"In the Depths of Moria"
by mercat

Chapter Three


        Pippin was as weary as the rest of his companions, but though his body longed for sleep, a strange energy seemed to have seized his mind, and his rapidly flitting thoughts would not permit repose. For a time he stared dully at Legolas, whose open eyes were slightly glazed in slumber, and amused himself by counting Merry's soft and irregular snores. Tiring of this exercise, he craned his neck around to watch Frodo and Sam, who were curled up back-to-back. Frodo lay on his right side, one hand cupping his cheek and the other clenched tight about the Ring, even in sleep. Sam had spread his cloak over both of them and had made a rough pillow of the lower end of his pack. The other end bulged dangerously, and Pippin guessed that Sam had once again filled his pack with the heavier items among his master's belongings. He had once offered to relieve Sam of some of his load, particularly the foodstuffs, but the gardener had adamantly refused any assistance.
        Gimli lay pressed against the wall, axe in hand, as if attempting to commune with the chiseled stone. The dwarf's early enthusiasm had given way to exhaustion, and he had made no protest when offered one of the later watches. Boromir and Aragorn had positioned themselves on either side of the entryway, each with their cloaks pillowed beneath their heads so as not to hinder their long swords. And Gandalf crouched just outside the entrance, gnarled staff at his side, puffing gently on his curved pipe.
        Idly Pippin wondered if the wizard had volunteered for the first watch merely to satiate his appetite for smoke, and decided it was as reasonable an excuse as any. He would not have minded a pipeful himself, but had decided to ration it more carefully. No use wasting valuable pipeweed when he was in no mood to enjoy it, and still less in dirtying the pipe bowl when no clean water could be had to wash it out. Anyway, it was no fun to smoke alone, and he had still to beat Merry in their ongoing ring-blowing competition.
        When we get out of this place, Pippin thought, we'll have Sam build us a nice campfire in some quiet grove - he'll do it for sure if he's got a chance at making something tasty for Frodo to eat - and then Merry and I will just sit back and smoke, and smoke …
        Perhaps they could even get Gandalf to make rainbow-colored rings, as he had been known to do with old Bilbo in the past. But they would have to wait until Gimli fell asleep. The dwarf, though he smoked as avidly as anyone, had little skill when it came to blowing rings: he puffed too hard and too fast, and earlier in the journey had used up almost an entire pouchful of Pippin's good leaf in trying to master the art. The hobbit shook his head mournfully, wondering if Frodo or Sam could be persuaded to donate some of their remaining supply to restock his rapidly dwindling store. Most likely they would laugh and tell him to have Gandalf conjure up some more. Dilettantes. They wouldn't know good pipeweed if it bit them in the leg.
        Tiring of this line of thinking, and too bored even to count Merry's snores, Pippin sighed, stretched, and stared harder at Gandalf, who was now slumped back against the doorframe. Wisps of smoke still issued from his pipe, which protruded from one corner of his mouth, but the wizard's head had fallen back to rest against the stone. An unholy delight rose within Pippin as he realized that the seemingly infallible wizard had committed the unforgivable sin of falling asleep on watch. Good job I'm still awake; who knows what sort of orcs or other foul creatures might have come creeping up to take us unawares!
        Casting a glance at the two slumbering warriors near the door, Pippin rose to his feet and padded forward to sit in the doorway next to Gandalf. He quietly drew his small sword as a precaution and peered out into the relentless blackness. Soon, though, his eye was drawn back to the smoldering embers in Gandalf's pipe. The pipe itself drooped ever lower, threatening to spill the embers out into the wizard's beard. Did that constitute a fire hazard? Probably; but Pippin couldn't quite see himself pulling the pipe from between Gandalf's lips. Better just to keep a careful watch on the situation, and if bodily harm seemed imminent, he would wake the wizard from a safe distance.
        Fascinated by the glow of the coals and the interplay of light and shadow across the wizard's craggy face, Pippin felt his own eyelids drooping. The darkness no longer seemed harsh and cold, but inviting; he could feel his heart beating more slowly, and could hear his own soft breaths intermingled with those of his companions. As the haze of sleep descended upon his mind, he imagined a soft voice whispering in his ear, and icy cobwebs brushing lightly across his face.
