A double drabble:

At the Black Gate

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"quick thoughts raced through his mind, even as he watched the enemy come charging to the assault." - "The Black Gate Opens," ROTK

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Pippin found he was almost surprised that it had all ended. This is it, he told himself, his hand straying to the hilt of his blade once or twice, wondering how best to hold it, and how it would feel to be engulfed in the first wave of roaring, trampling orcs – whether he would be able to think anymore, and if he would want to.

I suppose it wasn’t quite like this for the Bullroarer. He glanced again at the small blade at his side and up at the vast army bearing down on them now, a dark and merciless sea of bodies on the horizon. The ground shook beneath them and the air was malice itself, searing him as he breathed, for surely all fury in the world had boiled to the surface here and unleashed itself upon them.

Choking with despair, he took another shuddering breath, and in the darkness felt a hand on his shoulder, and there was Beregond, the defeat in his eyes chased away for a moment by the flicker of a smile. From somewhere deep within him, Pippin found an answering one.

We won’t let them know that we just want to go home.