11.  Broken Strands

In the flickering light of the fires that had broken out, Diamond had seen the lone figure confront the wizard and fall to its knees, but had been unable to free herself from the tangle of bodies to help.  Suddenly, as a burly farmer swung one beefy fist at her face, Dan surged out of the darkness to wrestle him to the ground.  She looked again for the chief villain and watched, disbelieving, as he simply dropped out of sight.  The roof came crashing down behind her, throwing up light and smoke, and for an instant, the face of his challenger was brightly lit as he collapsed.

Hurtling through the strange garden at a dead run, every inch of breathless space that Diamond crossed seemed to take a hundred years.  The long branches of the tree above now seemed to reach for the motionless figure, which made little sense, but then, not much else had lately.  She brandished the crackling brand she had snatched up and leapt before the rattling branches, setting the flames to lick at the twiggy ends.  The limb snapped back and a grinding creak sounded from the very ground.  Diamond pitched the brand at the leaf-filled hollow between two snaking roots and hauled the unconscious hobbit out of reach.  The old oak twisted savagely behind them, scattering the hungry flames that threatened to race up its trunk.

The young huntress tripped and fell hard onto the ground, her burden crashing across her lap.  Looking down, she saw that it was indeed Pippin she held, though beneath the dirt that covered his clothes and skin, it could almost have been anyone.  Almost.  Tears had cut clear paths down his face and she brushed at his cheeks with her sleeve.

His eyes opened slowly to fix her, a slight grin quirking his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes, shadowed by more than night or weariness.  Something quite horrible had happened here; some raw and gaping wound now lay bared that had no right to mar the good spirits of the hobbit in her arms.

“You’re filthy,” she snipped, though she actually wanted to shake him and order away the strangeness in his eyes.

“You’re late…” he teased back, voice barely audible.  “Had to do it all myself.”  One hand rose to still hers against his cheek, and the frightening dullness for a moment receded.  But his eyes fluttered closed again, and the faint smile left his face.

Diamond felt tears well up behind her eyes and she shook them away.  “No, Pippin…  Wake up!  Don’t do this…  Please…” she whispered, leaning down to let her forehead rest against his brow.

“Pippin!”  Merry’s voice rumbled out, roughened by smoke and worry, and Diamond’s head jerked up to watch him kneel beside them.  Pippin stirred, eyes turning to seek his cousin’s silhouetted figure against the crumbling fire.

“Merry…  The Eye…”  His voice was so small, nearly lost in the background noise of fire and shouts.

“What happened?” Merry asked Diamond, his voice tight with a fear he didn’t bother to conceal.

“I…  I don’t know…  The wizard…” she stammered, her hand still laid upon Pippin’s limp shoulder.

Merry shook his head and grabbed his half-conscious cousin under the arms.

“Get up, Pip!” he ordered.

“Tired…  Le’me alone…” Pippin mumbled hollowly, and his head lolled back against Merry’s chest.

“Not now, you troublesome Took!” Diamond said, roughly seizing his chin with hard fingers, as she had many a recalcitrant youngster in the past.  “You’re always laying about, you silly Bounder!  Now come on, get up!” she snarled, though tears spilled from her flashing eyes.

Her words seemed to rouse him a bit and he looked up at her.  “But I keep waking to find you there,” he murmured, and Merry suppressed a grim chuckle.  Leave it to Pippin to turn a reprimand into a flirtatious joke, even on the far edge of catastrophe.

“Well don’t get used to it, I can’t abide lounge-about dandies of that sort.  Tread the grass on your own two feet!”

Merry felt the tension of effort and will pulling Pippin from his supporting arms and he caught a glimpse of the small twist of a smile chasing onto his face.  Rising together unsteadily, the three of them started back towards the milling hobbits that had been freed by the wizard’s demise and Merry couldn’t help but notice the proprietary hand that clasped his cousin’s as they walked.

