by Sheila Paulson

"What troubles you, my little friend?"

Peregrin Took looked up quickly at Boromir and then down again at the ground beneath his feet. "Nothing," he mumbled. A quick glance at the other members of the Fellowship proved they were out of earshot. The company had spread out in their race for Lothlorien in an attempt to outrun the Orcs who were sure to come bubbling out of the Mines of Moria after them. Strider hadn't allowed the Company to do more than stop for quick breathers like this one in their headlong race for safety. He and Boromir and Legolas had no trouble maintaining the pace, and even Gimli was of sturdy stock and managed it, but hobbit legs were shorter and Pippin had found the course rough going.

Especially weighted down by the burden that he alone must carry.... Frodo bore that Ring, and it must be a heavy burden, mayhap even heavier in the course of their adventures than Pippin's, but Pippin couldn't shake the weight of the millstone that had dragged at him since the bridge at Khazad-dûm.

"Nothing, is it? Come, little hobbit, we are comrades in arms, you and I. I know what it is to carry a weight too great to bear. I bear it daily, for my people, my country, for the White City, knowing that we stand between the world and the Darkness in the East."

Ever since the Council in Rivendell Pippin had sensed the Fellowship's desperate purpose. Its full import hadn't become clear for him, not until Moria, but all thought of glorious adventure had faded when Gandalf had fallen down into the endless pit after the Balrog. This was no adventure, it was deadly purpose. As the man of Gondor said, they stood between the world and the Darkness Sauron would bring.

Now, Peregrin Took had hastened the darkness.

He looked down at his feet, planted squarely in the rough grass of the halflands between the rumored beauty of Lothlorien and the fierce, jagged stones of the mountain terrain they were leaving behind. Even hard hobbit feet had found those paths rough going.

Then he glanced over at Strider--Aragorn, he was, descendant of Isildur who had cut the Ring from Sauron's finger in the Second Age, but to Pippin, he was still Strider, who had first encountered and frightened them in Bree. Yet he had taken command in the way a leader might--in a way Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor, hadn't much liked. If Aragorn really were the heir to the throne of Gondor, he would take away Boromir's birthright, and Boromir sometimes turned a brooding eye on the Ranger of the North that proved he wondered at Aragorn, believed his identity--and might resist.

But now, the cause, the Fellowship, the purpose that had united them in Rivendell, might come to naught--and it was Pippin's fault. "Nothing," he said again, lamely. What would Old Took think to hear of his kinsman's actions? Fool of a Took, Pippin thought grimly and shut his eyes. Behind his eyelids, Gandalf fell endlessly into the darkness, and their hopes fell with him.

Boromir dropped a hand on his shoulder. Odd to think that Pippin could trust a man from outside the Shire, yet he trusted Aragorn. But he knew Strider was trustworthy. Gandalf had trusted him and that said it all. Pippin sighed. He halfway trusted Boromir, too. He liked him, anyway. But Boromir should hate Pippin. They all should.

"I killed him," he said in a voice so low that Boromir had to stoop to hear it. "I killed Gandalf."

The shocked silence that followed his words drove him to open his eyes and risk a glance upward at the tall, stern man. For an instant, he saw shock in Boromir's eyes, shock and a flash of pity. Until now, none but Merry, who knew him better than anyone else in Middle Earth, had even guessed what he felt, unless Frodo had understood and said nothing. Frodo could be very deep--it probably came from spending so much time with Bilbo and Gandalf.

Gandalf.... Pippin's eyes stung with tears.

Boromir glanced past him, then he held up an arresting hand and shook his head. Pippin didn't turn to see who stood there but he was sure without even looking that it was Aragorn. Boromir made a quick sign to indicate that he needed a few minutes. Behind Pippin, he heard Aragorn turn away. "Two more minutes," the Ranger said.

Boromir's mouth tightened, then he guided Pippin further away from the others. "You did not kill Gandalf," he said--as if it were true.

"But I did." Pippin gazed at him in disbelief. "I roused the Orcs. If I hadn't made all that racket, we might have gotten out safely. That Balrog thing might never have awakened. The drums started right away, and it was me that caused it."

"What you did was accident, which might have befallen any of our company," Boromir reminded him. "I had a thought Gandalf was on edge, to turn on a hobbit so sharply. He was reluctant to venture into Moria. His anger was not so much at you as at circumstance, and perhaps a history of which we know naught."

"He was right not to want to go there. But we did, and I roused the Orcs. And now Gandalf's dead and he's the one who knows the most about what we have to do, getting Frodo to that terrible Mount Doom place and all. What do the rest of us know? Frodo will do what he has to do; he's the best hobbit I ever met after old Bilbo. But Frodo has never left the Shire before. None of us have."

