Fic: Not Wisely But Too Well -- 'Ash Nazg' Challenge
Author: abby_normal
Title: Not Wisely But Too Well
Challenge: "Ash Nazg"
Word Count: 1809
Rating: PG-13 (For dark themes… sorry, no porn)
Pairing: In the eye of the beholder
Warnings: Oh, just smack me now and have done
Summary: Too often, the worst choices are made from love
* * *
NOT WISELY BUT TOO WELL
* * *
It isn't how it was supposed to be. Not that there was a 'supposed' about it all because it hadn't really been a plan per se, just an act of instinct when his choices had been peeled away like the layers of the world, streaming through his fingers in smears of black and red and colours he couldn't put a name to because they didn't exist and actually seeing them had hurt his mind, bent it and stretched it around that one act, that one choice. And he knows now that it hadn't really been his choice, not even a choice at all, really, but he only allows himself that excuse when the seeing is too much. And even then, the solace is bitter.
He sees and he Sees and the seeing would drive him mad, but that's Not Allowed, is it, because he can only assume that it's more fun to play with a mind that's sane, drive it to the brink of insanity (and oh, wouldn't that be bliss?) then wrench it back like a ragdoll, torn and shaken in the jaws of a little rat-terrier, sanity stitched back to your tottering mind like buttons sewn back for eyes. Still Seeing.
Seeing.
Knowing.
He knows, oh, and he doesn't want to but there is no want in this world, this existence, where colours bleed through your mind and blind you but you stillseestillseestillsee. And pain is a living thing that never kills, but only snaps at your bones, gnaws with smiling teeth, red with your own blood, and you can't look away please, oh, please, I want to look away, I don't want to know, I don't want to hear, I don't want to see and sometimes… sometimes…
Sometimes He smiles back with your own mouth and it isn't a smile but a scream upside-down. Voiceless.
He hadn't had a choice, there was no choice, for Pippin had seen back then, when no one else could or would. He'd seen the grey eyes boring into Frodo, peering through layers of cloth and mithril, blood and bone, seeking and scraping and finding. He'd heard the quiet steps of booted feet on thick, soft foliage walking away, following the Thing that sang to doubting hearts, and that doubt cloaked from prying eyes with a kind smile and reason, reason in those grey eyes and honour, but Pippin had seen that spark beneath and he'd known.
Take It, he'd only meant to take It from betwixt struggling bodies, place himself before his cousin, protect him, because that's what he'd come for, isn't it? And he'd seen the way Frodo's shoulders stooped and his neck dipped beneath Its weight and the darkness in his eyes, like endless flocks of grackles shadowing clear skies, and it wasn't right and it wasn't fair and he'd only meant to hold It, hold It, keep It safe because it's what Frodo would want. And Pippin had wanted to help, he'd only wanted to help, because that's why he'd come and he would only hold It, keep It safe from Men who used their size against his cousin, doubted him because he was Too Small to carry the world about his neck, and so he'd stepped between them. And he hadn't meant to keep It but it seemed to Pippin that the grackles fled from Frodo's eyes, even as Frodo's mouth begged him to give It back, Pippin, please, you don't know what you're doing, and he had known, he'd thought he'd known…
But then the Orcs had come and there were no more choices, were there?
Mine! and then Stand down! and to a wonder, they had. And when he'd demanded they retreat, he was only surprised at his own lack of surprise when they obeyed.
He'd taken Frodo's voice from him after a little while because he couldn't bear to hear the love in it beneath the demands anymore. And Merry's eyes had changed in that moment as he'd realised what Pippin had done; years of shared purpose had burnt to cinder as Merry drew himself up, stepped in front of Frodo, and for the first time in forever, Pippin had seen fear in Merry's eyes, rage and almost-hatred. And so he'd threatened with his own eyes, told Merry that Frodo would pay for Merry's mistakes, and Pippin hadn't really meant it and how could Merry not know he hadn't meant it and Pippin didn't speak a word out loud, but Merry heard it with his eyes. Merry had kept himself between his cousins after that and Pippin stopped looking at Frodo then because he may have taken Frodo's voice from his mouth but he couldn't take his words from his eyes and Pippin would not know the things those eyes screamed at him. And something within Pippin would not allow him to take Frodo's eyes as well.
Sam was easy; Pippin only had to smile a little, cut a razor-gaze towards his master, and Pippin doesn't know what Frodo told Sam with his eyes, but Sam had never again slid his own to Pippin.
