A/N - For Marigold’s Challenge #29, the elements I chose to include were a leader, a journey, a place of healing, and a writer.

Although it is not necessary, this story is best read after having read my story, “All Is Well,” which can be read at http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterview.asp?sid=4361&cid=17267.

Thanks to Dreamflower for doing the beta-read on this.

All Is Not Well

“Merry, I’ll not hear another word,” said Pippin to his determined cousin. “You have had your turn at sword play and come away a hero whether you feel that way or not. Now it is time to rest and heal. Let others be brave and do battle this time.”

“You don’t understand! I need to be there, to see the land where Frodo and Sam … it is likely to be the final battle, Pip. The final battle for all of us.” Merry tried to rise from his bed, but Pippin set a gentle hand on his cousin’s shoulder and firmly pushed him back down.

“No, Merry.” Pippin’s voice was final. “You heard Aragorn. You are to remain here in the Houses of Healing and get better while I represent the Shire before the Black Gate. Or would you disobey the High King’s orders?”

Merry sighed with resignation. He had lost the argument. “Then there is nothing for it but to stay here and watch while you go off to battle with all of our friends.”

Pippin knelt down and looked his cousin straight in the eyes with a seriousness that belied his age. “I need you to stay here and look after Faramir for me. I need to know you are safe. Well, as safe as any of us can be in the face of such danger. Please, Merry.”

It was with a heavy heart that Pippin left his cousin later to muster in with the other soldiers. He hated to leave Merry again, and this time it was worse. At least when Gandalf had spirited Pippin away to Minas Tirith, Pippin had been able to find comfort in Merry’s being with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. But now, they were all going with Pippin, leaving Merry behind and all alone in a strange city.

As the army that towered over him readied to move, Pippin’s stomach was turning somersaults. His lips were dry and his whole being shook with nervous anticipation of what was to come. There was but little hope of success. In all likelihood, they were marching to their deaths. And when that moment came, there would be no other hobbits with him. But still, if there was the slightest hope it might help Frodo destroy the Ring, then Pippin was determined to do his part. Pippin longed for one more glance to where he knew Merry would be standing, watching him depart, but could not bring himself to look back. He could not be split in two; all of his attentions now had to be on gathering his courage to help Frodo. The trumpets rang out and the army began to move.

As the Men of the City began to round a bend, Pippin looked at those who had already made the turn and saw his old companions at the front, Gandalf on Shadowfax, Legolas and Gimli riding together on Arod. Aragorn accompanied them with the Dunedain and the sons of Elrond. Pippin watched as they disappeared from his view. There was no place he would rather be right now than along side his fellow soldiers of the Tower Guard.

It was hard work keeping up with the tall Men of Gondor, especially while wearing armour. Even though Pippin was much taller than he had been thanks to the Ent draughts, he was still much shorter than his comrades. But he was determined to keep up without complaint. After all, had he not walked halfway across Middle-earth with a wizard, a ranger, and an Elf?

The small victories along the way did nothing to cheer the army. The oppressive skies seemed to mirror the mood of the army as it moved slowly toward the ever darkening lands of Mordor. Though Pippin thought it was mid-day, little light penetrated the depths of evil and despair that surrounded them. It might as well have been midnight on a night with no stars. For the grey light was not even bright enough to shimmer off their armour and accoutrements.

Pippin shuddered to think of how much darker it must be wherever Frodo and Sam were, if they still were. The air was rank with the foul smell of orcs and decay, and evil of unbearable magnitude that made it almost impossible even for Pippin to keep his spirits up.

Hobbits were not meant to be in such places as this. Nobody was. Yet, here Frodo had laboured for many days and nights, weeks even, to rid Middle-earth of the One Ring that would destroy them all. Poor Frodo and Sam had not seen the light nor smelled the fresh air that all hobbits needed as much as food and water, and laughter. Tears stung bitterly at Pippin’s eyes as he tried desperately to keep them in check.

“Is all well with you?”

Pippin turned and saw Beregond looking at him with concern. So lost was he in his own thoughts that he had not even noted his dear friend for many miles.

