Winds Over Eriador, part 4
Title: Winds Over Eriador
Author: Claudia
Pairing: various (main: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn, Pippin/Faramir(unrequited), Merry/Pippin...)
Rating: series varies
Summary: note. This is a crossover fic (sort of, since it all takes place in Middle Earth with Tolkien characters) between LOTR and Gone with the Wind. This is such complete crack -- but I'm having a blast writing it! (I love all you enablers, by the way!)
Warnings: AU
This chapter has both Pippin's POV and Frodo's POV.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Pippin, always the one the young hobbits sought to flirt with, had gathered quite a crowd of lads and lasses about him. He sat on a bench while Diamond and Sancho sat on either side of him and the others sat on the grass at his feet. Normally it would have sent his heart soaring to have Diamond, Sancho, Estella, Fatty, Milo Burrows, and Merry all striving for his full attention. But this afternoon, all he could do was swallow the miserable lump in his throat and cast miserable glances toward the big tree near the main pavilion.
Faramir lounged against the trunk of the tree, and Frodo rested his head in his lap. Both seemed content to sit separated from the crowd and read. In fact, they seemed not to be speaking much to each other at all, and to add to the ache in Pippin’s heart, they looked comfortable together, as if they had known each other since childhood and not just since this past summer. Occasionally, Faramir glanced away from his book long enough to grant Frodo a tender smile, and every time he did that, pain ripped at Pippin’s heart.
If only he would turn that smile to Pippin. If only he would notice him again, like he had during the summer. Surely he could see how much more fun he was than his bookish cousin. Surely he must have noticed how he sent his friends into gales of laughter at every turn. Surely Faramir needed balm for his sore heart, and Pippin’s idea of balm was typically hobbity -- laughter, song, ale, and at least six meals a day.
Pippin doubled his efforts to engage his friends into laughter and song, which was never difficult with a crowd of young hobbits who had drunk more than enough ale, but Faramir still did not take notice. He only continued to read, pausing occasionally to murmur to Frodo. Frodo in turn smiled up at him, and if ever love and ownership shone in anyone’s eyes, they did in Frodo’s right now.
Pippin caught sight again of the Ranger, Strider, who had not yet mingled with the crowd and who watched the party from the outside. Occasionally Gandalf had spoken to him, and Bilbo, too, but mostly he stood alone and seemed content to stay that way. But now he was watching Frodo with a keen, intent gaze. But as Pippin watched, he noticed that something softened in Strider’s eyes as he watched Frodo, and he looked wistful, as if he were filled with regret or great, aching loneliness.
But instead of feeling sorry for a lonely Ranger, Pippin only felt a surge of new irritation toward his cousin.
Well drat him anyway, he thought with wounded pride. It’s not enough he should have Faramir, but that he should attract every Ranger in Eriador to him.
He tore his eyes away from the scene that was causing him such misery and he joined his friends in a song about heart and hearth and a bath at the end of the day.
At last the sun grew hot and warm and people became sleepy from eating and drinking. Little by little Pippin’s crowd began to scatter. Fatty and Estella crept away together, Sancho left to refill his mug, and Diamond saw that her flirtations were getting her nowhere at the moment. Only Merry remained, but he seemed troubled, and he had spoken very little in the last hour or so. The party crowd had indeed grown more subdued and some folk were napping in their chairs. Frodo had set his book down and had closed his eyes, still resting in Faramir’s lap.
Suddenly Pippin heard his father’s voice rise above the sleepy murmur. “A peaceable settlement with Gondor after our Rangers attacked their troops in Hollin? Bah! It will not happen! The Steward is twisted with cruel intent now and he will not rest until all the Northern Kingdom is crushed!”
Pippin looked anxiously toward Faramir. He was concerned about Faramir feeling uncomfortable, even if he no longer associated himself with his father. The drowsy restfulness to the party was gone, and an exciting jolt of energy flew through the crowd. Suddenly everyone, from the Dwarves to the few Bree Men in attendance to the hobbits from all Four Farthings, jumped up and started fighting for their voices to be heard above all others. Even the fattest and most stay-at-home hobbits joined in with strong opinions, faces red with ale and indignant rage. Pippin noticed that Frodo had awakened and sat up in alarm, but that neither he nor Faramir seemed inclined to join the heated discussion.
