulder, and Pippin looked up once more, to see his King’s compassionate gaze centred on him.
“That is the responsibility of a King, Sir Peregrin,” Aragorn said softly, squeezing the shoulder lightly. “And I accept it as freely as I do my other duties. My only regret is that the stupidity of these men is causing you so much pain.”
Pippin searched Aragorn’s face, his gaze steady, and finally nodded. As though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, he slumped back, laying down with a soft thump and closing his eyes. For a moment Aragorn feared that he had passed out, and quickly touched gentle fingers to Pippin’s neck.
“I- I’m all right,” Pippin whispered, opening his eyes again and turning slightly dazed eyes to his friend. “I’m just tired.”
“Then you should rest,” Aragorn prompted, pulling the blankets up closer around the hobbit’s shoulders.
“When can I go to my room?” Pippin mumbled, his breath already calming.
“In a little while,” Aragorn promised, resting one hand atop the soft, golden curls. “I want you to rest right now, though, and when you wake up we will discuss moving you.”
“Hmmm,” Pippin agreed, shifting slightly.
For a while, Aragorn sat quietly, Frodo leaning against the arm of the chair, neither one of them speaking. Then Frodo sighed, and the King found himself resting his hand on the older hobbit’s shoulder.
“One day, Frodo,” the King whispered, very softly, his gaze resting on the slumbering form in his bed. “There will not be a need to make such decisions.”
Frodo turned steady eyes to his friend, seeing once more the man he had come to love filled with worry for those he cared for, and knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
“One day,” he finally agreed, and placed his hand upon the King’s, squeezing gently.
Pippin slept restlessly for the better part of the morning, his dreams uneasy and his side aching, sweat beading his upper lip. He was as oblivious to Frodo’s gentle urgings to Merry to take some rest as he was to Aragorn’s frequent checks, the strong hands blending into the background of his sleep.
When he did wake, shortly before the noon bell was rung, he found himself staring for long moments up at the elaborately painted ceiling, the thoughts in his mind settling into place as sand after a wave. The blankets that covered him were almost too warm in the sunshine that poured in from the unseen window, and he carefully pushed them down, revealing his bare chest.
The necklace, resting against his collarbone, was cool against his skin, and he found himself reaching up absently to wrap his fingers around the delicate wings. Inexplicably, he felt tears start to form in his eyes, and fought them down.
“Pippin?” The voice was gentle, soft as a petal’s touch, and it flowed over him like a soothing balm.
The young hobbit turned his gaze to stare at Frodo, looking at him worriedly even as he moved from the chair that Merry had previously occupied. He gazed at his cousin, laying a tender hand to Pippin’s brow, frowning at the tears that remained unshed in brilliant green eyes.
“Frodo,” Pippin whispered, finding his voice with difficulty around the lump in his throat.
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Frodo asked softly, worry colouring his tone.
“What happened to those men?” Pippin asked, his gaze searching the other’s face, sorrow filling his words. “Why did they come?”
The elder hobbit sighed, closing his eyes against the intensity of that stare before moving the chair a bit closer and sitting back down, then taking Pippin’s hand in his own.
“Pippin,” he began, very softly. “They were sent here to kill Strider. You know that. They would have, too, if not for you, and everything that we – we went through, that we accomplished, would have ended.” Frodo’s voice was thick, filled with strain. “The – men – they are to be put to…put to death tomorrow at sunset.”
“Nooo,” Pippin whimpered, closing his eyes. Guilt filled him, an overwhelming wave that threatened to drown him in its wake as tears spilled down his cheeks.
"Pippin, hush sweetheart," Frodo soothed, though his own voice was unsteady. "If Strider allowed these men to live, every assassin for hire would be willing to risk going after him. He would never be able to relax his guard. He - he has to do this, much as I wish it were otherwise."
“He shouldn’t have to make that decision!” Pippin whispered around the lump that was threatening to choke him. “Too many – too many have been lost already!”
“I know, Pippin, I know,” Frodo agreed, stroking his young cousin’s cheek tenderly, wiping away some of the tears with his bereaved hand as he did so. “But Strider is King, now. He will have to make those decisions, much as we may wish it were otherwise. Believe me, dearest, that it was not an easy decision for him to make. None of us want this, but –“ Frodo’s voice caught in his throat for a moment before he continued. “Sometimes, we do have to decide between life and death. And those men chose death when they accepted, willingly, to try and kill our friend for something as meaningless as a little gold.”
Pippin nodded mutely, trying to control his tears. He knew what Frodo said was right, but his heart was torn in two between sorrow that more lives were to be lost, and a deep fury that the men had brought this upon themselves.
