Author’s Note: This is a brief look inside Pippin’s head after the assumed death of Gandalf at Khazad-Dûm. It’s a bit AU, if you want to be really specific, because yeah, some of this obviously did not happen. This is a book-verse, but there is some movie dialogue scattered throughout. It’s just a sweet little look at the developing Gandalf/Pippin relationship, which I have always found interesting. The PG rating is there only because of the somewhat dark thoughts going through Pippin’s mind here and there, but it’s really a mild story. Enjoy. Special thanks to Lady of Ithilien for picking at the little problems. ;-)

~Minty~

Disclaimer: The characters, places, and some of the dialogue are not my creation. They are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Enterprises (and some of the dialogue was written by Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, Fran Walsh, and Steven Sinclair). Everything else is mine. I wish Pippin was in the everything else category. *sigh*

Void

“Fly, you fools!”

The words echoed relentlessly in Pippin’s ears, resounding around his mind until he thought he would burst. Time seemed to slow down, even to stop as Gandalf lost his grip on the edge of the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm and he disappeared over the brink into the empty shadowy void below. Suddenly time seemed to return with a dreadful speed, rushing past Pippin at a rapid pace while he stood, lost in his own horror, staring numbly at the bridge as Frodo’s strangled cry came to him as though from a great distance. Dimly he was aware of Boromir lifting Frodo in his arms, turning to run from the Mines as the goblins returned, shooting a rain of arrows in their direction. Legolas followed, pulling Sam along behind him, Gimli close in pursuit. Only Aragorn seemed as frozen as he was, thought Pippin.

Gandalf…

Pippin felt his knees suddenly go weak, and he fell to the ground, tears starting to fall down his face as the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on his shoulders. He stared at the ground, but he did not see it—the image of Gandalf falling into the abyss flashed before his vision again and again, seeming to taunt him. Vaguely he heard someone calling his name, and he felt a hand grasping his shoulder, but it was like he was watching himself from afar, not really there.

Gandalf… no… no…

Suddenly an arm came around his waist, lifting him off the ground, cutting sharply through his thoughts as arrows came piercingly down around him. He found himself in Aragorn’s arms, being carried away from the darkness, away from Gandalf’s final desperate words as he had fallen away, away to his death…

Death. Gandalf was dead.

Pippin’s voice came to him then with astonishing abruptness, and he struggled wildly in Aragorn’s hold, reaching back for the bridge. “No!” he screamed. “No, Gandalf! No!” He clutched Aragorn’s arm tightly, his tears starting to blur his vision. He clenched his eyes shut in the darkness, moaning in sorrow, and when he opened them again he was almost blinded by sunlight. It fell around them, lighting the rocks beyond the Mines, painfully bright compared to the gloom of Moria. Aragorn set Pippin down, and the young hobbit collapsed immediately, sobbing and clutching his little sword with lack of anything else to hold onto. After a moment, a gentle hand descended on him and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. He knew it was Merry… it had been Merry pulling at him, trying to get him to run from the Mines moments before. But he didn’t respond or look at his friend, not even as Merry crouched down and supported him, his own tears spilling onto Pippin’s jacket. Pippin just didn’t care. Nothing mattered to him anymore. Nothing made a difference. Gandalf was dead, and it was his fault. No one could do anything for him anymore. He was alone.

“Legolas! Get them up!” Aragorn called distantly. Pippin closed his eyes again as Merry held onto his shoulder in understanding.

Boromir replied in a pleading tone: “Give them a moment, for pity’s sake!”

Pippin did not hear Aragorn’s reply. He was too lost in his own grief. He heard footsteps approaching slowly, and heard Boromir say something soft to Merry. There was a brief pause, then Merry leaned over him.

“Pip?” he said quietly in a choked voice. “Come on now… we should… we should go.” Merry stood, pulling Pippin slowly and steadily to his feet. Pippin was too weak to resist, and he stood on shaky legs, wiping his eyes and saying nothing as he stared at the ground, still seeing nothing but the dark memory, still hearing nothing but the last words of someone who had meant so much to him, someone who had died on his account…

“Pippin…” said Merry, trying to control his tears. “It’s all right. It’ll be all right.” He embraced the younger hobbit gently, but Pippin did not move, and as he looked past Merry to Frodo, wandering off alone and mournful, he knew that Merry’s words were not and would never be true.