“Of course we’ll fight - filthy Gondorians - we could crush them in a month-“
“Who does the Steward think he is-“
“We’ll show him what happens to footpads here-“
Merry had not risen with the rest of them, and instead he squeezed Pippin’s hand and whispered in Pippin’s ear. “I’ve already decided to join the archers,” Merry said. “If they will have me.”
Pippin did not answer. Merry had been quiet for so long, and Pippin hoped he would remain so since finally Faramir and Frodo had at last begun to talk, and he strained to hear Frodo’s voice.
“If I did…join the archers,” Merry continued. “I should wish…I know you can’t join because of your duties with your father, but…would you wait for me?”
Of all the times for Merry to gain the courage to say what he must have waited for years to say! Pippin nodded and pinched Merry’s hand. He could almost hear Frodo’s voice. He just needed Merry to be silent for just a minute more.
“You would?” Merry’s smile was wide and relieved. “You know how I’ve felt about you, cousin. I’ve always loved you, and I think you feel the same - if I go, I’d very much like it if we could make a pledge, just like Frodo and Faramir have done.“
At the sound of “pledge” and “Frodo and Faramir,” Pippin said, “Shhh!” Merry stopped at once, flushing, perhaps in embarrassment of having blurted his feelings to Pippin in so public a place. Pippin would not have been embarrassed. If he were so inclined to make a pledge with Merry, then he would do so happily in a loud, boisterous voice in front of every hobbit of the Shire.
At last Pippin caught Frodo’s melodic voice saying, “I fear I cannot agree with you. Quenya has a more refined sound than Sindarin. After all, it is spoken by the High-elves. Listen: ar sindanoriello caita mornie.”
Pippin almost laughed with relief. Oh, how foolish! Instead of helping Faramir to relax and have a good time, Frodo was talking about Elvish language as if he were a scholar and Faramir his pupil.
At that moment, Gandalf beckoned to Faramir. “Faramir! You have not favored us with your opinion.”
Faramir rose to his feet with a “pardon me” to Frodo, and he walked toward the angry crowd. Pippin watched him in open admiration. There was no one else at the party, hobbit, man, or Dwarf, who was as handsome, thought Pippin, as he marked how graceful was his pose and how the sun gleamed golden on his hair.
“Gentlemen,” Faramir said, nodding to Strider and Gandalf. “And gentlehobbits. If Gondor attacks, I shall do everything in my power to defend these lands. I know the fighting methods of Gondor.” His gray eyes were alert, and the sweet drowsiness present in them while he had lounged with Frodo under the tree had disappeared, and now a smoldering fire burned in them. “But…” He lifted his hand, quelling the indignant murmur in the crowd, and he glanced back toward the tree to meet Frodo’s gaze. “I would rather Gondor step back and leave us in peace. I do not think it likely, as we have been threatened, and my father does not give idle threats. I do know that we need to be prepared with more than hot-headed bragging. The warriors of Gondor have been trained in battle since they were small boys…boys that I once played with in childhood.” His voice trailed off miserably, and he nodded stiffly to Frodo. “I shall be back.”
He strode away, and the crowd broke again into angry buzzing. Pippin felt empty and weary. The afternoon had lost its glow, and with Faramir nowhere in sight, he hadn’t realized how much exhausting effort he had put into getting Faramir to notice him.
“Pippin,” Merry said softly. His soft brown eyes pleaded, and Pippin remembered all that Merry had been trying to tell him, and now it just filled him with dismal weariness.
“Merry, please not now. I need to stretch my legs. I need to think.”
Pippin wandered toward Bag End. It was only a coincidence that he had seen Faramir take that exact route. Yes, and if it was only a coincidence, why then was his heart pattering so hard he could scarcely catch his breath?
***
Frodo thought he should mingle with the guests, but he could not seem to move from his spot under the tree. The trunk eased his aching back, if nothing else. Faramir’s words had disturbed him greatly. He had never considered that if Faramir had to fight the Gondorian army, that he would be fighting childhood friends - and possibly his own brother, Boromir, Captain of Gondor.
