^{A deep silence filled the vale of Ithilien as many men rushed between tents, their eyes dull and listless. Tired and weak they all seemed, stripped of their glory and strength through endless battle and clash of swords. In the shadows there lurked a figure, bent and weary standing with back to a tree that offered naught but a bit of shade. Curls of autumn gold hung along his brow, covering a deep scar that had long begun to fade. His eyes shifted upwards, focused upon a growing shadow that loomed high within the sky. Quickly he drew his hand to his visage, casting away the blinding rays of the mid day sun. Cries rang out and cheers fell among the men of the city and of the Mark while they dashed forth, taking little notice of Merry as he stood away from the tree, his eyes large as he stood numb before the fury of soldiers and feet that steadily passed him by.}

^{“The eagles have come!” The cries proclaimed while shadows loomed high, piercing the dense clouds and soft lit sky. Not a word fell from his lips as Merry watched wings unfurl, pounding the sweet scent of Ithilien down upon his face. Mighty talons grasped tightly to lifeless forms which looked to be nothing more than tattered rags. A soft touch then fell upon Merry’s shoulder and he took his gaze upwards where his eyes fell upon Gandalf standing at his side. A faint tender smile shone on his lips and then his named was shouted and he moved on, giving Merry a gentle squeeze as he went forward with great haste. Little could be seen as a drove of men come forth blocking what view Merry had before him. His heart pounded within his chest while he wrung his hands in anticipation awaiting word about his dear cousin Frodo and Sam. Minutes passed slowly seeming as hours since the eagles first arrived. Still a crowd of men gathered around them, shouting and ordering others about, acting as though they were a hive of bees gone awry. A figure then come forth, steps growing in stride and pace as they drew near to Merry. It was a rider of the Mark, his face long and absent of all expression as he held Sam tightly within his arms. His body lay lifeless, his face darkened with the stain of blood and soot and ash. His lips lay partially opened, his eyes closed to the world around him. His clothes hung from him like rags, his body a far cry from the stout hobbit frame it once held. Merry could feel his eyes growing wet with tears and quickly he looked away awaiting another to cross his path with Frodo in his arms. An eternity seemed to pass and soon a shadow rose from the south, a soldier from the city, his metal armor catching the light of the sun. Across his sturdy arms a frail and lean frame hung, lifeless as Sam and skin darkened just the same. His left arm hung limply swaying to and fro, covered in dried blood, flesh torn and ragged where a finger once lay. His face was pale and grey beneath a layer of ash. His lips dry and cracked, eyes darkened circles, shut to close the darkness away. Merry choked on his tears, his cheeks dampened as he kept his eyes upon his cousin as he was whisked away. A hand fell upon his shoulder once more, and there was Gandalf his face solemn, his eyes offering little hope with his deep and silent stare. He then took leave, his white robes flowing like a sea of mist behind him as he walked away with quickened pace.}

^*******

^{Hours seemed to pass as Merry lingered close to a soft bed that was hastily fashioned upon the ground. There amid its covers lay Sam and Frodo, side by side, bodies still and unmoving as many hands stirred about cleaning away grime and filth from pale skin, dry and scared from the searing heat with the mountain’s scorching flame. Gandalf kept watch as basins of water were taken away, their water stained crimson, with memory of cut and gash cleaned away. Merry could see Sam closely, his lightened curls darkened now with blood that seeped from a gash upon his brow. His fingers were bruised, his skin peeled away, glistening red in the sun. Cuts ran along the length of his arms, his feet lay dark and cracked, torn open on jagged rock with tracks across the open plains of Mordor. His clothes lay on his frame, loose and ragged. A shadow of the once robust and round hobbit he used to be. And there at his side, a lean and thinning image of Frodo. His clothes were taken away, nothing but thin pieces of cloth hanging by strands of weakened thread, stained with fury unknown in shades of red and grey. A long whip weal ran along his side, a deep round red scar lay high upon his neck, and there on his shoulder a straight lined scar, grey and faded from the Morgul attack. It was the only familiarity of Frodo that Merry could remember since last seeing his dear cousin so many months before. More hands came upon the two hobbits and suddenly Frodo yelled out, his hands growing rigid as he reached out to a foe that was not there.}

