A/N: Ooh look, a story! (Yeah, I don't have much to say about it)



What an odd feeling this was! He was floating several feet above the ground. All his aches and pains were gone, from the crushing pain of the troll to the smallest itch of his nose. He'd never felt like this before; he wasn't numb but he wasn't feeling anything, just, perhaps, the slight breeze.

Then, looking around him, he noticed he wasn't the only one in this altogether strange position. Scattered across the field of battle were a number of floating soldiers staring forlornly at their feet, or perhaps past their feet. It was hard to tell when they were floating. Then they too began to look around. They could see the ones on the ground still fighting and if they looked up they could see the eagles chasing off the nazgul but the noise was quietened and the colour dimmed.

Two Rohirrim walked past Pippin, they really floated past but they were moving their legs so Pippin decided to call it walking. His eyes followed them for a moment before he saw two men hugging and more patting each other on the back. Some were crying, others were laughing together, remember past times. Pippin was alone. He knew no one.

"Are none of your friends here?" said a voice from behind him. Pippin turned to find a tired and battle-worn face but still with friendly eyes.

"Yes, Beregond was," replied Pippin, though he didn't feel the familiar sensation of his breath coming out of his mouth, or the vibration of his throat.

"And where's he?" Pippin looked around for a moment, lost. Then looked down.

"Down there," He said, pointing to Beregond who was lying on the floor, his leg trapped beneath the troll still. The old soldier sighed.

"No need waiting for him, my boy, he'll be a good few more years yet!" Pippin looked back up at him, strange how he was still shorter than everyone even though they were floating.

"Waiting for him?" The old soldier's face showed the pity that he felt for Pippin. He put his hand on Pippin's shoulder, though the pressure was only light.

"My boy, you're dead." All sound was cut out by the deafening silence that statement brought with it. It had happened, he was dead. As much as he'd believed it would happen, he wasn't ready for it.

"I'm... I'm dead?" he blurted out, even as the tears came to his eyes. "But I can't... Merry!"

As he said the word, the wind picked up. It caught Pippin and pulled him away from the battle. Pippin looked back to the saddened eyes of the soldier though he was unable to thank him, as he knew he should.

Pippin caught snatches of scenery that he recognised from the long march as he was whisked away. He saw a few men here and there pull their cloaks about them as the great gust of wind on which he was borne sped past. He could see the approach of Minas Tirith, startlingly white and it stood out even though its world was completely devoid of colour. No, not completely devoid.

As Pippin sped closer he spied a spot of colour on the wall, it seemed to be his destination. As he got closer he saw that it was a person standing there. No. It was two people, a man and a woman. Pippin came almost to a halt as he came up beside the two of them.

He recognised the man to be Faramir but the woman, he did not know. She bore a resemblance to the Rohirrim Pippin had marched with and was almost certainly of that land but he couldn't say anything else of her. He was glad that, even though he wouldn't, someone may have a chance at happiness. The raven and blonde hair mingled in the breeze that blew and that same breeze once again pushed Pippin away.

This time he did not travel miles upon miles, indeed, he went no more than a few yards. But there he found, standing in full colour, his own beloved Merry. He rushed forward, he wanted to tell Merry everything he'd never had time to before, like it was he who had taken the last apple from the fruit bowl the day they'd walked to Bag End, or that Estella really was always looking at him and it wasn't just a joke.

He opened his mouth to tell Merry these things and a whole world more but he found he just didn't have the words. How do you summarise an entire life's friendship? What's the last thing you want to say? Stuck for words, Pippin closed his mouth. He stared into Merry's eyes, willing him to see something other than the scarred land before him but Merry's eyes just continued to stare through him.

Resigned to his fate, Pippin reached his arms around Merry for one last hug, one that wouldn't be returned. Merry gasped. Pippin jumped back, could Merry now see him? No, Merry was still staring through him but his eyes now showed some hope, something had changed. Pippin turned to see what Merry was looking at.

"Frodo," he heard Merry breathe before he was once again whisked away on the wind. This wind was stronger than any other and he was moving quickly. Cloud was dispersing before him and clear skies were left behind him. The wind that blew so fiercely into the heart of the dark lands then gently dropped him there, on the slopes of Mount Doom.

Pippin looked about him. It was dark here, even though the mountain had set the sky alight, it was dark.

Then he saw them, two small figures curled up together on a rock. They were talking but Pippin could hear them, he wasn't close enough but he couldn't move any closer. He sighed, once again resigned to his fate.

"I'm glad you're together," he told them quietly, "It wouldn't do to have either of you on your own,"

Pippin watched them for a short while longer before he realised that he was rising. He was rising higher than he'd ever been before, above the smoke of the mountain until he could see Middle-earth set out below him, curving away and all around him was blue sky.

"Good day to you master Took." Pippin was shocked by the sound of that voice, not only that there should be a voice up here but that he should recognise it as well. He turned slowly, as the truth of the matter dawned on him.

"Boromir?" he said slowly, only a laugh answered him but it was all the answer he needed. "Boromir you complete scoundrel! Good day? Good day? I die and you say 'good day'!" Boromir laughed all the harder.

"Body or no body, you hobbits never fail to amaze," said Boromir once recovered.

"Yes, it's seems to be a speciality of ours," Boromir's face suddenly became serious.

"You're going the wrong way," he said.

"I'm what?"

"You're going the wrong way, it's not your time,"

"Well, I've not really had much say in where I'm going, I've been pushed and pulled and blown from one side of Middle-earth to the other and now I don't mind where I end up just as long as I stay there."

"Then close your eyes." Pippin thought it a strange request but he did so, just catching Boromir's final smile as his eyelids slid closed.

Everything was now dark. He was no longer floating. He was no longer above the world. He could feel here, he could feel every last pain and complaint, from the broken bones right down to the itch of his nose. It was so very dark.

"Breathe Peregrin Took! Breathe!" said a voice Pippin both knew and loved.

So he did.