Merry had been walking for what felt like days, but in fact could have only been hours.  His body was heavy with fatigue, his muscles aching with exhaustion, but he could not bring himself to stop.  He needed to find Pippin!

            “Pippin!” he screamed for all he was worth, though by now his voice was little more than a scratchy whisper from his continuous bellows for his cousin.  “Pippin!”

            Tears were streaming down his face, and he wiped them away angrily, lest he miss something.  Where was that blasted cousin of his?  Why did he not answer? 

            “Pippin!” he sobbed, looking about him at the corpses and severed body parts that littered the vast field, turning the grass beneath his feet red and sticky. 

            And then he saw it:  a foot, smaller than a man’s, covered in soft, blood coated hair. Its owner lay buried beneath a heap of foul corpses.  For a moment he stood, horrified, before pushing himself into a run, to fall to his knees beside that small foot.

            “Pippin!” he cried frantically, pushing, pulling, shoving bodies out of the way as he tried desperately to reach his young cousin.  “Pippin, answer me!”    

            Finally the little form was free, lying on its stomach.  Fearfully Merry rolled him over.

            For a moment he felt his heart stop.  He could not breathe, not even to cry out, as he gazed at the sightless eyes staring off into nothing, the gaping hole in his cousin’s chest ragged and bloody. 

            And then he screamed.

            “Merry!  Merry, wake up!  Wake up, Merry, it’s only a dream, please wake up!”

            “Meriadoc Brandybuck, open your eyes, come back to us!”

            He heard the voices faintly over his own anguished cries but could not find the strength to respond to them.  His Pippin was dead, dead!  How could he possibly go on without his beloved cousin, his dearest friend, by his side? 

            “MERRY!”

            Something cold and wet hit him in the face, and he found himself sitting up, gasping and spluttering, choking on a lungful of air as he stared around himself stupidly.

            Frodo and Gandalf stood before him, his older cousin holding an empty mug.  Both of them gazed at him worriedly.

            “Merry, are you all right?” Frodo asked anxiously, dropping the mug as he took the other into his arms. 

            “How can I ever be all right again?” Merry demanded piteously, once more starting to sob.

            “What do you mean, Dearest?” Frodo asked, sharing an alarmed look with the wizard.

            “Without Pippin I – I c-can’t go on!” Merry managed to gasp out around his sobs, his whole body shaking and trembling with the force of his sorrow and the chill that seemed to have grasped him.

            “Whatever are you talking about, Meriadoc?” Gandalf demanded, kneeling so he was eye-level with the hobbits.  “Pippin is alive and near fully recovered, standing sentry this very moment!”

            But Merry shook his head, continuing to shake and whimper into Frodo’s shoulder.

            “Gandalf, he’s like ice!” Frodo hissed, trying to rub some warmth into the chill arms. 

            The wizard’s eyes narrowed as he scowled darkly.  “The Black Shadow,” he muttered.  Frodo’s eyes widened, turning back to his cousin, frightened.

            “Merry, listen to me!” he pleaded, still rubbing the cold limbs in his hands.  “Pippin is fine, he’s on duty right now, that’s why he’s not sleeping next to you!”

            “You’re lying!” Merry shouted brokenheartedly, drawing back from his cousin to glare at him with accusing eyes.  “I found him on the battlefield, I – I held his bo-body!”

            Frodo cast Gandalf a frightened look, at a loss as to how to proceed. 

            “Keep him warm as best you can, I am going for Pippin now,” Gandalf instructed softly, placing a wrinkled hand on the sobbing hobbit’s head before leaving to summon Gondor’s smallest Knight.

            Pippin shifted, his feet aching from standing for hours on end.  He was bored, and tired, and something was pulling at the back of his mind, like the shadow of an old wound that refused to let him be at peace.  He grimaced at the stab of pain in his knee, the one that had been dislocated, and he shifted again, trying to ease the sudden ache. 

            He paid no attention to Aragorn, Eomer, Faramir, Legolas and Gimli, who were in deep discussion at a sturdy little table in the center of the room, littered with papers and plates of dainties they had been nibbling on all night.  They had been in conference since well before supper and, Pippin suspected, they would not end until breakfast.  Perhaps even second breakfast, he thought wearily.  

            He shifted again, wincing, and tried to find something to occupy his mind. 

            Once, before all the horrible things in the world had decided to introduce themselves to him on a first name basis, he would have found it easy to distract himself.  Stories, poems, songs-

            He sighed, shifted again.  There had been a time when he could have spent hours simply working on a song, trying to get the lyrics and the music just right, until the whole thing melded into a perfect melody in his mind and heart.  Now the very thought of music turned his stomach, and he quickly shifted his mind to something else.

            Poems, perhaps?   He thought on it for a few moments before conceding defeat.  

 What else had kept him occupied on those long days of travelling, when silence was the rule and his thoughts had turned inward?

            He scowled to himself at the answer.

            Music.  Always before his mind had been filled with songs, light and airy, long and heavy, short ballads and sweet lullabies.  But music was no good to him now.  The words turned to ash in his mouth at the thought of singing, his head aching at even the thought of composing a new melody. 

