More writing
Jun. 18th, 2006 07:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanPart two of this
“Merry! Where are you?” Pippin’s whisper sounded urgent, but not so frightened that Merry risked his night vision by glancing down to the torch he’d planted in the entrance of the clearing.
“Up here,” he answered in a low voice, keeping his eyes where they belonged, on the shadows under the trees, in case anything moved.
A soft scuffling of cloth and a grunt announced Pippin’s arrival on Merry’s perch. “Good thing he was wearing a belt when he got turned to stone,” the younger hobbit said, nudging up beside Merry so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. “But why did you climb so far up? You’ll need the torches if the wraiths come.”
“I can jump down if I have to,” Merry said. “It’s not that far. But this way they can’t see me before I see them.”
“Ooh, that’s clever,” Pippin said cheerfully, as if Merry were talking about a way to sneak beer out of a tavern and not a way to keep them all from getting killed. Merry smiled into the darkness. Not even Nazgul could keep his Pippin down for long – not if he’d had a proper bite to eat in any case!
Which reminded Merry. “Have you and Strider got everything ready for us to move on?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” Pippin said, squirming for a better position. “I mean, we’ve eaten and all, but Strider’s gone to sleep, and I thought I’d better come and ask you whether or not I should wake him up.”
“Gone to sleep?” Merry forgot all about his good intentions and turned his head to stare at his cousin.
“I don’t think he meant to,” Pippin explained earnestly. “He made the athelas tea to banish weariness and it did for me, but I guess it just made him comfortable enough to forget to stay awake.”
“Tea to banish weariness?” Merry repeated, disbelievingly. “Are you sure he’s not sick?”
Pippin shrugged, uncertainty flickering across his face. “I don’t think so. Do you want me to wake him up and ask him?”
“No.” Merry bit his lip, trying to think. “No, you stay here, and I’ll go check on him – or have Sam do it. Sam’s good at taking care of people. He’ll know what to do.”
“That’s all right then,” Pippin relaxed immediately, trusting Merry to see things right. He looked out into the dark woods. “What do you want me to do if I see anything?”
“Yell,” Merry answered, scooting forward and dropping to the ground. He reached up and patted Pippin’s foot. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Strider will wake up if we really need him.”
Pippin grinned and wiggled his toes at Merry reassuringly. “I know that,” he said equably. “He’s all right, Strider, if you know what I mean. Even if he doesn’t understand about second breakfast.”
Merry grinned back and nodded before he turned to go and see for himself if Strider was truly “all right”. But he knew what Pippin meant. Somehow he was sure of Strider now, the way he hadn’t been when they’d left Bree. If the Ranger had meant them harm he’d have not fought for their sakes at Weathertop. And besides, it was plain that Strider knew Elves. One of them at least. And she’d trusted him, plain enough.
Merry stopped, struck by a sudden worry. Had Strider warned her about the Ring? It was in Frodo’s pocket, but what if it fell out with all that bouncing around on a horse? I should have taken it to keep it safe, Merry thought. He shivered at the thought of the Nazgul chasing him through the forest, but at least that way he’d know that the Ring hadn’t fallen for them to find. I don’t know why the thought of that frightens me, but it does. Maybe because Frodo looks so serious about it. Frodo hadn’t looked so grim for so long since the summer his parents died. Merry remembered that time, and the way that Frodo had been so gentle and quiet with all his younger cousins very clearly, for all that he’d been so much younger that all he could do was try to tell Frodo stories to make him smile. It had been Pippin who had finally got a laugh out of Frodo, then, Merry remembered – Pippin with a blackberry tart “hidden” in his diaper, nonchalantly toddling across the hall with another three tarts, one in each hand and a third tucked precariously under his chin, in order to share them with his favorite cousins. We’ve got to catch up, Merry realized. Elves may be elves, but it’s hobbits Frodo’s going to need.
Strider was still sleeping when Merry came to the fire, the scarecrow Frodo tucked against his shoulder like a drowsy fauntling, with one large hand supporting its back. Merry looked at that hand in the firelight, seeing the bruises and the half-healed scars that were usually hidden by the Ranger’s long sleeves and half-gloves. He remembered the fight on Weathertop, remembered how Strider had flung himself into the midst of the Nazgul despite their swords and the fear that cloaked them even more than their ragged robes. No wonder he’d taken hurt, even if they were smaller hurts than Frodo’s wound.
No wonder he was tired.
Merry tugged at his chin, trying to think. Frodo was gone, and Strider was sleeping, and Sam was only a gardener and Pippin was … well, Pippin. So that meant he was in charge. He was the one who would have to decide whether to go on right away, or to wait, and he couldn’t think of which was worse – waking Strider before he was ready to be able to fight again, or letting Frodo get farther and farther ahead without following.
The pony shifted position, whuffling softly, and Merry made his way quickly over to pat its nose and quiet it. “Easy, lad,” he told it. “Easy.” It nudged at his pockets, and he dug out an apple for it. He’d almost forgot about the pony. It would have to be loaded again before they could go on in any case. He wouldn’t have to make a decision about Strider until the packs were ready.
Glad that he’d made some kind of decision, Merry bent to collect the cooking gear. Behind him the pony shifted again, restlessly. He half turned, meaning to tell it that it would have to wait for another apple, when a deep screech echoed through the dark night.
“Merry!” shouted Pippin, “Merry! They’re coming!”
