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Another story
As many of you know, I will be leaving the Army in two days. Wow. What an amazing time I have had, the good and the bad. To honor all that I have done, and the mixed feelings I can't shake, I wrote this little ficlet. Thanks once again to Marigold for her wonderful beta job, and I hope you enjoy.
To Be A Soldier
To Be a Soldier…
The Hall was quiet, the evening still early. Those courtiers who had occupied its rooms earlier were gone now, taking their supper with friends and family, while the guards remaining on duty enjoyed the gentle autumn breeze that wafted in through gauze draped windows.
Standing quietly, eyes roaming the vastness of what was perhaps the most important room in all of Gondor, at least to him, Peregrin Took watched his fellow Guards with mixed feelings.
Silent men, and strong. That was the first impression they gave when noticed, if they were noticed at all. Proud men of good character, of honour, who would gladly, even joyously give their life for their King.
And Pippin knew them for even so much more.
They were men with families, with laugh lines crinkling their eyes and scarred, roughened hands that could be so gentle when holding tiny fingers within their grasp. Boromir had had hands like that. They were young men not yet married, and tough older veterans. They were men that had lost many or even all of those they had loved and still bravely held their heads high and lived each day to the full. And they were all of them, every single one, Pippin’s dear comrades.
Never in his wildest imaginings had Pippin ever considered himself a soldier. Not on the Quest, not during the battle at the Black Gate, not even when he had been knighted. Yet looking about him now, at the faces of men whom he had shared meals and laughter and tears and terror with, he realized that was exactly what he had become. He was very, very proud.
And he would be leaving this life, and his fellow soldiers, on the morrow.
Distantly, echoing through the emptiness, bells tolled the hour, their deep, song filled chorus holding for Pippin a meaning that many in the City seldom thought about. Doors opened, and a squad of fresh-faced guardsmen and two fellow Knights filtered in, smiling and chatting easily amongst themselves.
The changing of the guard. How many times had he heard those bells? Felt the odd tingle travel up his back at their song, knowing by their tone how much time he had remaining to his duty, or heralding the arrival of friends?
“Sir Peregrin,” the eldest Knight greeted him solemnly, kneeling easily despite the sound of cracking joints and creaking leather. The room grew silent, smiles faltering slightly. “I am happy for you, that you shall be returning to your home. Yet I cannot help my sadness at the thought of you not being here to greet me upon my shift. It has been an honour to know you and to serve with you, and I wish you the best of luck and all happiness. May the sun always shine upon you and yours.”
The man’s voice was thick, yet steady, his eyes dry despite the emotion Pippin could hear in his voice. He had seen too many depart for tears.
“Thank you, Cellum,” Pippin murmured, smiling shyly at the man who had become a steady friend over the past several months. “May the wind be gentle upon your fields, and the rain sweet to your lips.”
Cellum grinned as the young hobbit returned the Lossarnach blessing. “Have a pleasant evening, Master Hobbit, and give my best to Oren.”
Pippin smiled, giving in to the sweet sadness that filled him and hugging the other fiercely. The embrace was returned gently, and when the two parted, Pippin found himself sniffling slightly.
When he turned he found himself surrounded, each man wishing to say his own farewells. It was long past the start of shift before the room was silent once more, and the sound of bare hobbit feet no longer echoed in its vastness.
***
The night was cooler than he was accustomed to in Gondor, the slight breeze that had blown all day tugging gently at his curls and caressing his cheeks, tingeing them pink. The night was clear, stars dotting the sky and casting silver highlights upon the two who gazed upon the City.
“It was a wonderful dinner, Oren,” Pippin sighed, enjoying the comfortably stuffed feeling that had him yawning. “Leyna truly is a marvellous cook. And little Anya is simply adorable.”
Oren beamed proudly, the scar that ran from his left eye to his chin giving him a completely false look of malevolence. For one moment Pippin was reminded of his first glimpse of Strider.