Well, Frodo thought with a grim smile, when they were alone again in their cottage in Bree, Frodo would make certain Faramir was soothed. Faramir would never go into battle not knowing how much he was loved.
“May I join you?”
Frodo looked up in surprise to see Strider the Ranger, who Gandalf had introduced to him earlier. Frodo’s face lit with a genuine smile. “Certainly. Please do.”
Strider sat beside Frodo in the grass. “It is well to rest my aching legs for a time.” He took out a long pipe and crumbled between his fingers some pipe-weed before putting it in his pipe. “Do you wish to fetch your pipe, Frodo?”
“No, thank you,” Frodo said. “Strider…you look familiar to me. Have we not met before today?”
Strider gave Frodo a soft smile. “You do not remember?”
“I’m afraid not,” Frodo said with a frown.
“When you were so badly injured at the hands of those foul men from Gondor, Bilbo sent Samwise Gamgee into the woods of the Shire in search of the Rangers he knew protected the Shire and were known for healing skills. Sam is fortunate he came upon my dear friend Halbarad, who knew where I was at that time. No Ranger has better healing skills than I, and I came as fast as I could, especially when I heard that it was a dear friend of Gandalf’s who needed my aid.”
“You healed me?” Frodo asked in surprise. He had a vague memory of a low, calm voice that had given orders through a haze of pain.
“You were dying,” Strider said, puffing on his pipe. Frodo sniffed in the beloved pipe-weed. He nearly wished he had sent for his pipe. “You had blows to your back and stomach that were causing bleeding inside. I had herbs to slow the bleeding enough to allow healing.”
Frodo looked at Strider in amazement. “You saved my life then.” He grabbed Strider’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”
Strider chuckled a little and touched Frodo’s cheek in affection, letting his thumb linger for a moment before taking another deep whiff on his pipe. “Frodo, do you think it a wise idea to move to Bree at this time?”
“Why not?” Frodo asked. “I wish to be near Faramir.”
“I know,” Strider said. “And I know your reasons for not wanting to live in Bag End after all that has happened, but Bree will be dangerous in the coming days. It will be the first village in the North that Gondor will take.”
Cold alarm clutched Frodo’s throat, and he grasped Strider’s hand again. “Strider, do you think they will take Bree so easily?” He frowned. “Perhaps then Bilbo should not come - he is so frail. I shall speak to Pippin or Saradoc about perhaps seeing that he has a home in the Shire--”
Strider squeezed Frodo’s hand. “I did not intend to frighten you, but I fear the worst. And most of all, I fear the slaughter of innocents. My men will fight valiantly, but Gondor has sheer numbers on her side, and my guess is that Denethor has allied himself with the wicked Haradrim. Gandalf has begged aid from the horse country of Rohan, but it is unlikely that we should see the warriors of Rohan soon. King Theodan is fighting a different wickedness out of Isengard.”
“What shall we do then?” Frodo asked. All he had wanted was to settle in peace in Bree with the two people that he loved most. Despite Faramir’s gloomy mood as of late, Frodo had not truly thought that battle might come so soon and with such swift danger.
Strider released Frodo’s hand and inhaled on his pipe again. “Faramir and I shall both be called upon to train simple men and hobbits of Bree. There will no longer be as many Dunedain guarding the Shire, but those few there will help train Shire hobbits in defense, particularly those near Buckland and other areas near the Border.”
Frodo released a worried sigh, but his heart lifted slightly. At least if Faramir was training the Bree folk, he would not be sent out to battle right away. Perhaps Frodo could convince him to train him in archery so that he might fight to defend Bree - and ultimately the Shire -- if necessary.
***
Pippin found Faramir inside Bag End leaning against the mantle, deep in thought. Pippin cleared his throat.
“Why, Pippin!” said Faramir, turning with a smile. “Who are you hiding from - the Proudfoots or the Brandybucks?”
Pippin’s cheeks heated. So he had noticed him earlier. But now Pippin’s tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth and he could think of nothing to say. All of last night’s plans of just telling Faramir that he cared seemed empty after what he had seen of Frodo and Faramir that day. They were in love, and Pippin could no longer deny it, as much as he thought it cruelly unfair.
