𝑒𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐥 𝐢 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡 - 𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤. CHAPTER THREE. 🤍- read on ao3 (IM PROUD OF MY FIC GUYS)
An old ginger cat with long whiskers leapt onto Pippin’s knees just as he sat down in one of Aileen’s armchairs.
She told him it didn’t have a name, but that it had been there for a very long time; then she settled into the chair opposite. She had made some more tea, honey-flavoured, and there were biscuits in a tin box.
“Why…” he began, hesitating, a little embarrassed by the question he was about to ask.
He paused, searching for the right words, then continued:
“Why doesn’t Denethor love Faramir?”
Aileen remained silent for a long while, long enough that Pippin wondered if she hadn’t heard him, or if his question had offended her. But at last she answered:
“When our mother died, it was because she fell ill giving birth to Faramir. So he’s always blamed him for that.”
She said nothing more, and took a sip of tea, eyes lowered. Seeing her expression, Pippin already regretted asking. So he said nothing, and drank his tea in silence, uneasy. He still had plenty of questions, but it was clearly not the right time.
“Why are you here alone?” she suddenly asked, not even looking at him, as if speaking to herself.
He startled.
“Pardon?”
“Why are you here, with Gandalf? And not with your friends?”
Pippin opened his mouth but didn’t know where to start—or what exactly Aileen wanted to know.
“Would you tell me everything?” she said, seeing him so lost. “We have time ahead of us, and plenty of tea.”
He gave a nervous smile.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything you’d like to tell me,” she said, leaning forward to grab a biscuit from the box.
She tossed it to him, and he caught it mid-air.
So Pippin began to tell her his story, starting from Bilbo’s birthday. Aileen asked him many questions, and eventually came to sit on the armrest of his chair so he could show her their route on a map. He told her of Rivendell, of the Elves; of Moria, of Lothlórien. Then, of their last stop before the Fellowship broke apart, and of Boromir’s death.
He stumbled over his words when speaking of it ; he didn’t want to tell her that her brother had died protecting him. It felt, somehow, like his fault.
Finally, he said that Boromir had fallen while defending him and his cousin; but as soon as he spoke the words, his throat tightened.
He didn’t even know if Aileen already knew all this, or if he was the first to tell her.
“Faramir told me that Boromir tried to take the Ring from Frodo. That’s how he died.”
He stared at her.
“That’s not true.”
“One of your companions told him, apparently. The gardener,” Aileen replied, meeting his eyes.
“Sam? But—”
Pippin stopped, thinking.
“That’s impossible. Boromir—”
But she interrupted him, seeing his distress.
“It doesn’t matter. I believe you. Go on.”
So he continued. He told her briefly that the Orcs had taken him and Merry, but that they’d managed to escape into Fangorn Forest. Aileen wanted to know more about the Orcs, but she noticed how he sometimes rubbed his wrists, as if to erase the faint marks of ropes still visible on his skin. So she didn’t ask.
But about Fangorn, many questions. And with pride, Pippin told her that it had been his idea to go to Isengard, and that they had overthrown Saruman with the Ents. Then he spoke of Rohan, and of the Palantír. He only said that he had looked into it, and that because of this, Sauron had mistaken him for the Ring-bearer. Gandalf had then brought him here for safety.
When he finished, he was exhausted from talking so much.
“You know Gandalf well, then?” Aileen finally asked. “We see him often in the City, but no one really knows him. You’re lucky to have him by your side.”
“Yeah…”
Seeing his lack of conviction, Aileen smiled, leaning slightly towards him.
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
“No, it’s just that… I don’t know… He always seems angry with me. I feel like I never live up to his expectations.”
She frowned slightly, tilting her head.
“Well, you’re a hobbit. It’s normal not to live up to them; you and your kind don’t belong in this war.”
As she spoke, she scratched the cat behind its ears, and it rolled onto its back, paws in the air. There was ink on her fingers.