“I am glad you were able to be here tonight, my friend,” he said softly, gazing distantly into the sky. “It shall most certainly be odd standing guard without you by my side.”
“It shall be odd not standing guard,” Pippin agreed, smiling.
Oren cast him a sidelong look, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “You shall miss it, won’t you?” he finally asked. “Despite the long hours and the pains it costs.”
Pippin nodded, swallowing the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.
“It will be odd, not wearing my uniform or armour,” he whispered. “I am so looking forward to home, yet I do not know what I shall do with myself when I get there.”
Oren snorted, a half laugh, half disbelieving sound. “You shall do what every soldier coming home does. You shall get disgustingly drunk in the local tavern, tell outrageous tales no one shall believe, and be proud that you had a small part in their being alive to disbelieve you. Then, when the drink has been drunk and you have found your way to your soft bed, you will count your blessings, and be thankful for the memories that you carry, the experiences you have gained, and the brave companions that you have come to know.”
Pippin cast large, startled eyes to the man, seeing in his friend all of the things that he had spoken of.
“And when the sun rises,” Oren continued softly, no longer looking at the hobbit, but to the stars overhead, “You will give thanks that you are there to see it rise, and remember those who have gone before you. That is what you shall do, Peregrin Took.”
Now he did turn to Pippin, and their eyes met for a long moment.
“It won’t be easy at first,” Oren said, almost conversationally. “People will ask questions that you won’t know how to answer. Many innocent sounds will put you on your guard, and places that made you feel safe before may now feel confining.” A large, calloused hand rested gently on Pippin’s shoulder. “But in the end, the innocent sounds will stop being so alarming, and you will find new places to feel safe.”
The fingers squeezed gently and Peregrin Took, Knight of the Citadel, friend to the King, member of the Fellowship, troll-slayer, and kin to the Ring-bearer, smiled up into the kindly grey eyes.
“You are right, Oren,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to the stars, which seemed somehow brighter.
And when the dawn came, bringing with it the funeral procession of King Théoden accompanied by the remaining members of the Fellowship, Pippin found himself marching in time to the drum.
And proud to know his footsteps followed the beat of those who had come before.
To Be A Soldier
To Be a Soldier…
The Hall was quiet, the evening still early. Those courtiers who had occupied its rooms earlier were gone now, taking their supper with friends and family, while the guards remaining on duty enjoyed the gentle autumn breeze that wafted in through gauze draped windows.
Standing quietly, eyes roaming the vastness of what was perhaps the most important room in all of Gondor, at least to him, Peregrin Took watched his fellow Guards with mixed feelings.
Silent men, and strong. That was the first impression they gave when noticed, if they were noticed at all. Proud men of good character, of honour, who would gladly, even joyously give their life for their King.
And Pippin knew them for even so much more.
They were men with families, with laugh lines crinkling their eyes and scarred, roughened hands that could be so gentle when holding tiny fingers within their grasp. Boromir had had hands like that. They were young men not yet married, and tough older veterans. They were men that had lost many or even all of those they had loved and still bravely held their heads high and lived each day to the full. And they were all of them, every single one, Pippin’s dear comrades.
Never in his wildest imaginings had Pippin ever considered himself a soldier. Not on the Quest, not during the battle at the Black Gate, not even when he had been knighted. Yet looking about him now, at the faces of men whom he had shared meals and laughter and tears and terror with, he realized that was exactly what he had become. He was very, very proud.
And he would be leaving this life, and his fellow soldiers, on the morrow.
Distantly, echoing through the emptiness, bells tolled the hour, their deep, song filled chorus holding for Pippin a meaning that many in the City seldom thought about. Doors opened, and a squad of fresh-faced guardsmen and two fellow Knights filtered in, smiling and chatting easily amongst themselves.
The changing of the guard. How many times had he heard those bells? Felt the odd tingle travel up his back at their song, knowing by their tone how much time he had remaining to his duty, or heralding the arrival of friends?