“What is it?” Faramir asked, kneeling so that he was on Pippin’s level and clasping Pippin’s hand. At the touch of his hand, Pippin trembled. It was now -- or he would lose his courage forever.
He took a breath and blurted, “Faramir, I love you.”
He covered his mouth, shocked that the words had slipped out so abruptly. Somehow he had thought that he would speak about the summer, leading Faramir down the memories of their summer together in Bree.
A silence fell then, except for the ticking of the clock on the mantle.
Faramir’s eyes widened in distress and he looked away with a sigh.
“Faramir-“ Pippin’s voice came out strangled this time and he squeezed Faramir’s hand. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to tell you that way. But last summer…all those times…” Nothing was coming out right. His heart was thudding so hard that he could not get enough breath to speak in clear sentences. He knew as soon as he had spoken that it was a mistake. He did not seriously think that Faramir was going to drop his pledge to Frodo only because one foolish Took had dared to speak his feelings aloud.
“Pippin,” Faramir said, and Pippin saw raw pity in his eyes, and that more than anything, sealed the end of hope in his mind. Faramir was gone. There would be no riding to Bree in the front of his horse that night. There would be no happy endings for him. The days here in the Shire would stretch out in dismal succession with nothing to look forward to. He would settle for Merry or Diamond or Sancho and he would bury all hope for adventure.
Pippin turned and walked out of Bag End, swallowing against the strangling pain in his throat. Merry was running toward him, his eyes wild. Pippin could not handle speaking to Merry right now, not when his heart was so broken. But Merry had already seen him, and there was no hiding. His hair was tousled and his face red with excitement.
“Do you know what’s happened?” Merry cried even before he reached him. “Have you heard? Captain Halbarad just rode in with the news!”
Pippin looked at Merry as if he were speaking a foreign language. Pippin didn’t want to hear news or be at this party a minute longer. He would seek out Samwise Gamgee in fact so that he could get his pony and ride home. He wanted only to be alone.
“Not now-“ he started to say, but Merry finished.
“Denethor has sent out his army from Minas Tirith - a massive army of his soldiers, Haradrim, and other wicked folk!”
Go on to next part
Author: Claudia
Pairing: various (main: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn, Pippin/Faramir(unrequited), Merry/Pippin...)
Rating: series varies
Summary: note. This is a crossover fic (sort of, since it all takes place in Middle Earth with Tolkien characters) between LOTR and Gone with the Wind. This is such complete crack -- but I'm having a blast writing it! (I love all you enablers, by the way!)
Warnings: AU
This chapter has both Pippin's POV and Frodo's POV.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Pippin, always the one the young hobbits sought to flirt with, had gathered quite a crowd of lads and lasses about him. He sat on a bench while Diamond and Sancho sat on either side of him and the others sat on the grass at his feet. Normally it would have sent his heart soaring to have Diamond, Sancho, Estella, Fatty, Milo Burrows, and Merry all striving for his full attention. But this afternoon, all he could do was swallow the miserable lump in his throat and cast miserable glances toward the big tree near the main pavilion.
Faramir lounged against the trunk of the tree, and Frodo rested his head in his lap. Both seemed content to sit separated from the crowd and read. In fact, they seemed not to be speaking much to each other at all, and to add to the ache in Pippin’s heart, they looked comfortable together, as if they had known each other since childhood and not just since this past summer. Occasionally, Faramir glanced away from his book long enough to grant Frodo a tender smile, and every time he did that, pain ripped at Pippin’s heart.
If only he would turn that smile to Pippin. If only he would notice him again, like he had during the summer. Surely he could see how much more fun he was than his bookish cousin. Surely he must have noticed how he sent his friends into gales of laughter at every turn. Surely Faramir needed balm for his sore heart, and Pippin’s idea of balm was typically hobbity -- laughter, song, ale, and at least six meals a day.
Pippin doubled his efforts to engage his friends into laughter and song, which was never difficult with a crowd of young hobbits who had drunk more than enough ale, but Faramir still did not take notice. He only continued to read, pausing occasionally to murmur to Frodo. Frodo in turn smiled up at him, and if ever love and ownership shone in anyone’s eyes, they did in Frodo’s right now.