^{“No, no you can not have it!” Frodo screamed in vain, his eyes growing stern and heavy behind closed lids. A familiar face then came through the crowd, and there Aragorn stood turning all who were near away. He bid Gandalf to stay and looked to Merry, his eyes offering a new hope that had seemed to falter from each glance that had recently turned his way. Slowly Merry came closer, standing at Gandalf’s side as Aragorn fell to his knees at the bedside laying his hand across Frodo’s brow. His hands became still, falling to his side while deep breaths fell past his dry lips before they finally slowed. Merry’s eyes then drew to the covers where Frodo’s hand lay, rough and maimed, still caked with dry blood and dirt. A finger was missing, seemingly torn away, leaving an angered red and swollen chasm upon his hand. Quickly it was cleaned and bandaged in soft linen with great care. Aragorn then drew Frodo’s hand between his own, whispering softly as he drew the dressed extremity to his brow, holding it for a brief moment before placing it down upon Frodo’s chest. He was still, his breaths grew shallow and his eyes lay closed, a memory of a dark hour finally passed from his restless sleep. Aragorn then turned to Sam. His face grew saddened. Innocence lost and hardships untold were now etched upon Sam’s weary face. Merry looked closely to Sam… dark finger bruises lined his neck and wrists. The flesh upon his fingers lay open to the barren dry air of Mordor, turning in color to harsh elements now embedded within his skin. What kind of madness had come to pass at the brink of the gorge within the bowels of the mountain? Merry thought quietly to himself. No words were spoken as Merry watched in despair while Aragorn placed his hands over the deep gash on Sam’s brow… one that dwarfed his own scar acquired while in the keep of the Uruk-hai. Sam breathed in deeply, almost as though he was taking his first breath of life as a newborn babe. His eyes remained tightly closed and then Aragorn bowed down to them both speaking in a soft tongue before nodding his head to Gandalf as he stood to his feet. Much more healing was to be given and what hope he could offer here had been done. Gandalf lowered his head in silence and Aragorn turned away, fading into the light of the sun as he walked through the glade to touch others in need of his healing hands. Merry’s eyes then focused again on Frodo’s hand and then to Sam’s neck while Gandalf leaned over them pulling a coverlet over their frail bodies.}

^{“They will rest now.” Gandalf whispered. “Their wounds will be tended to while they sleep, far from the memory of that putrid land.” Still Merry’s eyes did not pull away and then Gandalf placed Frodo’s hand beneath the covers setting his own over the small lump that lay still upon Frodo’s breast. Merry’s eyes then shifted to Gandalf and he sighed deeply not knowing what to say.}

^{“They were not alone my dear Meriadoc.” Gandalf spoke softly. “A shadow followed them along the way.” Gandalf then turned away, saying nothing more as he left Merry alone, standing in silence within the glade, with naught but the pain within his heart to accompany him within the stillness that seemed to pass over the land.}

^*******

^{The sun soon began to fall along the sky, while Merry still kept vigil at his fallen companion’s sides. Thoughts filled his mind of the final moments spent before the vast fires of Mount Doom. How had the ring been destroyed and what had caused such injury between his dear friends as they lay before him side by side. Had Frodo refused to destroy the burden which wore heavy upon his neck? Did he fight with Sam, teetering upon the edge of death, almost cast himself into the fire as Sam tried to wrestle the ring from his grasp? Was it Frodo who dealt the bruises of an angered grasp around his loyal friend’s neck? Was it he who cut Sam’s brow in a fury to claim the ring as his own? Merry could feel tears well within his eyes as he drew his hand along his face, trying to pass the images from his mind. What could have drove Frodo and Sam to lash out at each other’s throats like savage animals in keep of their last morsel of fallen prey? Perhaps this shadow Gandalf had spoken of. He said they were not alone as they continued on their way. That Gollum creature perhaps, yes that is it, he had a lust for that accursed golden band that could never be driven away. He was the shadow that haunted their every step and eventually led them astray. Was it he who took away Frodo’s finger in hopes to take the ring for his very own? What had drawn Frodo to put it on at that very moment when all of Middle Earth needed him to be strong? Merry’s skin shuddered and he dried away the fallen tears that had stained his blushed cheeks. A soft whisper then fell upon his ears and he turned to see Pippin, standing along his side. Oh how he wished to know how long he stood near, watching as he fell apart at the sight of two friends, shadows of their youth, now battered bodies drawn away from the fire, yet still pale in the light of the sun as though in coming death. Pippin’s skin too shown with dark bruises and scars, not yet fully healed of crushing pains dealt from the Troll that buried him beneath his monstrous weight. He tried his best to stand tall, looking on to Sam and Frodo with eyes absent of all emotion, not knowing whether to smile or cry. Merry reached out and touched a hand to Pippin’s arm, a simple gesture but great in feeling, just to let him know he was still there. So much had come to pass in such a short time. Battles had been fought, lives lost and others restored, but through it all a light had come and the darkest hour had finally passed this day…}