Sword and Shadow
This was written as a challenge on the LOTR Improv list.
Author: Andraste
Author's Email: vanessa@brandyhall.net
Improv: #1 (vision ridiculous tail reason)
Rating: PG, if that
Type: Pre-slash, Merry/Pippin
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just borrowing them for
a bit, and I'm making no money from it; I do it for love
alone. These words in this order are mine though; please
don't put them anywhere without my permission.
She was something from a tale, or a song, or a vision.
Tall and fair she stood before them, shining and silent
she descended the steps, and soft light shone from everywhere
and nowhere all about her. Before her, even more so than
before the other elves who moved with fluid grace among
the trees, a dirty tearstained hobbit was a ridiculous figure,
surely. Even the finest tailoring Brandy Hall had to offer
was shabby beside the flowing gossamer garments which looked
as if they had grown on their wearers. Even the future Master
of Buckland, accustomed to ceremony and elaborate custom
since he was a babe, found his own words crude and stumbling
compared to the graceful elven speeches of welcome.
When she looked into his eyes and spoke liquid words of
greeting, he felt her mind touch his, embrace and weave
tendrils through his thoughts, knowing him more deeply and
intimately than anyone ever had before. Without speech she
told him of his innermost desires, offered him both things
he knew he wanted and things he dared not admit, even to
himself, as objects of desire. She showed him a life where
as Master of Buckland he was admired and adored, respected
as a leader and a friend; every hobbit clapped him on the
back, every lass blushed and curtsied, and children's eyes
glowed as he passed by.
He walked through fields glowing golden with harvest, gardens
rich and green, and groves where trees dipped heavy boughs
laden with fruit before him. He saw himself returning to
the Hall a hero, riding tall and grand on a man-sized horse
with braided mane and swishing tail. He saw himself enter
his sitting-room to find a fire laid and a mug of ale and
a hot supper waiting on the table - and most dear of all
to his eyes, his Pippin laughing by the hearth, arms open
and waiting, undiluted love and joy in his sparkling eyes.
She gave him every reason to long for the Shire and his
beloved, crowded, noisy home where aunts gossiped and uncles
chuckled, and cousins tumbled laughing up and down the halls
all day. Every reason to cast aside his sword and farewell
his companions, the strange and the familiar, to take his
cousin's hand and return before the peril grew too great.
Every reason to put aside the quest and leave it to those
mightier and wiser and more powerful than himself.
Yet he knew he could make no other choice than to go on.
He thought of Ringwraiths and Orcs and felt for his sword-hilt,
as he had become accustomed to do before sleep now; he should
know where to put his hand in an instant if any evil should
threaten. And as he listened to Pippin's steady breathing
an arm's length away, he knew that he had the best of all
reasons to go on.