“Sir Peregrin,” the eldest Knight greeted him solemnly, kneeling easily despite the sound of cracking joints and creaking leather. The room grew silent, smiles faltering slightly. “I am happy for you, that you shall be returning to your home. Yet I cannot help my sadness at the thought of you not being here to greet me upon my shift. It has been an honour to know you and to serve with you, and I wish you the best of luck and all happiness. May the sun always shine upon you and yours.”
The man’s voice was thick, yet steady, his eyes dry despite the emotion Pippin could hear in his voice. He had seen too many depart for tears.
“Thank you, Cellum,” Pippin murmured, smiling shyly at the man who had become a steady friend over the past several months. “May the wind be gentle upon your fields, and the rain sweet to your lips.”
Cellum grinned as the young hobbit returned the Lossarnach blessing. “Have a pleasant evening, Master Hobbit, and give my best to Oren.”
Pippin smiled, giving in to the sweet sadness that filled him and hugging the other fiercely. The embrace was returned gently, and when the two parted, Pippin found himself sniffling slightly.
When he turned he found himself surrounded, each man wishing to say his own farewells. It was long past the start of shift before the room was silent once more, and the sound of bare hobbit feet no longer echoed in its vastness.
***
The night was cooler than he was accustomed to in Gondor, the slight breeze that had blown all day tugging gently at his curls and caressing his cheeks, tingeing them pink. The night was clear, stars dotting the sky and casting silver highlights upon the two who gazed upon the City.
“It was a wonderful dinner, Oren,” Pippin sighed, enjoying the comfortably stuffed feeling that had him yawning. “Leyna truly is a marvellous cook. And little Anya is simply adorable.”
Oren beamed proudly, the scar that ran from his left eye to his chin giving him a completely false look of malevolence. For one moment Pippin was reminded of his first glimpse of Strider.
“I am glad you were able to be here tonight, my friend,” he said softly, gazing distantly into the sky. “It shall most certainly be odd standing guard without you by my side.”
“It shall be odd not standing guard,” Pippin agreed, smiling.
Oren cast him a sidelong look, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “You shall miss it, won’t you?” he finally asked. “Despite the long hours and the pains it costs.”
Pippin nodded, swallowing the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.
“It will be odd, not wearing my uniform or armour,” he whispered. “I am so looking forward to home, yet I do not know what I shall do with myself when I get there.”
Oren snorted, a half laugh, half disbelieving sound. “You shall do what every soldier coming home does. You shall get disgustingly drunk in the local tavern, tell outrageous tales no one shall believe, and be proud that you had a small part in their being alive to disbelieve you. Then, when the drink has been drunk and you have found your way to your soft bed, you will count your blessings, and be thankful for the memories that you carry, the experiences you have gained, and the brave companions that you have come to know.”
Pippin cast large, startled eyes to the man, seeing in his friend all of the things that he had spoken of.
“And when the sun rises,” Oren continued softly, no longer looking at the hobbit, but to the stars overhead, “You will give thanks that you are there to see it rise, and remember those who have gone before you. That is what you shall do, Peregrin Took.”
Now he did turn to Pippin, and their eyes met for a long moment.
“It won’t be easy at first,” Oren said, almost conversationally. “People will ask questions that you won’t know how to answer. Many innocent sounds will put you on your guard, and places that made you feel safe before may now feel confining.” A large, calloused hand rested gently on Pippin’s shoulder. “But in the end, the innocent sounds will stop being so alarming, and you will find new places to feel safe.”
The fingers squeezed gently and Peregrin Took, Knight of the Citadel, friend to the King, member of the Fellowship, troll-slayer, and kin to the Ring-bearer, smiled up into the kindly grey eyes.
“You are right, Oren,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to the stars, which seemed somehow brighter.
And when the dawn came, bringing with it the funeral procession of King Théoden accompanied by the remaining members of the Fellowship, Pippin found himself marching in time to the drum.
And proud to know his footsteps followed the beat of those who had come before.