Authoress's notes: this is a small bit I decided to write, quite randomly, about Pippin. Enjoy.
Title: I Can Never Help It.
Author: Nini, the Electrocuted Sheep.
Rating: PG. Kind of angsty/dramatic.
Setting: this is during the first movie, after the Fellowship exits Moria, or maybe a bit after that. Let's say, in Lothlorien.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the members of the Fellowship, that honor goes to Professor J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm basing this on the movie, so the version of Lothlorien in here also does not belong to me, that's Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. Lucky them.
I can never help it, Merry's right. I couldn't help it... I really couldn't. It was just there, that age-old arrow, sitting embedded in that cobwebbed body... it was taunting me, I swear it!
But I still feel rotten. It's all my fault... if I simply had let it be, not touched it, not let my curiosity get the better of me... he would still be here, with us. Here go guide us, here to comfort us. Here to tell us what to do, where to go.
But he's not here. And it's my fault... I know it. I feel it in my bones. No-one else blames me for it, and that just makes it worse. They are all sorry, and feeling lost, even though we know exactly where we are.
I look up into the trees... trees taller and stranger, more beautiful than I've ever seen before. The mallorn trees of Lothlorien. Tall and silver-grey in colour, they cast a silvery glow on the grassy ground near our camp on the floor of the Wood. They seem sad, to me... as though they, too, are lamenting for him.
Then Legolas stands and tells us it is in fact a lament for him, sung by the Elves.
A Olorin i yaresse
Mentaner i Numeherui...
I do not understand it, but it is the saddest and most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my life. I listen to the Elves as I lay quiet with my eyes closed, feinting sleep, though I doubt I shall find much rest anytime soon.
Tirien i Romenori
Maiarion i Oiosaila
Mana elye etevanne
Norie i melanelye?
Mithrandir Mithrandir, A Randir Vithren
u-renianthach i amar galen...
I reniad lin ne mor, nuithannen...
In gwidh ristennin i fae narchannen...
I lach Anor ed ardhon gwannen...
Caled veleg, ethriannen.
I sigh in defeat. What is done is done. I cannot change his death, nor can I hope to ever feel the same as I did before that day in the mines. All I can do is grieve. I truly feel ashamed.
Merry seems to sense my feelings... he'll try and cheer me up, I know it, but I don't think I shall be laughing any time soon.
Translation:
Orolin, who once was...
Sent by the Lord of the West...
Wisest of all Maiar
What drove you to leave
That which you loved?
Mithrandir, Mithrandir O Pilgrim Grey
No more will you wander in the green fields of this earth
Your journey has ended in darkness
The bonds cur, the spirit broken
The flame of Anor has left this world
A great light, has gone out.