The others had to be watched carefully, closely, because they hadn't realised at first that he could See, and they'd tried to take Frodo from him and Merry had helped or tried to and that was what had hurt Pippin the most, that Merry would help them but wouldn't help him. He'd almost taken Merry's breath then, almost let himself revel in the sounds of it, the gurgling, the gasping, but he'd blinked it away when he understood the smile within his mind. And Pippin wouldn't look at Frodo but he'd known what Frodo was weeping at him, screaming at him, and didn't he know that it was all because Pippin loved him so? But Frodo couldn't See like Pippin could and so he hadn't taken the breath from Merry in the end, even though Pippin's rage had almostalmostalmost got the better of him, and he would have missed him, too, after all, because oh, he loves his cousins, even if they couldn't understand that he'd only done as he'd had to, he'd no choice.
One by one, the Big People slunk off and Pippin knew it but he let them. All the better to show Frodo that they'd never really intended to help him anyway and wasn't it better that they three cousins and Sam -- Hobbits, just like Bilbo had said -- do this alone and only depend upon each other? Let the Big Folk run off to their White City and their spider-infested haven-homes and hide beneath their mountains -- Hobbits would do the job they couldn't, even though that was about when Pippin had first begun to suspect that this 'job' might not be the best thing all around. Why destroy It, after all? Couldn't It do just as much good as It could evil? And anyway, It was his now, wasn't it? And with Pippin to hold It and Frodo to guide him…
Pippin wondered if that was why Elrond had been so insistent that he not be allowed to join The Company; perhaps he'd seen the strength in Pippin and been afraid. And it would frighten Pippin as well, but he had Frodo and Merry and they all had Sam and they would help him, even if he had to make them.
And when the Nazgûl had come, beseeching him his command, Pippin had smiled, turned to his companions. You see? Just as I said.
He gives Frodo's voice back to him sometimes, when He would have Pippin hear, and sometimes it's Pippin's voice he takes, so Pippin can't tell Frodo he's sorry, so sorry, I was tricked, blinded, please, I love you, I'm sorry, I never meant this, not this. And he would close his eyes against the pain in Frodo's own, the sorrow, the grief, the forgiveness, but it's Not Allowed, Not Permitted, and so Pippin has to Look, has to See and he thinks the love and forgiveness is the worst sometimes, though, oh, he clings to it.
He has never asked what happened to Sam or Merry but he thinks he knows, since They would have had to get through them to get to Frodo. Pippin would have warned them if he could have and he tried, he tried, and he thinks maybe Frodo heard when Pippin reached out, whispered to his heart, spoke in a silent song of urgent tones. But Pippin had taken Frodo's voice, see, and he must assume precious seconds were lost. So, he doesn't know what happened to Merry or Sam, but he wonders sometimes if he'll find out someday, when His other games have grown to bore Him.
He hears news sometimes, and he dares to hope, though hope is Not Allowed and it's probably useless anyway, but in this he dares because he must, it's his nature, or what is left of it. Though what he hears is spoken low in the Common Tongue, guttural voices sneering names -- Mithrandir; Half-elven -- and Pippin sometimes has to wonder if these are for his benefit, to make the games more fun when that hope is eventually shattered.
But Pippin waits and he hopes and he watches the light die in Frodo's eyes too many times to count, only to be re-birthed through tears that look like the stars that Pippin still remembers. Almost-life and almost-death in an endless cycle and sanity swings like a pendulum between the two and never stops, can't stop, because He won't let it, it's Not Allowed. And Frodo may cry out if he has his voice that time, but his eyes will seek out Pippin's, forgive him again and again, and at least this He can't take from them, though Pippin knows He will try one day.
Miserable slaves because it please Him and it's all too true and Pippin lives an existence where the silence is worse than the screaming, where colours run like blood from your pores and they blind you but you can still see, where circles are squares sometimes and where 1 + 1 = 627 when it pleases Him and it hurts your mind, bruises your soul when eyes full of death and stars stare at you and ask you why?! and then hate you/blame you/love you/forgive you.
Oh, and Pippin is sorry, sorrysorrysorrysorry, and he looks to Frodo, watches the life ebb from his eyes another time and can only wait, watch the grackles descend and count the eternities until they retreat once more, watch the awareness return, the realisation flare and then horror, pain, depthless sorrow, as stars begin to bleed from Frodo's eyes. And all Pippin can do is curl his tongue about the words one more time:
I'm sorry, so sorry. It isn't how it was supposed to be.