How dare they? Pippin thought with a sudden, fierce anger that vanished his tears and added a deep flush to his cheeks. How dare they try and take our friend away from us? How DARE they try and kill my King! They made their choice, and now they leave us none! Stupid, stupid, stupid men!
“Pippin?” Frodo asked uncertainly, surprised by the sudden colour rushing to his cousin’s face.
“Why are people so – so stupid!” Pippin demanded, the steel in his eyes contrasting with the tear marks on his cheeks. “Did they really think they could get away with it? Do they think we’re incompetent?” Pippin sat up, startling Frodo so much he jerked back, taken by surprise at the sudden movement.
Pippin ignored the pain that his actions caused, and spent a moment glaring about him, as though suddenly offended by his surroundings.
“Here I am, taking up Strider’s bed, and why?” he demanded, glaring at his astonished cousin, who was suddenly at a loss as to how to deal with this new side of Pippin. “Because Men are stupid, that’s why!” Pippin answered when no words were forthcoming.
The young hobbit clutched his side as he leaned closer to Frodo, who pushed himself back against the cushions of the chair in surprise.
“Did they really think they could just walk in here and do what they wanted? That we guards wouldn’t stop them? Well, they were wrong, weren’t they? And now they’re going to pay for it! And poor Strider has to deal with me in his bed, and poor Merry is making himself sick with worry! And for what?” Pippin was nearly growling now with suppressed rage, Frodo staring at him with wide, amazed eyes.
“Ummm,” Frodo finally murmured, his eyes leaving Pippin’s face long enough to gaze at the door longingly.
“Because they’re stupid!” Pippin nearly yelled.
The door opened with a speed that had Frodo sighing in relief as he jumped off the chair and almost ran to Aragorn’s side. The King took in the scene in confused worry, a frown creasing his brow.
“What is going on?” he finally asked, making his way slowly to Pippin’s side, who seemed to have lost some of his anger and was gingerly holding his side. “Pippin? What happened?”
“Its my fault, Strider,” Frodo whispered, coming to stand beside the King and his cousin. “I told him what had been decided about the – about the assassins.”
Aragorn’s scowl deepened, and the gaze he turned on Frodo was disapproving.
“I asked, Strider,” Pippin said in a soft voice that was a far cry from his earlier tone. “I – I needed to know.”
Aragorn sighed deeply, sitting heavily in the chair that Frodo had just vacated and placing his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were sorrowful, resigned almost.
“It has to be done, Pippin,” he started, voice suddenly sounding weary.
“I know, Strider,” Pippin cut him off, his free hand absently seeking the necklace about his neck as he bowed his head. “They made their choice, and now they must suffer the consequences. I only wish that you didn’t have to be the one to pass judgement on them. You are so good, and kind.”
A hand, strong and calloused, gently touched his bare shoulder, and Pippin looked up once more, to see his King’s compassionate gaze centred on him.
“That is the responsibility of a King, Sir Peregrin,” Aragorn said softly, squeezing the shoulder lightly. “And I accept it as freely as I do my other duties. My only regret is that the stupidity of these men is causing you so much pain.”
Pippin searched Aragorn’s face, his gaze steady, and finally nodded. As though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, he slumped back, laying down with a soft thump and closing his eyes. For a moment Aragorn feared that he had passed out, and quickly touched gentle fingers to Pippin’s neck.
“I- I’m all right,” Pippin whispered, opening his eyes again and turning slightly dazed eyes to his friend. “I’m just tired.”
“Then you should rest,” Aragorn prompted, pulling the blankets up closer around the hobbit’s shoulders.
“When can I go to my room?” Pippin mumbled, his breath already calming.
“In a little while,” Aragorn promised, resting one hand atop the soft, golden curls. “I want you to rest right now, though, and when you wake up we will discuss moving you.”
“Hmmm,” Pippin agreed, shifting slightly.
For a while, Aragorn sat quietly, Frodo leaning against the arm of the chair, neither one of them speaking. Then Frodo sighed, and the King found himself resting his hand on the older hobbit’s shoulder.
“One day, Frodo,” the King whispered, very softly, his gaze resting on the slumbering form in his bed. “There will not be a need to make such decisions.”
Frodo turned steady eyes to his friend, seeing once more the man he had come to love filled with worry for those he cared for, and knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
“One day,” he finally agreed, and placed his hand upon the King’s, squeezing gently.
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 07:54 am (UTC)The stupidity of Men who cannot see beyond their own greed or fanaticism is something that will always be with us...thank goodness there are those like Pippin, who are always vigilant for the rest of us.
Great
Date: 2005-06-25 04:05 am (UTC)