Night came on quickly, and the Fellowship, or rather the eight remaining of it, took rest at the foot of the mountains. Pippin lay awake, staring listlessly at the empty, dark sky that reminded him so much of the abyss into which Gandalf had fallen. He could not sleep. He doubted he would be able to sleep again for a long time. All around him he heard the slow, steady breathing of his companions… Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and Sam were spread around, Merry was closer to him, and Frodo was off alone. Legolas was wandering about nearby, looking pensive and sorrowful up at the starless sky. Apparently Elves did not need sleep. Pippin wished he was like that.

He rolled over uncomfortably, trying to shift around until it was easy to just lie there, but it seemed there was a great rock jabbing into him anywhere he turned. He made the smallest of noises, knowing Legolas could probably hear him. The Elf glanced at the younger hobbit for a moment, lowered his sad eyes in resignation, and looked away into his memory.

Pippin continued to move restlessly until he heard Merry sigh beside him. His cousin sat up slowly, looking at him with a pitying expression. “Can’t you sleep, Pip?” he whispered.

Pippin shook his head just barely.

Merry nodded sadly and moved to sit by his young friend. “What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he knew full well what was.

“I…” Pippin started to say, then shook his head. He didn’t want to speak—not yet. Carefully, Merry took his hand and squeezed it, running his strong but gentle fingers over Pippin’s small, delicate ones. Pippin hesitated for a moment, then looked into Merry’s eyes. He continued to say nothing. Merry looked down, then he pulled Pippin gradually forward, embracing him tenderly, letting his younger cousin lie on his chest.

“Just sleep,” he murmured, running a hand through Pippin’s hair. He had seen Pippin’s father act this way with his friend before, and he knew it might help. “Just sleep, Pip. It’ll all seem better in the morning.”

Pippin wasn’t certain of this, in fact he doubted it, but he let himself drift away in Merry’s protective arms, and soon darkness surrounded them.

Merry came to slowly, blinking awake. It was morning… the sunlight fell around him, lighting the earth in the beginnings of dawn. He raised his head a little, looking around. All his companions were still asleep, save for Legolas, who stood a small distance away, gazing into the far-off landscapes no other could see. Merry noticed Pippin was no longer asleep against him. He glanced around, looking for his younger cousin, but he was nowhere nearby. Had he already awoken, even after falling asleep so late?

But no, Pippin was nowhere in sight. Suddenly something caught his eye, something small lying on the ground, and he leaned forward to pick it up. He saw with dawning horror that it was a torn piece of Pippin’s cloak. It was then Merry realized his cousin was gone.

“Pippin!” he called anxiously, causing his companions to wake. “Pippin, where are you?”

“What is it?” said Aragorn, getting to his feet as Legolas came back to them with a worried expression.

Merry turned to the man, fear in his eyes. “Pippin’s gone!” he said. “He’s disappeared somewhere during the night!” He held up the piece of cloth he had found. “I… I found this. Oh Strider, if something’s happened to him—”

“Do not be afraid,” said Aragorn quickly, moving forward and taking the cloth. He looked out in the direction Merry was looking, evidently where Pippin had gone judging by the piece of cloak. “Do you know when he left?”

“I found him last night, still awake,” said Merry. “I fell asleep again, and I thought he had too, but he must have… he must have left then. I don’t know when in the night that was.”

“It was not two hours ago that you both awoke,” said Legolas. “The sun has only just risen. Pippin must have left only a half hour ago or less, for I did not see him depart, and the only time I could have missed him was when I had gone into the woods nearby in my grievance. I am sorry.”

“You cannot be faulted,” said Aragorn. He looked off into the distance. “He cannot have gotten far on foot.”

“Do we have time to look for him?” said Gimli with tension in his voice.