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As they neared the crowd, Pippin gave Diamond’s hand a gentle squeeze and released her, his smile miles closer to his habitual mischievous grin.  Her small hesitation in letting go spoke loud as thunder to her own heart of the tattered barriers between them she had torn down by her own will.  Going back to that safe and solitary pride would have meant forever; there was no one like him in all the Shire or outside of it and she would be a fool to let her last chance slip.  Propriety and filial duty alone kept her from an undignified public display.

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Pippin watched Diamond walk slowly to join her brother, and he leaned wearily against Merry’s strong shoulder.  Squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, until stars danced against his eyelids, he shoved the last wisps of remembered terror and hopelessness away, clinging to the rock of his cousin’s presence and the promise of Diamond’s eyes.

A soft chuckle drew his attention back to his best friend and he found Merry grinning at him.

“Something of a firecracker, that lass,” he said, jerking his head in her direction.

“Yes, I do believe she breathes fire and eats full-grown hobbits for breakfast,” Pippin replied with a tired smile, eyes still fixed on the swinging braid of russet curls that hung down her back as she moved among the hobbits she was organizing.  “But mark my words, dear cousin:  That’s the only lass I’ll take to wife.”

“If she’ll have you,” Merry said, taking advantage of the distracting conversation to casually check over the other hobbit’s bruised form.  “That one might take a little convincing, from the little I’ve seen of her.”

“Oh, the game’s not won yet, I’ll grant, but when has that ever stopped me?”

Merry smiled, glad to see his cousin’s spirits so quickly revived despite the lingering traces of his encounter.

Their quiet exchange was interrupted by the silent passage of a blanket-wrapped figure, carried solemnly by two Rangers to their waiting mounts.  So, there had been one casualty.  The commotion of the disordered families faded into silence in respect for the fallen Man.

The firelit shadow of a Ranger fell upon Pippin, and he looked up to find River peering down at him, face drawn in bitter grief.

“‘Twas my partner,” he spat, as if the words themselves were sour on his tongue.  “I’ve know him all twenty-five years of his life, and he died by my hand today.  Because of you.”

“Sereghir!” Laerion turned from securing the fallen Ranger to his saddle.  “You cannot blame them for what happened here,” he said, laying a soothing hand upon the angry Man’s shoulder.

“That is your view, Laerion, but for me, some things cannot be forgiven.  Please return my thanks to your cousin.  I cannot remain in his service any longer,” River replied, roughly ripping the star from his breast and dropping it into Laerion’s hand.  “I will see Kerwyn home.”

Shooting a last icy glance at Pippin’s stricken face, River took hold of the reins and strode eastward into the woods without another word.

A heavy silence ground them all under its heel, mixed sorrow, shame and shock blanketing them in momentary stillness.

Not daring to break the strained hush with too loud a word, Berilac moved quietly among the families and they all stirred, slowly gathering into small groups and setting off southward without fuss.

Laerion turned away from the disappearing sound of River’s departure and sighed.  “I am sorry you had to be the target of his grief, Peregrin Took.  His anger is misplaced and unshared.”

“Perhaps.  But his grudge is long held and not entirely unfounded, my lord,” Pippin replied, sagging against his cousin now that the rest of their party had left.  It was plain to see that will and pride alone kept him conscious.

“Nonetheless…” the Ranger started.

“No,” Merry interrupted, his hand tightening around Pippin’s shoulders.  “I could have no forgiveness either if I’d brought back that kind of news from the War, and though I do love Aragorn too well, I could not serve him or his cause at that price.”

“This debt will be paid in some way,” Pippin added, and his tone brooked no denial.  “Now, let us leave here before the Wilds reclaim this place in full.”

Riding behind Merry, head resting against his broad back, Pippin watched Laerion tuck the staff, wrapped and bound, among the supplies on his mount.  That danger at least was past.  Arms tightening about his cousin’s waist, Pippin closed aching eyes, the soft sigh of words ill and fair echoing between every beat of his heart.