“Merry! Where are you?” Pippin’s whisper sounded urgent, but not so frightened that Merry risked his night vision by glancing down to the torch he’d planted in the entrance of the clearing.
“Up here,” he answered in a low voice, keeping his eyes where they belonged, on the shadows under the trees, in case anything moved.
A soft scuffling of cloth and a grunt announced Pippin’s arrival on Merry’s perch. “Good thing he was wearing a belt when he got turned to stone,” the younger hobbit said, nudging up beside Merry so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. “But why did you climb so far up? You’ll need the torches if the wraiths come.”
“I can jump down if I have to,” Merry said. “It’s not that far. But this way they can’t see me before I see them.”
“Ooh, that’s clever,” Pippin said cheerfully, as if Merry were talking about a way to sneak beer out of a tavern and not a way to keep them all from getting killed. Merry smiled into the darkness. Not even Nazgul could keep his Pippin down for long – not if he’d had a proper bite to eat in any case!
Which reminded Merry. “Have you and Strider got everything ready for us to move on?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” Pippin said, squirming for a better position. “I mean, we’ve eaten and all, but Strider’s gone to sleep, and I thought I’d better come and ask you whether or not I should wake him up.”
“Gone to sleep?” Merry forgot all about his good intentions and turned his head to stare at his cousin.
“I don’t think he meant to,” Pippin explained earnestly. “He made the athelas tea to banish weariness and it did for me, but I guess it just made him comfortable enough to forget to stay awake.”
“Tea to banish weariness?” Merry repeated, disbelievingly. “Are you sure he’s not sick?”
Pippin shrugged, uncertainty flickering across his face. “I don’t think so. Do you want me to wake him up and ask him?”
“No.” Merry bit his lip, trying to think. “No, you stay here, and I’ll go check on him – or have Sam do it. Sam’s good at taking care of people. He’ll know what to do.”
“That’s all right then,” Pippin relaxed immediately, trusting Merry to see things right. He looked out into the dark woods. “What do you want me to do if I see anything?”
“Yell,” Merry answered, scooting forward and dropping to the ground. He reached up and patted Pippin’s foot. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Strider will wake up if we really need him.”
Pippin grinned and wiggled his toes at Merry reassuringly. “I know that,” he said equably. “He’s all right, Strider, if you know what I mean. Even if he doesn’t understand about second breakfast.”
Merry grinned back and nodded before he turned to go and see for himself if Strider was truly “all right”. But he knew what Pippin meant. Somehow he was sure of Strider now, the way he hadn’t been when they’d left Bree. If the Ranger had meant them harm he’d have not fought for their sakes at Weathertop. And besides, it was plain that Strider knew Elves. One of them at least. And she’d trusted him, plain enough.
Merry stopped, struck by a sudden worry. Had Strider warned her about the Ring? It was in Frodo’s pocket, but what if it fell out with all that bouncing around on a horse? I should have taken it to keep it safe, Merry thought. He shivered at the thought of the Nazgul chasing him through the forest, but at least that way he’d know that the Ring hadn’t fallen for them to find. I don’t know why the thought of that frightens me, but it does. Maybe because Frodo looks so serious about it. Frodo hadn’t looked so grim for so long since the summer his parents died. Merry remembered that time, and the way that Frodo had been so gentle and quiet with all his younger cousins very clearly, for all that he’d been so much younger that all he could do was try to tell Frodo stories to make him smile. It had been Pippin who had finally got a laugh out of Frodo, then, Merry remembered – Pippin with a blackberry tart “hidden” in his diaper, nonchalantly toddling across the hall with another three tarts, one in each hand and a third tucked precariously under his chin, in order to share them with his favorite cousins. We’ve got to catch up, Merry realized. Elves may be elves, but it’s hobbits Frodo’s going to need.
Strider was still sleeping when Merry came to the fire, the scarecrow Frodo tucked against his shoulder like a drowsy fauntling, with one large hand supporting its back. Merry looked at that hand in the firelight, seeing the bruises and the half-healed scars that were usually hidden by the Ranger’s long sleeves and half-gloves. He remembered the fight on Weathertop, remembered how Strider had flung himself into the midst of the Nazgul despite their swords and the fear that cloaked them even more than their ragged robes. No wonder he’d taken hurt, even if they were smaller hurts than Frodo’s wound.
No wonder he was tired.
Merry tugged at his chin, trying to think. Frodo was gone, and Strider was sleeping, and Sam was only a gardener and Pippin was … well, Pippin. So that meant he was in charge. He was the one who would have to decide whether to go on right away, or to wait, and he couldn’t think of which was worse – waking Strider before he was ready to be able to fight again, or letting Frodo get farther and farther ahead without following.
The pony shifted position, whuffling softly, and Merry made his way quickly over to pat its nose and quiet it. “Easy, lad,” he told it. “Easy.” It nudged at his pockets, and he dug out an apple for it. He’d almost forgot about the pony. It would have to be loaded again before they could go on in any case. He wouldn’t have to make a decision about Strider until the packs were ready.
Glad that he’d made some kind of decision, Merry bent to collect the cooking gear. Behind him the pony shifted again, restlessly. He half turned, meaning to tell it that it would have to wait for another apple, when a deep screech echoed through the dark night.
“Merry!” shouted Pippin, “Merry! They’re coming!”