* * *
Title: Not Wisely But Too Well
Challenge: "Ash Nazg"
Word Count: 1809
Rating: PG-13 (For dark themes… sorry, no porn)
Pairing: In the eye of the beholder
Warnings: Oh, just smack me now and have done
Summary: Too often, the worst choices are made from love
* * *
NOT WISELY BUT TOO WELL
* * *
It isn't how it was supposed to be. Not that there was a 'supposed' about it all because it hadn't really been a plan per se, just an act of instinct when his choices had been peeled away like the layers of the world, streaming through his fingers in smears of black and red and colours he couldn't put a name to because they didn't exist and actually seeing them had hurt his mind, bent it and stretched it around that one act, that one choice. And he knows now that it hadn't really been his choice, not even a choice at all, really, but he only allows himself that excuse when the seeing is too much. And even then, the solace is bitter.
He sees and he Sees and the seeing would drive him mad, but that's Not Allowed, is it, because he can only assume that it's more fun to play with a mind that's sane, drive it to the brink of insanity (and oh, wouldn't that be bliss?) then wrench it back like a ragdoll, torn and shaken in the jaws of a little rat-terrier, sanity stitched back to your tottering mind like buttons sewn back for eyes. Still Seeing.
Seeing.
Knowing.
He knows, oh, and he doesn't want to but there is no want in this world, this existence, where colours bleed through your mind and blind you but you stillseestillseestillsee. And pain is a living thing that never kills, but only snaps at your bones, gnaws with smiling teeth, red with your own blood, and you can't look away please, oh, please, I want to look away, I don't want to know, I don't want to hear, I don't want to see and sometimes… sometimes…
Sometimes He smiles back with your own mouth and it isn't a smile but a scream upside-down. Voiceless.
He hadn't had a choice, there was no choice, for Pippin had seen back then, when no one else could or would. He'd seen the grey eyes boring into Frodo, peering through layers of cloth and mithril, blood and bone, seeking and scraping and finding. He'd heard the quiet steps of booted feet on thick, soft foliage walking away, following the Thing that sang to doubting hearts, and that doubt cloaked from prying eyes with a kind smile and reason, reason in those grey eyes and honour, but Pippin had seen that spark beneath and he'd known.
Take It, he'd only meant to take It from betwixt struggling bodies, place himself before his cousin, protect him, because that's what he'd come for, isn't it? And he'd seen the way Frodo's shoulders stooped and his neck dipped beneath Its weight and the darkness in his eyes, like endless flocks of grackles shadowing clear skies, and it wasn't right and it wasn't fair and he'd only meant to hold It, hold It, keep It safe because it's what Frodo would want. And Pippin had wanted to help, he'd only wanted to help, because that's why he'd come and he would only hold It, keep It safe from Men who used their size against his cousin, doubted him because he was Too Small to carry the world about his neck, and so he'd stepped between them. And he hadn't meant to keep It but it seemed to Pippin that the grackles fled from Frodo's eyes, even as Frodo's mouth begged him to give It back, Pippin, please, you don't know what you're doing, and he had known, he'd thought he'd known…
But then the Orcs had come and there were no more choices, were there?
Mine! and then Stand down! and to a wonder, they had. And when he'd demanded they retreat, he was only surprised at his own lack of surprise when they obeyed.
He'd taken Frodo's voice from him after a little while because he couldn't bear to hear the love in it beneath the demands anymore. And Merry's eyes had changed in that moment as he'd realised what Pippin had done; years of shared purpose had burnt to cinder as Merry drew himself up, stepped in front of Frodo, and for the first time in forever, Pippin had seen fear in Merry's eyes, rage and almost-hatred. And so he'd threatened with his own eyes, told Merry that Frodo would pay for Merry's mistakes, and Pippin hadn't really meant it and how could Merry not know he hadn't meant it and Pippin didn't speak a word out loud, but Merry heard it with his eyes. Merry had kept himself between his cousins after that and Pippin stopped looking at Frodo then because he may have taken Frodo's voice from his mouth but he couldn't take his words from his eyes and Pippin would not know the things those eyes screamed at him. And something within Pippin would not allow him to take Frodo's eyes as well.
Sam was easy; Pippin only had to smile a little, cut a razor-gaze towards his master, and Pippin doesn't know what Frodo told Sam with his eyes, but Sam had never again slid his own to Pippin.