        "Not a Baggins, nooo, my preciousss, but still a hobbit, and we hates hobbitses, yes we does. If we kills this hobbit, we can get the Baggins, nassty Baggins, yesss."
        Cold fingers clamped around his throat with surprising strength, and Pippin shot upright, the sibilant whispering suddenly resolving into intelligible words in his fuzzy mind. Instinctively he kicked out with both feet, unbalancing his attacker, and caught a glimpse of two lamp-like eyes as the creature fell back with a muffled cry. Pippin leaped after the fleeing form with a fearsome shout, sword in hand, and was halfway down the staircase when a firm hand seized his shoulder and yanked him back.
        "Quietly, if you please, Master Took!" hissed Aragorn, lifting the struggling hobbit and carrying him bodily up the stairs. "There are other creatures in these mines more fearsome than that which you pursue, and I should not like to become their prey in turn!"
        "But I - he - "
        "And," the Ranger's intense whisper cut through Pippin's half-formed protest, "I would ask you to say nothing of this to your friends, least of all Frodo. His burden is taxing enough as it is, and I would spare him further worry." He held Pippin's gaze until the hobbit subsided, recognizing the seriousness of the other's words.
        "Thank you," Aragorn said, motioning that they should resume their climb. Then, when they were nearly to the threshold of the chamber, he paused once more, and there was an odd note in his voice when he spoke. "It was a brave, if foolhardy, thing you did, chasing your attacker in the dark. And I doubt not that you have saved us from a greater evil, standing guard alone. But sometimes true courage is revealed not by the deeds themselves, but by the concealment of them: many there are who can slay orcs and other fell creatures, but far fewer who can refrain from boasting. The nobler path is less celebrated, it is true, but in the end it is no less valiant or rewarding."
        Pippin stared at him in awe, for his face seemed somehow altered, as if a carefully shrouded light of a sudden shone unchecked through a familiar mask, and he appeared for a moment as he had in the majestic courts of Elrond. Then the Ranger blinked and smiled wistfully, and the illusion was gone; before him stood not Elendil's Heir, but only Strider of Bree, his shoulders slightly stooped with weariness and his weathered face cloaked in hidden pain. With a final nod, he passed through the doorway into the chamber where the others lay, but Pippin remained for a long moment outside, and it seemed to him that he had witnessed a splendid and fearsome power far beyond his imagining.
        When at length he entered the chamber, he saw that the other members of the Company had assembled their baggage and were making ready to depart. Aragorn was conferring with Gandalf and Gimli, while Legolas and Boromir stood slightly to the side, listening quietly. Sam and Merry were watching the hushed conference with troubled eyes, but Frodo stood a little ways apart, his head lowered and his gaze fixed inward upon something only he could see. His hand had crept up to rest against his breast, where the Ring hung beneath his tunic, and he seemed to draw both reassurance and pain from its presence.
        Always that blasted Ring! Pippin thought with a sudden rush of heat. Ever it gnaws at him, and ever we are forced to watch as slowly it consumes him! He longed to relieve Frodo of his burden, yet he admitted candidly to himself that he would never dare to carry the Ring himself, even were it offered freely.
        Silently he endured the curious looks the others directed at him, stifling his urge to defend his actions in remembrance of Aragorn's words. Glancing across the chamber he caught the Ranger's eye, and though Aragorn did not so much as blink, yet Pippin felt his flagging spirits lift as a current of understanding passed between them. Hefting his pack, he moved to stand next to Frodo, drawing the other hobbit out of his grim thoughts with a light touch on the shoulder.
        "We shall sleep no longer this night," Gandalf announced, drawing their attention. "Ill creatures may have been roused that would better have been left silent, and we have still a hard day's march ahead of us." He did not say "roused by Pippin's shout," but the hobbit knew that his inadvertent noisemaking would in all likelihood have dire consequences. Steeling himself against now-familiar feelings of inadequacy and shame, he fell into place beside Merry, lifted his head, and followed their guide deeper into the mocking shadows of the mine.