“Would you abandon him?” said Aragorn hotly. “I will go in search of him. If I do no return soon, you must go to Lothlorien without me. I will be able to get there myself.”

“But Aragorn—” protested Frodo.

“Do not argue,” said Aragorn. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

“I’m going with you,” said Merry.

“No.” Aragorn gathered his supplies swiftly, not looking at the young hobbit. “No Merry, you must stay here. It will be safer.”

“I have to go, Aragorn!” said Merry desperately. “I won’t leave him!”

“I will find him,” replied the man.

“But…”

“Merry, please.” Aragorn knelt down, putting his hand on Merry’s shoulder. “I would not have you follow. Please trust me—I will find Pippin, I’ll bring him back.”

“I don’t care!” said Merry. “He’s my friend Aragorn, I have to go with you! I won’t leave him behind!”

“Neither will I,” said Aragorn. “But I cannot risk endangering you, Merry.”

“Endangering!” repeated Merry incredulously. “Then you think something bad might have happened to him?”

“It is a possibility.”

“I can’t live with that, Aragorn,” said Merry. “If something’s happened to him, I have to go!” He paused, swallowing and hoping he looked confident. “If you do not let me come with you, I’ll follow,” he said. “I can promise you that.”

Quickly Aragorn shot a glance at Boromir, Legolas and Gimli, asking them silently what they would do if it came down to that. Legolas avoided eye contact. Boromir looked back with some level of defiance, and Gimli looked stubborn as usual. Aragorn released an irritated grunt, then looked back at Merry with a defeated expression. “All right,” he said. “All right, fine. But keep up!”

Merry tossed a small, grateful smile at his companions, then took off after the ranger in pursuit of his friend.

Pippin stumbled away from his companions as quickly as he could, constantly tripping over the uneven ground, tears spilling down his cheeks as he went. He could not turn back now, not after all that had happened. There was nothing to look to. He had to get away. The Fellowship was better off without him.

His cloak caught on another rock, tearing again, and he tripped and fell forward. More tears sprang to his eyes as his hands struck the hard ground, stinging in pain. He thought he heard something from behind him, but when he turned he saw no one. Fear started to well up inside of him, and he thought briefly of going back to the Fellowship, back to his friends, to Merry, where he was safe. But he shook his head fiercely, putting the thought from his mind. He couldn’t turn back now.

He continued onward, nearly falling twice more, when a familiar voice cried out to him, calling from a distance. “Pippin! Come back!”

Pippin closed his eyes in pain at the voice, and he moved on his way at a quicker pace. “No, Aragorn,” he murmured softly to himself. “Not this time.”

“Pippin!” Aragorn called again. He stopped pursuing, knowing he could catch the hobbit from where he was if he had to. “Pippin, you mustn’t go off alone. It isn’t safe!”

Pippin turned. “I don’t care, Aragorn!” he called back. “I’m not going back! Not after that.”

“Why?” said Merry suddenly. “Pippin, please!”

“No!” Pippin shook his head desperately. “No, Merry. I never should have come. I wish Elrond had never allowed it. I’m going away, you can’t stop me!” He turned to continue, but Aragorn stepped forward.

“Pippin,” he said almost harshly, “do you think Gandalf would want this?”

Pippin froze, staring rigidly at the ground. He did not speak.

“No one can be faulted for his death,” said Aragorn, guessing what Pippin’s fears were, stepping forward. “Come back, Pippin.”

Pippin looked at Aragorn sadly as if considering this. Aragorn came forward slowly, his hand outstretched.

“Please, Pip,” said Merry anxiously. “Please come back. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Don’t you understand, Merry?” said Pippin. “There’s nothing anyone can do for me. I killed him, Merry, I killed him! I’m not going back!”

“Pippin!” cried Merry, starting to run forward.

“Pippin, think about this,” said Aragorn tersely, moving forward at a faster pace.

“No!” Pippin yelled, almost angrily. He turned and made to run from his companions, but he tripped suddenly and pitched forward with a frightened cry. Aragorn broke into a run. Pippin lost his balance and tumbled over the edge of a ridge.

