"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?"

Saruman stood beside the man, and Pippin feared his silence more than Strider's reprimands. The hobbit looked down, hoping to look small and helpless enough that they might not be too angry with him. He hated to anger or disappoint Strider-and Strider had said to never touch the Stone! Then why did he? Why couldn't he have left it be?

And he feared what Saruman might do to him. Might he leave him here in the wild, all alone? Or leave him for the orcs that were marching to Edoras? He thought suddenly that the second option was rather likely, since he would still end up where Saruman wanted him. Saruman had said he wanted a servant, but now Pippin had proved untrustworthy.

"Pippin!" Strider asked more urgently, shaking him. "Can you hear me?"

After taking another deep breath, Pippin sat up and looked at Strider. "Eh, yes, Strider, I can hear you. I'm... I'm all right," he said, though he wasn't entirely certain. His thoughts seemed to be turning by their own will. Just then he felt a hand clamp on his shoulder and he reluctantly faced Saruman.

Dark grey eyes pierced into him. "What did you see?" Saruman said in a tone Pippin would not try to defy.

"Eh, I-" Pippin frowned as he tried to sort out the images. "I saw... great, dark mountains. They were far off... And a window-I saw the mountains through a window. Then I saw a man. He wore something... oh, a cloak. I think it had fur on the inside. And he had grey hair. He-he looked directly at me, as if he saw me. He was... I got the sense he wasn't happy to see me."

"Did you say aught to him?"

"Em, well, he asked me who I was, and... I said, Pippin. I told him my name." Pippin closed his eyes, certain this was not what Saruman wanted to hear. He tried to slump down, but Saruman would not release his hold on him.

"Was there anyone else there?" .

Pippin thought carefully, knowing he must give the right answers, but not knowing what they were. "No, not anyone that I could see."

Saruman stood and considered the hobbit. Pippin dared a look at Strider. The Ranger wore a deep frown, but Pippin was uncertain whether it was due to worry, anger or disappointment. "I-I'm sorry, Strider," he whispered. "I know you told me not to, but-I don't know why I did it!"

"You looked into the Stone because it called to you," said the firm voice of Saruman. "It called to you, and you answered."

There was a small smile on Saruman's lips that sent a bolt of fear straight into Pippin's stomach. The expression seemed worse than his frown and couldn't mean anything good for the hobbit. He considered the wizard's words. The Stone had called to him? Why him? Why not Strider?

Or maybe it did call to Strider-was that what Strider feared? That he would need to touch the Stone as Pippin had? Would it call to Pippin again? "I won't do it again, Strider. Promise." Strider stared back, his expression unreadable.

Saruman walked away a few paces. Pippin risked asking Strider, "Who was he? The man I saw. And where was he? Those mountains looked higher than Caradhras. I don't understand anything I saw, except that I've made someone I've never met angry with me. I've never managed that before."

Strider still held that inscrutable expression. The man's eyes had regained their wooden look and told Pippin nothing. And neither did Strider.

Pippin searched for words to fill the silence. "How is your leg faring?" He had not been able to tend to Strider's wound the entire day.

After a moment more of staring at Pippin, Strider answered. "It does not pain me overmuch. The movement has served it well."

"I'm glad," Pippin said, forcing cheer into his voice. "I don't know what we would have done if the hot water didn't work."

"You need not have done aught but bury me."

Pippin's heart sank and he abandoned his conversation attempt. The man was not tangled in the web of visions that often lingered after time with the palantír. But with each visit with the Stone, Strider had become increasingly withdrawn. When he was inclined to speak, he was despondent to a degree Pippin had never seen him. The Stone and Saruman's subsequent speeches had ground down the man's hope and fortitude, so that he was plunged into despair.

Strider's eyes flicked to Pippin briefly, and the grief the hobbit saw there pained him. Already Strider mourned for him and for the others, perhaps even for Rohan and Gondor. Saruman's voice had worked its power on him. After weakening the man's mind with pain and confusion through the Stone, Saruman had bent Strider's will toward his own with his voice and his words. All Pippin could do was remain at the man's side and try to remind him of the Ranger he was.

"Come," Saruman said suddenly, already preparing to mount his horse. "We must continue to move. We may have gained time by overtaking the marching uruk-hai, but other forces will have felt your intrusion into the palantír. We would do best to avoid them."

And they were on the move once more.