“Then why was Frodo chosen to destroy the Ring?”
Aileen paused, thoughtful, before answering:
“Well, from what you said, he volunteered himself. And you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, all right? I think you’re doing very well as you are,” she added.
“There’s no glory in being a warrior, in killing people. There’s glory in being brave, and you are. Just like Frodo. If my brother died for you, it means you’re a good person. And he was right; I’m glad you’re here with me.”
As she spoke these words, she looked at him; as Pippin raised his head towards her, he met her gaze and felt his heart beat faster.
It had been months since anyone had said anything so kind to him, or made him feel so valued. He blushed furiously without knowing why. Aileen also seemed embarrassed; she regretted saying so much, especially seeing his reaction. She stood, fidgeting with her hair.
“You should go back now. It’s lunchtime.”
She was right ; he was starving.
“Will you be all right?” she asked as he rose from the chair.
He nodded.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s nothing. I like spending time with you,” Aileen said, rocking slightly on her feet. “Go on now.”
“Aren’t you eating?”
Aileen parted her lips, looking surprised.
“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, why not.”
But they never made it to lunch.
As they crossed the Court of the White Tree, a horse galloped in—dragging Faramir’s body behind it.
Everyone rushed forward at once; the guards, Denethor, Aileen, Pippin. Aileen had gone completely pale, especially as the Enemy’s horns began to sound in the distance. From where he stood, Pippin couldn’t see anything; but he heard the screams of Sauron’s servants massing at the City gates. Denethor, abandoning all restraint, raged at everyone to leave their posts, stumbling as he walked. Then Gandalf arrived, and struck him down with his staff.
It all happened chaotically, in barely two minutes.
Aileen rose; her legs trembled.
“He’s not dead,” said Pippin, frantic.
“I know. I know.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get him to safety. And to find armor.” She looked at him seriously. “You should stay with Gandalf.”
“So… it’s happening?”
“Pardon?”
“The war. It’s coming here?”
She stared at him for a long moment.
“Stay with Gandalf,” she repeated. “We’ll be fine, all right?”
Pippin didn’t answer. He wasn’t ready for any of this. He just wanted to run somewhere and hide, and let the world move without him.
Aileen hugged him briefly.
“Try to stay safe. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Gandalf called him—and he had to follow.
That battle was so horrible that Pippin only remembered fragments. The blade of his sword, slick with black blood. The shriek of the Nazgûl, making his legs shake.
Monsters, thousands of them, swarming the walls of the Citadel. Shouting the name of their battering ram before smashing it against the Great Gate.
The Gondorian faces twisted in terror; Gandalf running everywhere, shouting orders. Then the funeral procession for Faramir, Denethor in front, staggering in his long black robe.
How Pippin had screamed, screamed until his voice broke, when Faramir was laid upon a pyre of wood to be burned.
Denethor had seized him by the collar to drag him aside, and he had never felt so small.
I release you from my service, Peregrin son of Paladin. Go where you will.
Denethor, arms raised to the sky. “Set fire to our flesh.” The smell of oil. And then, with Gandalf’s help, Pippin had leapt into the fire For a moment, when he couldn’t move Faramir and the flames licked his skin, he thought he would die there. Faramir rolled free at last; but Denethor seized Pippin again, trying to drag him back into the blaze. The fire had melted through Pippin’s gloves, and the pain in his hands was unbearable.
Gandalf saved him.
The Steward perished in the fire. That burning figure running through the Citadel, those screams, haunted Pippin for a long time.
Thus ended Denethor, son of Ecthelion.
The horror and the smoke made him double over and vomit.
It was over. The Rohirrim had come.
Everywhere, people were tending to the wounded. Pippin was searching for Merry. Night had fallen; for hours, he wandered the Pelennor Fields. Anxiety gripped his stomach—his cousin was still missing. Then, returning to the streets of Minas Tirith, he saw him: a small grey figure, limping, clutching his arm.