“Pippin, no!” Merry screamed, running forward in panic. But he had no reason to fear… Aragorn had thrust his arm over the ridge, grabbing Pippin’s wrist before the hobbit could fall. Pippin struggled wildly, crying out in terror. As Merry came up to them, Aragorn pulled Pippin back up over the edge and set him down gently, kneeling before him and stroking his hair. Pippin was quivering in fear.

“There now,” said Aragorn softly. “Do you think Gandalf would have wanted that to happen?”

Pippin began to weep again, and he lowered his head into his hands. Merry knelt by his side, holding his shoulders comfortingly.

“But I killed him, Aragorn,” he choked through his tears.

“You did not kill anyone,” said Aragorn calmly. “No one is holding you at fault, Pippin. Gandalf’s death was not under anyone’s control. You cannot take the blame.”

“I have to!” cried Pippin, looking at Aragorn fiercely. “You don’t understand, I have to!”

Aragorn stared at him with a composed expression. “And why is that, Pippin?”

“Because it is my fault!” Pippin buried his face in his arms, sobs wracking his body. “I dropped the stone. That’s why. That’s why the orcs came, and the trolls and… and…” He gave way to fresh tears and could not finish.

“Look at me, Pippin,” said Aragorn gently.

“No,” Pippin murmured in a barely audible voice.

“Look at me.”

The man reached up with a gentle hand and tilted Pippin’s chin up, bringing Pippin to eye level. “This was not your doing,” he said.

“But it was,” Pippin moaned. “Remember… in, in Balin’s tomb. I dropped that stone in the pool, or whatever it was, and it echoed, and that summoned… that brought them out. That drew them. We wouldn’t have had to run from them if I hadn’t. It was my fault, Strider!” he collapsed into Aragorn’s arms, weeping at the dark memory.

“Pippin… Pippin, be reasonable,” said Merry. “If you want to look at it that way, then it’s really everyone’s fault. It’s Gimli’s fault for suggesting Moria… it’s Frodo’s fault for choosing it as our path… you could even say it’s the Dark Lord’s fault for ever creating the Ring in the first place.”

Or Morgoth, thought Aragorn grimly, but he said nothing.

“I mean… it’s my fault as well,” said Merry, hopelessly trying to cheer his friend a little. “I helped Gandalf guess the password to open the doors into Moria, remember?”

Pippin’s tears subsided a little, and he looked up at Merry uncertainly.

Merry smiled sadly. “You see, Pip? No one person can be faulted.”

“But… but all that was supposed to happen,” Pippin murmured. “We have no control over… over Him, and Moria seemed like the only open path. It’s not Gimli’s fault, or Frodo’s, or yours. All that had to happen. I didn’t have to drop that stone. It was my fault, Merry. I killed him.”

“Did you throw him from the Bridge?” asked Aragorn suddenly.

Pippin looked sharply up at the ranger. “What?”

“Did you throw him from Khazad-Dûm yourself?”

Pippin stared at Aragorn for a long while, thinking this through. “Well… no,” he said softly. “But I may as well have. I mean, I didn’t even try to help him.”

“None of us did, Pippin,” said Aragorn. He put a strong hand on Pippin’s shoulder and looked meaningfully into Pippin’s eyes. “This was not your fault,” he said slowly and pointedly.

Pippin looked away and said nothing for a long time. Something seemed to come over him then, a strange look in his eyes, one of a hidden wisdom and dark fear, awakened suddenly in his doubt. “There is an emptiness in my heart,” he said suddenly, slowly. “A darkness that cannot be undone. I can find no rest for it, nor comfort, nor peace… I am alone, Aragorn. Alone in the shadow. No one can help me now.”

Aragorn looked at the hobbit oddly. Pippin’s tone had been strange, and he had seemed for a moment to leave himself. But he had returned, evidently, and the man did not pursue it. “Perhaps not,” he said quietly. “But at least let us try.”

Pippin looked slowly at Aragorn’s dark, mysterious eyes, seeming torn. Merry put a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Pip,” he said. “Please.”