"But Gondor contends daily with Mordor, little friend," Boromir reminded him. "And your Strider is much more than he would have people guess. Think you so little of our company that you believe it would fail without Mithrandir? It cannot fail. It must not."

"But now this fool of a Took has made certain it will," Pippin said. He scraped his toes through some dry grass.

"You take more than your share of the burden," Boromir said sternly. "Was it your choice to venture into Moria? Nay, I say it was not. Any of us could have awakened the Orcs that dwelt there. It was happenstance that it was you. You fought bravely in the Dwarf City, you and your comrades, little tested though you were." He surveyed the scattered Company. "In Rivendell, and even at first on our quest, I believed you and your companions little more than innocent children. I am learning I was mistaken. I could not imagine why Elrond would summon to council one like Frodo, but daily I see the strength of his will, and his courage. I saw yours against the Orcs."

"I was terrified," Pippin admitted. "Ever since I saw the black riders, I've been terrified. I just kept running on and making light of it all because I didn't know what else to do. And I made too light, was careless, and Gandalf is dead."

"There are those in Gondor who dread the coming of Mithrandir, for he aye brings bad tidings, weighty matters of great and perilous import. My father, the Steward, does not wholly trust him and is slow to welcome him. Perhaps he foresees his own unseating in Gandalf's plans. But Denethor knows that there may be wisdom even in unsettling news. Gandalf identified the Ring and knew it for what it was. Perhaps that was his purpose in our adventure. Would that we could use the Ring in Gondor to fight against our foe. That is not mine to decide. But the Ring still moves in its fixed purpose. Gandalf is a grievous loss, little hobbit, but you did not slay him."

"It wouldn't have happened if not for me." Pippin scrubbed at his eyes to rid himself of the tears that wanted to fall.

"Then mourn him and learn caution. Stand at Frodo's side when he needs you. There are none in Middle Earth who have not at least one rash action to regret. Yours was not even rash. It was simply an accidental moment that could have struck at any of us. Think not that the company holds you accountable for the loss of Mithrandir, for until you spoke, such a blame had naught occurred to me."

"But now it does?"

Boromir put both his hands on Pippin's shoulders and squeezed. "Nay, not even that. A misfortune, but it was not you who delved too deeply in Moria and awoke an ancient evil. It was not you who set the path through the darkness beneath the mountains. You think Gimli does not mourn the loss of his kinsman Balin and regret his urgings for our journey? Your Strider, who shoulders the weight of our destiny, do you think he does not regret that he could not save Gandalf? You think Frodo does not carry his own share? As Ringbearer, he chose the path through the darkness of Moria that led us to this. All and none of us bear this blame, Peregrin Took. Just as all of us bear the responsibility to go on. You must do that for Gandalf's sake, and not let wrongful guilt wear you down and prevent you from doing your duty."

A part of Pippin wanted to fling himself into the man's arms and howl like a youngling, but he couldn't do that. Gandalf himself would not have expected it. Gandalf might have reproached him for his carelessness in the Mines of Moria, but Gandalf would not want him to shoulder the blame. Pippin might always carry it, but Boromir was right, that he had to go on, to accept it, to avoid recklessness in future. He did not know where his feet would carry him, perhaps even into Mordor itself, and that terrified him as nothing else had ever done. But he knew he would have to go where the journey led him, so far from the Shire he didn't know if he would ever go home again, ever taste good home-brewed beer or enjoy a pipe of excellent Southfarthing leaf. If that was where life carried him, further from home than any Took before him, he would have to do it. He owed it to Gandalf.

Pippin squared his shoulders under Boromir's comforting grip. "Thanks," he said quickly.

"Ready," called Aragorn from somewhere behind him.

"Then we must go on," Boromir said. His fingers tightened briefly then he freed him and left him with a brief smile.

A second later, they were running again, and Merry fell into step beside him. His best friend shot him a questioning look. "What did you and Boromir talk about just now?"

Pippin hesitated. "Gandalf," he admitted. Merry would guess that anyway. Merry knew him better than anyone else in Middle Earth.

Grief flashed across Merry's usually cheerful face, then he collected himself. "I miss him, Pip," he said sadly.

"We all miss him," Pippin agreed. He didn't say anything about his guilt. He had agreed to put that behind him. But Merry's eyes were knowing. He reached out and clapped Pippin on the arm.

"Let's hurry," he said. "I never want to see another orc as long as I live."

Pippin smiled. "I don't think you'll get your wish," he said wryly. "I think we're going to see lots more orcs."

Merry made a face. "Why did we ever come?"

"Because we had to." Pippin heard his words, and he looked over at Boromir, who gave him an understanding smile. Because they had to. And that was what mattered. "We go on, for Gandalf," he added, and Merry bobbed his head in agreement.

"For Gandalf."