            What good was music anyway, he thought darkly to himself.  All it does is amuse fools and stupid, evil old men! 

            He shut his eyes as the image of Denethor filled his thoughts unbidden, remembering how helpless he had felt, singing to that foul man after he had sent his remaining son to supposed death.  Faramir had gone off to battle, and all he had been able to do was sing, sing for a mad, hate-filled man!  How could he ever sing again, after that?

            The door suddenly burst open, startling all within the room, and Pippin blinked in surprise as he realised that his sword was somehow now in his hand and he was standing protectively in front of Aragorn.  He raised the blade, prepared to defend his king, but lowered it immediately when he saw that it was Gandalf standing in the doorway, a distressed look in his eyes.

            “What’s wrong?” Aragorn demanded, rising quickly to his feet.  The others followed suit. 

            “Aragorn, Pippin is needed.  Immediately,” Gandalf said without preamble, turning his gaze to the young hobbit beside him.  “You must come with me at once, Merry is in need of your help.”

            Without hesitation Pippin began to follow, stopping only at the last moment to look back to Aragorn, begging.

            “Go, quickly!” the king ordered, his own eyes following the pair as they headed out into the corridor.  When he turned back to the small group, he saw his own worry mirrored in their eyes.  “I suggest we take a break and find out what is wrong with Merry,” he said softly.

            “Agreed,” the others murmured.

            Pippin ran down the corridor as fast as his legs would carry him, listening in growing horror as Gandalf explained what had happened. 

            “I fear only seeing you will help now, Pippin,” Gandalf sighed sorrowfully. 

            As they reached the doorway to Merry’s room a heart wrenching howl of utter grief tore through the night.

            “Merry!” Pippin yelled, pushing past Gandalf to throw the door open, skidding to a halt at the sight of his cousin, shivering, pale, and sobbing as though the world had come to an end in Frodo’s arms. 

            “Look, Merry, Pippin is here!” their cousin cried frantically, pushing the trembling form in his arms away so he could see with his own eyes.

            “Merry, it’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here, it was only a dream, only a terrible dream!” Pippin quickly assured him, running over to the bed.  Frodo moved aside gratefully as Merry stared in shock and disbelief at his little cousin.  Pippin did not hesitate and took over holding the quivering form and rubbing the chilly flesh.

            “But- but- I saw – I held you…” Merry whispered around sobs that still tried to overwhelm him.  “Am I dreaming?  How-“

            “It was only a dream before, Merry love, only a dream,” Pippin assured him, holding and rocking him as this cousin had done so often for him.  “This is real, I am really here with you. Please, Merry, don’t cry so, it was only a nightmare, I’m safe now, and so are you.  Hush, Dearheart, hush.” 

            Still Merry continued to sob, and Pippin knew of only one thing to calm the fearful tears.  He closed his eyes, as though preparing for battle, and allowed himself, for the first time since Denethor, to open his heart to the music.  His soft voice filled the night air, and soon no other sound could be heard.

“In the darkness of the night,

Don’t be scared,

Have no fright,

For I am here,

Near at hand,

I am here,

And here I stand.

Softly I sing,

This lullaby,

To sing you away,

Tis not goodbye.

Off you go,

To dream sweet dreams,

Of climbing trees,

And bubbling streams.

In the darkness of the night,

Don’t be scared,

Have no fright.”

Slowly, as Pippin continued to sing the lullaby that had once been his as a babe, Merry began to calm.  His trembling ceased, and, as Pippin continued to rock Merry, he felt the limbs beneath his palms begin to grow warm once more. 

Pippin’s eyes were still closed, not seeing Aragorn and the others enter, not seeing the relieved looks that crossed Frodo and Gandalf’s faces.  Still he continued to sing, voice growing both stronger and more gentle with each passing song, until finally Merry no longer whimpered into his shoulder, and his deep, even breaths indicated he had fallen back to sleep. 

Perhaps, Pippin thought to himself as he felt hot tears spill down his cheeks, perhaps I could do nothing with my songs when Faramir left.  But now, he added, still rocking his cousin, my voice is all I can give.

Something touched his shoulder, and he started, opening his eyes to stare in wonder at all the people who had seemingly appeared in the room.  He looked up to Gandalf, who was smiling down at him, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Perhaps Aragorn will be kind enough to let you abstain from the rest of your duties this night, in favor of tending to your cousin,” he whispered, casting a meaningful look to the king.

“Of course,” Aragorn agreed, smiling gently at the hobbits.  He moved, to kneel beside the two sitting on the bed, beckoning to Frodo, and Sam, who had joined the group sometime while Pippin’s eyes were closed.  “I think that all of you should try and get some rest now.  It has been a very busy day, and I’m afraid that tomorrow shall be the same.”

They nodded, Pippin lying down tenderly so as not to jar Merry awake, still holding him possessively in his arms.  Legolas and Gimli dragged Pippin’s bed over to touch Merry’s, and Frodo and Sam crawled into it wearily.  

Gandalf remained behind as Aragorn ushered the others out of the room. As he closed the door he heard, softly, a deep, wizened voice begin a lullaby of the Shire. 

And Pippin’s sweet tenor joined in, just as softly, in perfect harmony.