Pippin caught sight again of the Ranger, Strider, who had not yet mingled with the crowd and who watched the party from the outside. Occasionally Gandalf had spoken to him, and Bilbo, too, but mostly he stood alone and seemed content to stay that way. But now he was watching Frodo with a keen, intent gaze. But as Pippin watched, he noticed that something softened in Strider’s eyes as he watched Frodo, and he looked wistful, as if he were filled with regret or great, aching loneliness.
But instead of feeling sorry for a lonely Ranger, Pippin only felt a surge of new irritation toward his cousin.
Well drat him anyway, he thought with wounded pride. It’s not enough he should have Faramir, but that he should attract every Ranger in Eriador to him.
He tore his eyes away from the scene that was causing him such misery and he joined his friends in a song about heart and hearth and a bath at the end of the day.
At last the sun grew hot and warm and people became sleepy from eating and drinking. Little by little Pippin’s crowd began to scatter. Fatty and Estella crept away together, Sancho left to refill his mug, and Diamond saw that her flirtations were getting her nowhere at the moment. Only Merry remained, but he seemed troubled, and he had spoken very little in the last hour or so. The party crowd had indeed grown more subdued and some folk were napping in their chairs. Frodo had set his book down and had closed his eyes, still resting in Faramir’s lap.
Suddenly Pippin heard his father’s voice rise above the sleepy murmur. “A peaceable settlement with Gondor after our Rangers attacked their troops in Hollin? Bah! It will not happen! The Steward is twisted with cruel intent now and he will not rest until all the Northern Kingdom is crushed!”
Pippin looked anxiously toward Faramir. He was concerned about Faramir feeling uncomfortable, even if he no longer associated himself with his father. The drowsy restfulness to the party was gone, and an exciting jolt of energy flew through the crowd. Suddenly everyone, from the Dwarves to the few Bree Men in attendance to the hobbits from all Four Farthings, jumped up and started fighting for their voices to be heard above all others. Even the fattest and most stay-at-home hobbits joined in with strong opinions, faces red with ale and indignant rage. Pippin noticed that Frodo had awakened and sat up in alarm, but that neither he nor Faramir seemed inclined to join the heated discussion.
“Of course we’ll fight - filthy Gondorians - we could crush them in a month-“
“Who does the Steward think he is-“
“We’ll show him what happens to footpads here-“
Merry had not risen with the rest of them, and instead he squeezed Pippin’s hand and whispered in Pippin’s ear. “I’ve already decided to join the archers,” Merry said. “If they will have me.”
Pippin did not answer. Merry had been quiet for so long, and Pippin hoped he would remain so since finally Faramir and Frodo had at last begun to talk, and he strained to hear Frodo’s voice.
“If I did…join the archers,” Merry continued. “I should wish…I know you can’t join because of your duties with your father, but…would you wait for me?”
Of all the times for Merry to gain the courage to say what he must have waited for years to say! Pippin nodded and pinched Merry’s hand. He could almost hear Frodo’s voice. He just needed Merry to be silent for just a minute more.
“You would?” Merry’s smile was wide and relieved. “You know how I’ve felt about you, cousin. I’ve always loved you, and I think you feel the same - if I go, I’d very much like it if we could make a pledge, just like Frodo and Faramir have done.“
At the sound of “pledge” and “Frodo and Faramir,” Pippin said, “Shhh!” Merry stopped at once, flushing, perhaps in embarrassment of having blurted his feelings to Pippin in so public a place. Pippin would not have been embarrassed. If he were so inclined to make a pledge with Merry, then he would do so happily in a loud, boisterous voice in front of every hobbit of the Shire.
At last Pippin caught Frodo’s melodic voice saying, “I fear I cannot agree with you. Quenya has a more refined sound than Sindarin. After all, it is spoken by the High-elves. Listen: ar sindanoriello caita mornie.”
Pippin almost laughed with relief. Oh, how foolish! Instead of helping Faramir to relax and have a good time, Frodo was talking about Elvish language as if he were a scholar and Faramir his pupil.
At that moment, Gandalf beckoned to Faramir. “Faramir! You have not favored us with your opinion.”
