With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 39: Once a Took

"We will camp here for the night," Saruman declared, easing their horse back and eyeing Strider as the man did the same. Pippin drew a sigh of relief and loosened his desperate grip on Saruman. The three had ridden since hours before dawn with few stops. But what had put Pippin most on edge was Strider.

The man rode beside them freely, his hands neither bound together nor tethered to the horse. Saruman had thought the bindings would slow rider and horse, so the wizard kept Strider to him with a simple threat: If he tried to escape, Saruman would kill Pippin. Strider's face had not registered a word, and so Pippin was left with the hope that Strider did not see his escape more vital than a hobbit's life.

Pippin slid slowly off the horse, bracing himself for the long drop. In the dark, Strider was a shadow as he tended to the horses as Saruman had ordered, while the wizard started a small fire. Pippin welcomed the reprieve from his seat on the horse, but not so much as that of the doom he had faced in that wretched tower.

How he had longed for release, yet never had he imagined his departure like this. He was still with Strider, and that was good, for the man needed looking after more than ever. But Pippin remained the servant of Saruman and so was still a prisoner.

He had never thought he would leave Merry behind. In the end, he had not been able to pay his cousin another visit, and he could only hope Merry would find a way to care for himself. Perhaps he would be taken on the march with Uglúk, and they would meet in Edoras. He had to believe he would see Merry again.

Pippin wandered over to the wizard, carrying the last of his master's bags as he expected Saruman wanted, and wondered if his true purpose on this journey was as a servant or as leverage over Strider. "Is there something you would like me to do?"

"Put that bag with the others over there. Then find what food there is and make a meal," Saruman said, turning from him.

After a miserably light repast, Saruman called to Pippin. "Halfling, bring my bag-the heavy one." Strider looked up at the command, and behind the flat look that had infused his eyes since leaving Isengard there seemed to be a flash of alarm. But Pippin's only choice was to obey the order.

The bags were piled at the border of their camp by leafy hazel bushes that offered the only cover on the open plains. Pippin picked up one sack, but it weighed too little to be the right one. The one beside it was quite heavy, and he tried to hoist it over his shoulder.

After a failed second attempt, Pippin opened the bag to see what was so heavy. At the sight of the Seeing Stone, he jumped back. Now he understood Strider's unease. He looked at the rock again. It wasn't as dark as it had looked the other day. There were colors floating inside. It looked quite fascinating. Part of him remembered Strider's command to never touch it, but another part was compelled to put his hands upon it.

Before he could think on it overmuch, he grasped the Stone, and the colors sprang to life, flaring in a vivid fire. Horrified by the flames suddenly surrounding him, he tried to release himself but was held to the Stone.

He gasped, falling to the ground. The flames made way for something beyond them and took the shape of high forbidding mountains. Then there was an old man in luxurious robes, stern of face, twisted in concentration or perhaps anger. The man seemed suddenly to see Pippin and he heard a silent question as to his identity. Pippin, he thought, before he could stop himself.

His burning world went dark all of a sudden, and the questions left with the flames. There was grass below him once more, and the distant sound of crickets. Poor Merry, still at Isengard... Pippin breathed deeply, suddenly profoundly weary.

"Peregrin Took!" Pippin flinched, thinking Gandalf had somehow returned, if only for the chance to reprimand him. But it was Strider who had spoken. "What were you doing?"