The Fellowship, again comprised of eight, made their way to Lothlorien together, swiftly. Pippin was not entirely comforted, as he knew he would never be, and neither Aragorn nor Merry nor anyone else made an attempt to change this. They new the void in Pippin’s heart would never be cleared, not fully. The strange feeling that had come over him in the mountains happened only once again:

In the Golden Wood, the Lady Galadriel spoke to them of hope foreseen on their Quest. But she spoke in his mind, in words he could not truly hear, words he just understood in a way:

“You, Master Peregrin, you have descended into a shadow much like Mithrandir. But this is not a shadow you can be freed from. You alone must learn to overcome it. You must understand that although this misfortune has befallen your company, you cannot lose hope. For hope may be the last chance of all good people who dwell on this earth.

“Do not fault yourself for his passing. Everything he did in life had a purpose, and you cannot change that. You cannot go back and undo what has been done. You must let this rest. You will not find peace for your emptiness here, but you may find some comfort.

“Do not despair, young Peregrin Took. Not all deaths are everlasting.”

Pippin never learned from her what these last words meant, and he did not speak alone to Galadriel again in his lifetime.

The Destruction of Isengard – Two Months Later

Pippin and Merry sat idly by the wall, waiting for something—anything—to happen. The Ents had completed the destruction of Isengard at last, and the area was flooded, and the hobbits had nothing to do but feast and drink and smoke with the supplies they had found so graciously waiting for them in Saruman’s stores. This was fine by them, of course, but there was something in the silence and sudden calm that made them both edgy.

Presently Merry looked down at his young friend. “Well now, we’ve had quite the adventure, haven’t we, Pip?” he said.

“Quite the adventure indeed,” said Pippin, nodding reverently and releasing a puff of smoke. “And quite the reward for it as well!”

“You’ll get no argument there, my lad,” said Merry with a grin, taking a bite of an apple. “Not in the slightest.”

“Although the quiet is making me downright jumpy… when do you reckon something’s going to happen?”

Merry shrugged. “Could be days,” he said. “I mean, there’s all this mess, and there’s still Saruman to deal with, and who knows what’s going on elsewhere in the war… and when you factor in how long it takes the Ents to decide anything…”

Pippin laughed. “I see your point,” he said. He patted his stomach. “Well, lucky for us we’ve got the supplies to hold us that long, if the need arrives.”

“Indeed,” Merry said. He smiled contentedly at his young cousin. Pippin had been through one darkness after another… Gandalf’s death had not given him peace for a long time, and then they had Boromir’s death to contend with as well. Their capture had not made anything easier. This was possibly the first time they had been able to relax where he had seen Pippin smile fully. The finding of the pipe weed, the reminder of home, that had cheered him considerably. Hope seemed at last to be returning.

He drew out of his reverie suddenly, and noticed that Pippin was no longer sitting back idly, but staring intently at something a great distance away. He had frozen in the midst of chewing something, and he looked as though he could not decide whether to be frightened or excited.

“What is it, Pip?” asked Merry, leaning forward.

“It’s… Merry, who is that?” Pippin asked in reply, and he pointed to something far away. Merry followed the direction of his eyes and saw a lone rider, coming toward them at an impossibly fast pace, a white, shining point on the dark horizon. Merry stood slowly, squinting to get a better view of the mysterious rider.

“I don’t know,” said Merry slowly. “It’s a rider.”

“I can see that,” said Pippin, also standing. “They’re moving awfully fast.”

“Can’t catch a glimpse of his face,” said Merry. “Can you see it?”

“It’s coming clear,” said Pippin. “Wait… I can see… it’s…” He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. Merry looked questioningly at him.

“Pip?” he prodded. “What is it?”

Pippin could not speak. Merry was shocked to see tears forming in the younger hobbits eyes. “Pippin?”

“Merry…” said Pippin in a soft voice. “Look.”

Merry looked back, and he saw the rider in full clarity as he neared. He too froze, and he felt his heart skip a beat in joy. “It… it can’t be!” he whispered excitedly. Suddenly he broke the stillness that had taken them and leapt up, waving wildly. “Gandalf!” he called. “Gandalf, is it really you? Here, Gandalf, here!”