Faramir rose to his feet with a “pardon me” to Frodo, and he walked toward the angry crowd. Pippin watched him in open admiration. There was no one else at the party, hobbit, man, or Dwarf, who was as handsome, thought Pippin, as he marked how graceful was his pose and how the sun gleamed golden on his hair.
“Gentlemen,” Faramir said, nodding to Strider and Gandalf. “And gentlehobbits. If Gondor attacks, I shall do everything in my power to defend these lands. I know the fighting methods of Gondor.” His gray eyes were alert, and the sweet drowsiness present in them while he had lounged with Frodo under the tree had disappeared, and now a smoldering fire burned in them. “But…” He lifted his hand, quelling the indignant murmur in the crowd, and he glanced back toward the tree to meet Frodo’s gaze. “I would rather Gondor step back and leave us in peace. I do not think it likely, as we have been threatened, and my father does not give idle threats. I do know that we need to be prepared with more than hot-headed bragging. The warriors of Gondor have been trained in battle since they were small boys…boys that I once played with in childhood.” His voice trailed off miserably, and he nodded stiffly to Frodo. “I shall be back.”
He strode away, and the crowd broke again into angry buzzing. Pippin felt empty and weary. The afternoon had lost its glow, and with Faramir nowhere in sight, he hadn’t realized how much exhausting effort he had put into getting Faramir to notice him.
“Pippin,” Merry said softly. His soft brown eyes pleaded, and Pippin remembered all that Merry had been trying to tell him, and now it just filled him with dismal weariness.
“Merry, please not now. I need to stretch my legs. I need to think.”
Pippin wandered toward Bag End. It was only a coincidence that he had seen Faramir take that exact route. Yes, and if it was only a coincidence, why then was his heart pattering so hard he could scarcely catch his breath?
***
Frodo thought he should mingle with the guests, but he could not seem to move from his spot under the tree. The trunk eased his aching back, if nothing else. Faramir’s words had disturbed him greatly. He had never considered that if Faramir had to fight the Gondorian army, that he would be fighting childhood friends - and possibly his own brother, Boromir, Captain of Gondor.
Well, Frodo thought with a grim smile, when they were alone again in their cottage in Bree, Frodo would make certain Faramir was soothed. Faramir would never go into battle not knowing how much he was loved.
“May I join you?”
Frodo looked up in surprise to see Strider the Ranger, who Gandalf had introduced to him earlier. Frodo’s face lit with a genuine smile. “Certainly. Please do.”
Strider sat beside Frodo in the grass. “It is well to rest my aching legs for a time.” He took out a long pipe and crumbled between his fingers some pipe-weed before putting it in his pipe. “Do you wish to fetch your pipe, Frodo?”
“No, thank you,” Frodo said. “Strider…you look familiar to me. Have we not met before today?”
Strider gave Frodo a soft smile. “You do not remember?”
“I’m afraid not,” Frodo said with a frown.
“When you were so badly injured at the hands of those foul men from Gondor, Bilbo sent Samwise Gamgee into the woods of the Shire in search of the Rangers he knew protected the Shire and were known for healing skills. Sam is fortunate he came upon my dear friend Halbarad, who knew where I was at that time. No Ranger has better healing skills than I, and I came as fast as I could, especially when I heard that it was a dear friend of Gandalf’s who needed my aid.”
“You healed me?” Frodo asked in surprise. He had a vague memory of a low, calm voice that had given orders through a haze of pain.
“You were dying,” Strider said, puffing on his pipe. Frodo sniffed in the beloved pipe-weed. He nearly wished he had sent for his pipe. “You had blows to your back and stomach that were causing bleeding inside. I had herbs to slow the bleeding enough to allow healing.”
Frodo looked at Strider in amazement. “You saved my life then.” He grabbed Strider’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”
Strider chuckled a little and touched Frodo’s cheek in affection, letting his thumb linger for a moment before taking another deep whiff on his pipe. “Frodo, do you think it a wise idea to move to Bree at this time?”
“Why not?” Frodo asked. “I wish to be near Faramir.”
“I know,” Strider said. “And I know your reasons for not wanting to live in Bag End after all that has happened, but Bree will be dangerous in the coming days. It will be the first village in the North that Gondor will take.”