The others had to be watched carefully, closely, because they hadn't realised at first that he could See, and they'd tried to take Frodo from him and Merry had helped or tried to and that was what had hurt Pippin the most, that Merry would help them but wouldn't help him. He'd almost taken Merry's breath then, almost let himself revel in the sounds of it, the gurgling, the gasping, but he'd blinked it away when he understood the smile within his mind. And Pippin wouldn't look at Frodo but he'd known what Frodo was weeping at him, screaming at him, and didn't he know that it was all because Pippin loved him so? But Frodo couldn't See like Pippin could and so he hadn't taken the breath from Merry in the end, even though Pippin's rage had almostalmostalmost got the better of him, and he would have missed him, too, after all, because oh, he loves his cousins, even if they couldn't understand that he'd only done as he'd had to, he'd no choice.
One by one, the Big People slunk off and Pippin knew it but he let them. All the better to show Frodo that they'd never really intended to help him anyway and wasn't it better that they three cousins and Sam -- Hobbits, just like Bilbo had said -- do this alone and only depend upon each other? Let the Big Folk run off to their White City and their spider-infested haven-homes and hide beneath their mountains -- Hobbits would do the job they couldn't, even though that was about when Pippin had first begun to suspect that this 'job' might not be the best thing all around. Why destroy It, after all? Couldn't It do just as much good as It could evil? And anyway, It was his now, wasn't it? And with Pippin to hold It and Frodo to guide him…
Pippin wondered if that was why Elrond had been so insistent that he not be allowed to join The Company; perhaps he'd seen the strength in Pippin and been afraid. And it would frighten Pippin as well, but he had Frodo and Merry and they all had Sam and they would help him, even if he had to make them.
And when the Nazgûl had come, beseeching him his command, Pippin had smiled, turned to his companions. You see? Just as I said.
He gives Frodo's voice back to him sometimes, when He would have Pippin hear, and sometimes it's Pippin's voice he takes, so Pippin can't tell Frodo he's sorry, so sorry, I was tricked, blinded, please, I love you, I'm sorry, I never meant this, not this. And he would close his eyes against the pain in Frodo's own, the sorrow, the grief, the forgiveness, but it's Not Allowed, Not Permitted, and so Pippin has to Look, has to See and he thinks the love and forgiveness is the worst sometimes, though, oh, he clings to it.
He has never asked what happened to Sam or Merry but he thinks he knows, since They would have had to get through them to get to Frodo. Pippin would have warned them if he could have and he tried, he tried, and he thinks maybe Frodo heard when Pippin reached out, whispered to his heart, spoke in a silent song of urgent tones. But Pippin had taken Frodo's voice, see, and he must assume precious seconds were lost. So, he doesn't know what happened to Merry or Sam, but he wonders sometimes if he'll find out someday, when His other games have grown to bore Him.
He hears news sometimes, and he dares to hope, though hope is Not Allowed and it's probably useless anyway, but in this he dares because he must, it's his nature, or what is left of it. Though what he hears is spoken low in the Common Tongue, guttural voices sneering names -- Mithrandir; Half-elven -- and Pippin sometimes has to wonder if these are for his benefit, to make the games more fun when that hope is eventually shattered.
But Pippin waits and he hopes and he watches the light die in Frodo's eyes too many times to count, only to be re-birthed through tears that look like the stars that Pippin still remembers. Almost-life and almost-death in an endless cycle and sanity swings like a pendulum between the two and never stops, can't stop, because He won't let it, it's Not Allowed. And Frodo may cry out if he has his voice that time, but his eyes will seek out Pippin's, forgive him again and again, and at least this He can't take from them, though Pippin knows He will try one day.
Miserable slaves because it please Him and it's all too true and Pippin lives an existence where the silence is worse than the screaming, where colours run like blood from your pores and they blind you but you can still see, where circles are squares sometimes and where 1 + 1 = 627 when it pleases Him and it hurts your mind, bruises your soul when eyes full of death and stars stare at you and ask you why?! and then hate you/blame you/love you/forgive you.
Oh, and Pippin is sorry, sorrysorrysorrysorry, and he looks to Frodo, watches the life ebb from his eyes another time and can only wait, watch the grackles descend and count the eternities until they retreat once more, watch the awareness return, the realisation flare and then horror, pain, depthless sorrow, as stars begin to bleed from Frodo's eyes. And all Pippin can do is curl his tongue about the words one more time:
I'm sorry, so sorry. It isn't how it was supposed to be.
* * *