Pippin still could not speak. He stared at the approaching rider as though it were a ghost. In the midst of all his happiness that had settled over him in the pleasure of the past few days, he felt everything rushing back at him. Again he heard the words Gandalf had cried, he remembered the horrid empty darkness, the void within his heart. Even at the sight of the wizard, clearly alive and well, he was not comforted. A lone tear spilled down his cheek.

Gandalf rode up to them and pulled to a halt, stepping down. Pippin fell to his knees in wonder, and the pipe fell from his hand.

“Gandalf,” he whispered.

Gandalf turned to him. “Get up, you tom-fool of a Took,” he said in his familiar harsh tone, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I must speak with Treebeard. Where is he?”

“Er… within,” said Merry awkwardly. “He’s within. But Gandalf… how can this be? You fell!”

“Wherever I have been, I am back now,” said Gandalf briskly. “I must go to see Treebeard—I have little time.” He started toward the entrance of Isengard.

“Wait!” cried Pippin suddenly. “Please… please wait.”

Gandalf hesitated, then turned to face Pippin, wearing a quizzical expression. Pippin was crying freely now, and he could hardly speak. Gandalf seemed to understand that something was wrong, and his expression softened and knelt down, resting a large, caring hand on Pippin’s shoulder.

“Now, now, Pippin,” he said with a little smile. “What’s the matter?”

“Gandalf… you’re… you’re alive!” Pippin said happily, but the tears only persisted.

“I am, and I have been,” said Gandalf. “You did not think I would leave you all so soon, did you?”

“I… I… oh, Gandalf!” he fell back down to his knees, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered through his tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Gandalf looked almost stricken at Pippin’s unhappiness. He sent a questioning glance at Merry, who chewed his lip, gazing at Pippin with a melancholy expression. Gandalf turned back to the young hobbit before him.

“Come now,” said the wizard kindly. “Why all this sadness?”

“Gandalf, I thought we’d lost you, and I thought it was my fault,” said Pippin, looking back up at Gandalf and talking rapidly. “When I dropped the stone, and summoned the Balrog, I thought I’d… I thought I’d killed you, I just didn’t…” He lowered his head in sorrow. “I just didn’t know what to do.”

Gandalf looked at the young hobbit with a kind and pitying expression. “Oh, Pippin,” he said soothingly. “Now, you don’t really think it was your fault, do you?”

Pippin sniffed miserably and said nothing. Gandalf smiled a little and took Pippin’s tiny hands in his great ones. “You listen to me, Peregrin Took,” he said in a kind voice. “My death, if we must give it a name, was not of your doing. It had its own purpose, for it made me as you see me now. You did not summon the Balrog. It came of its own accord.”

Pippin furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully.

Gandalf nodded. He was not, truthfully, but it didn’t matter either way. He lifted a hand to Pippin’s cheek. “Smile now, like the Pippin I remember,” he said. “No more of this grief.” Lightly he brushed Pippin’s tears away. Merry looked on with a relieved smile on his face. Finally it seemed his friend was returning to normal.

Pippin broke into a smile slowly, at last understanding. Tears continued to fall, but they were of happiness. After a moment of comforted silence, he laughed aloud, a merry, pleasant sound, one that filled him with a joy he had not felt in a long time. “Gandalf!” he cried happily, seeming suddenly to realize that the wizard was still alive, and disregarding all his unhappiness and worry, he threw his arms around Gandalf’s neck and hugged him tightly, clutching Gandalf’s robes and laughing and weeping into them at the same time. Gandalf chuckled and embraced the young hobbit gently, running a hand over his light brown curls. Pippin smiled, never wanting to let go, and he felt the emptiness plaguing his insides be cleared at last.

“No,” he murmured to himself, thinking of Galadriel’s words from months ago. “No more despair.” The void within him filled, and he laughed again in Gandalf’s arms, knowing everything would at last be as Merry had said it would be on the mountains. Everything was going to be all right.

-The End-