Cold alarm clutched Frodo’s throat, and he grasped Strider’s hand again. “Strider, do you think they will take Bree so easily?” He frowned. “Perhaps then Bilbo should not come - he is so frail. I shall speak to Pippin or Saradoc about perhaps seeing that he has a home in the Shire--”
Strider squeezed Frodo’s hand. “I did not intend to frighten you, but I fear the worst. And most of all, I fear the slaughter of innocents. My men will fight valiantly, but Gondor has sheer numbers on her side, and my guess is that Denethor has allied himself with the wicked Haradrim. Gandalf has begged aid from the horse country of Rohan, but it is unlikely that we should see the warriors of Rohan soon. King Theodan is fighting a different wickedness out of Isengard.”
“What shall we do then?” Frodo asked. All he had wanted was to settle in peace in Bree with the two people that he loved most. Despite Faramir’s gloomy mood as of late, Frodo had not truly thought that battle might come so soon and with such swift danger.
Strider released Frodo’s hand and inhaled on his pipe again. “Faramir and I shall both be called upon to train simple men and hobbits of Bree. There will no longer be as many Dunedain guarding the Shire, but those few there will help train Shire hobbits in defense, particularly those near Buckland and other areas near the Border.”
Frodo released a worried sigh, but his heart lifted slightly. At least if Faramir was training the Bree folk, he would not be sent out to battle right away. Perhaps Frodo could convince him to train him in archery so that he might fight to defend Bree - and ultimately the Shire -- if necessary.
***
Pippin found Faramir inside Bag End leaning against the mantle, deep in thought. Pippin cleared his throat.
“Why, Pippin!” said Faramir, turning with a smile. “Who are you hiding from - the Proudfoots or the Brandybucks?”
Pippin’s cheeks heated. So he had noticed him earlier. But now Pippin’s tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth and he could think of nothing to say. All of last night’s plans of just telling Faramir that he cared seemed empty after what he had seen of Frodo and Faramir that day. They were in love, and Pippin could no longer deny it, as much as he thought it cruelly unfair.
“What is it?” Faramir asked, kneeling so that he was on Pippin’s level and clasping Pippin’s hand. At the touch of his hand, Pippin trembled. It was now -- or he would lose his courage forever.
He took a breath and blurted, “Faramir, I love you.”
He covered his mouth, shocked that the words had slipped out so abruptly. Somehow he had thought that he would speak about the summer, leading Faramir down the memories of their summer together in Bree.
A silence fell then, except for the ticking of the clock on the mantle.
Faramir’s eyes widened in distress and he looked away with a sigh.
“Faramir-“ Pippin’s voice came out strangled this time and he squeezed Faramir’s hand. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to tell you that way. But last summer…all those times…” Nothing was coming out right. His heart was thudding so hard that he could not get enough breath to speak in clear sentences. He knew as soon as he had spoken that it was a mistake. He did not seriously think that Faramir was going to drop his pledge to Frodo only because one foolish Took had dared to speak his feelings aloud.
“Pippin,” Faramir said, and Pippin saw raw pity in his eyes, and that more than anything, sealed the end of hope in his mind. Faramir was gone. There would be no riding to Bree in the front of his horse that night. There would be no happy endings for him. The days here in the Shire would stretch out in dismal succession with nothing to look forward to. He would settle for Merry or Diamond or Sancho and he would bury all hope for adventure.
Pippin turned and walked out of Bag End, swallowing against the strangling pain in his throat. Merry was running toward him, his eyes wild. Pippin could not handle speaking to Merry right now, not when his heart was so broken. But Merry had already seen him, and there was no hiding. His hair was tousled and his face red with excitement.
“Do you know what’s happened?” Merry cried even before he reached him. “Have you heard? Captain Halbarad just rode in with the news!”
Pippin looked at Merry as if he were speaking a foreign language. Pippin didn’t want to hear news or be at this party a minute longer. He would seek out Samwise Gamgee in fact so that he could get his pony and ride home. He wanted only to be alone.
“Not now-“ he started to say, but Merry finished.
“Denethor has sent out his army from Minas Tirith - a massive army of his soldiers, Haradrim, and other wicked folk!”
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