“Are you going to bury me?” Merry murmured, as Pippin begged him to say he was all right.
“No, certainly not!” said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful though his heart ached with fear. “No, we’re going to the Houses of Healing.”
They left the narrow alley running between tall houses and the outer wall of the fourth circle, and made their way up toward the Citadel, step by step, Merry staggering like a sleepwalker.
“I’ll never make it,” thought Pippin. “Isn’t there anyone to help me? I can’t leave him here.”
Then he saw Aileen. She ran toward him.
She looked unharmed—her braid undone, her uniform far too big and covered in dust—but she was safe.
He didn’t even have to explain; she bent down.
“Help me lift him onto my back.”
So she carried Merry to the Houses of Healing. They were overcrowded : beds everywhere, wounded groaning, healers rushing. They found an empty spot, a raised pallet, and laid him down.
Merry looked terribly ill. His face was grey and he had lost consciousness. All the healers were busy elsewhere, so it was Aileen who took care of him. She was flushed with heat; she tied her hair back again and took off her heavy uniform. Underneath, she wore a linen shirt and trousers.
“What’s wrong with him?” Pippin asked, desperate. “His arm…he looks like he’s in pain.”
He’d been overjoyed to find his cousin again, but that joy was quickly crushed by fear.
“I don’t know,” she said faintly. “I’m no healer. I don’t know what to do.”
Aileen wet a cloth and wiped Merry’s face. She removed his mail coat and set it aside. He muttered something incoherent.
Since she couldn’t do much more, she sat beside Pippin at the edge of the bed.
“Where were you?”
“My uncle arrived. I stayed with him. Faramir’s here—he’s being cared for. But I don’t know where my father is. Have you seen him?”
Then Pippin realized she didn’t know what had happened to Denethor. His heart sank. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her—but he couldn’t lie either.
Feeling her eyes on him, he shook his head, trying not to cry.
He forced himself to look up at her.
“He’s dead,” he said hoarsely. “He tried to burn Faramir alive, and he died in the fire.”
He managed a strangled “I’m sorry” before breaking down completely.
He’d held himself together all day, even through the battle, but those words were too much.
Aileen said nothing. She sat beside him, hiding her face in her hands, letting her grief wash over her in silence.
When Pippin’s sobs finally subsided, she straightened, wiping her eyes. She looked exhausted.
“Let me see your hands,” she said at last, breaking the silence.
“P-pardon?”
“Your hands. They’re all burned. Let me see.”
Pippin blinked through tears, stunned. Instead of mourning her father, she was taking care of him?
“I’ll get something to treat that. Wait here.”
He watched her leave, then return moments later with scissors, bandages, and a bowl of water. And red eyes.
She sat beside him again, took one of his hands, and carefully cut away the shredded glove. The skin underneath was red and raw. Pippin winced, squirming with pain. Aileen dipped his hand in the cold water.
“We’ll wait a bit.”
“Is it bad?”
“There are blisters, so yes. We’ll treat it quickly, but you’ll have scars… May I ? Turn towards me.”
Pippin held his breath as she brushed his hair back gently and wiped his face with the damp cloth.
The coolness on his skin was soothing; he closed his eyes and let her work. She wiped away all the dust, soot, and tears, and he thought vaguely that he liked the feeling of being cared for, that someone thought he was worth tending to.
He opened his eyes slightly and saw her leaning close, noticing details: the dark lashes, the small moles on her cheek. Then he blushed violently and shut his eyes again.
Aileen moved on to his other hand, treating it the same way. She dried them—painfully—and wrapped them in clean bandages.
As she looked at him, Pippin could only nod; the flood of strange emotions made his throat ache. Aileen stood.
“I’ll go check on my brother. I’ll send someone to look after your friend on my way. Stay if you want, but you should rest too. It’s late. Will you be all right?”
Pippin nodded again. Aileen looked back once over her shoulder, then left.
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
titsay
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
pixelskylines
gummygunk