There had been several times during that first few days’ march out of Minas Tirith that one or another of Pippin’s fellow soldiers had inquired into his health. Each time, Pippin had answered as cheerfully as he could when marching to almost certain doom that he was doing well indeed. And so he did now, though he felt the unseen presence of the Nazgul circling above.

Even when Aragorn allowed those Men who could not summon the courage to continue to depart and take Cair Andros to save their honour, still Pippin stayed resolutely with the Tower Guard as it continued its march to battle. He, Merry, and Sam had sworn to each other that they would do their best to protect Frodo and help him on his quest, and Pippin intended to see it through no matter the cost. He had to, for Merry’s sake as well as Frodo’s.

It was impossible to catch a breath in this poisonous land that seemed haunted. The air was still and thick with unseen foes around them and in the skies. Unseen eyes, watching as the army made its way through the desolate land to the gates waiting to welcome them into the very bowels of evil. With every step, Pippin’s sense of foreboding increased, warning him that naught but evil loomed ahead.

And loomed it did. For soon, the army was upon the great stone rampart of Cirith Gorgor, and the Black Gate of iron that lay between the two Towers of the Teeth tall and dark upon either side. Pippin gasped when he caught his first sight of the Black Gate of Mordor with its heavy iron door. Somewhere inside that evil realm was the most fair and gentle hobbit he had ever known.

There, in the deep shadows of darkness, Aragorn ordered the army to rest for a while before the final march to battle. When they were ready to start again, Gandalf rode over to Pippin.

“And now, Peregrin Took, it is time for you to ride with me on Shadowfax once again.” He held out his hand and helped Pippin mount the magnificent white horse. Pippin settled in behind Gandalf and grabbed onto the wizard’s waist. “All enemies of Mordor shall be a witness, hobbits most especially.” It was a small comfort to be riding with Gandalf once again.

As the army moved closer and closer to it, the ominous gate grew ever more imposing, even from so high up on Shadowfax’s back. It was horrible to behold, and Gandalf and Pippin now rode toward the Black Gate with Aragorn and the sons of Elrond, Eomer King and Prince Imrahil, and Legolas and Gimli before dismounting. Pippin slid off Shadowfax and felt the dead earth beneath his feet as he stood behind Prince Imrahil.

And then … they summoned the Lord of the Black Land.

But the worst thing Pippin saw before the Black Gate made him finally break down and cry with grief. Frodo’s mithril shirt. An Elven cloak. Sam’s short sword. And when Sauron’s emissary stated the terms for the release of Frodo and Sam, Gandalf rejected the terms and sealed their fate. All hope for dear Frodo, and for Sam, for Middle-earth, was dashed.

Pippin’s entire world crashed in around him, especially when the great iron doors of the Black Gate swung open and the great host of the Dark Lord swelled up around them. Aragorn made haste to arrange his army for battle. Orders were soon given and the army was a mass of movement as all hurried to their assigned positions.

It was at this moment that Pippin realised how small their little army against evil was. As he rejoined the Tower Guard, he looked around dejectedly at the other soldiers in the front rank of those from Gondor now standing with Prince Imrahil. It should not have ended like this. In all the stories his father or Cousin Bilbo had ever read to him, Good always conquered Evil.

What would the writers and story-tellers say about this battle? About how Evil had been allowed to prevail over Good. Ah, but then, in all likelihood, all will be dead or worse. There will be no stories.

“I wish Merry was here.”* All was ruin and it was best to die quickly rather than prolong the inevitable.

Pippin’s gaze settled on Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli, all of whom had fought so bravely to help Frodo but to no avail. As he continued to look at his friends, it was as if he were no longer standing there awaiting battle, but rather removed and looking at the scene unfolding as if it were in one of Bilbo’s old storybooks.

A white wizard, an Elf, and a Dwarf, all fighting alongside an army before a black gate. Pippin had seen this before, or else his eyes were deceiving him. But he was certain of it, he had seen this, been in this very battle himself a long time ago. He had wanted Frodo and Merry. He’d known this… ever since he was a young lad… Gandalf…

Pippin gasped audibly.

It had not been a dream after all. All was not well, had not been well.

Pippin was ready to face the end.

*From “The Black Gate Opens” in The Return of the King.