"As Aragorn has begun, so we must go on," [said Gandalf.] "We must push Sauron to his last throw. We must call out his hidden strength, so that he shall empty his land.... We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but small hope for ourselves. For, my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves shall perish utterly in a black battle far from the living lands; so that even if Barad-dûr be thrown down, we shall not live to see a new age. But this, I deem, is our duty. And better so than to perish nonetheless--as we surely shall, if we sit here--and know as we die that no new age shall be."
--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, Book Five: "The Last Debate"

* * * * *

Legolas and Gimli gazed out over the wall, down, down past the city to the plain of the Pelennor, each lost within his own thoughts. The tale of their passage along the Paths of the Dead had been told, and Merry and Pippin sat quiet beside them, smoking, their feet swinging idly from the bench, which had been built for Big Folk, carved into the white stone of the wall.

Merry, for one, was glad to be below the top of the wall. He was tired, and ready to close out the wide spaces and long views of the scorched battlefield afforded those in the Houses of Healing, here in the sixth circle of Minas Tirith. He leaned back and shut his eyes, weary, and his pipe smoked and went out in his lax hand, lying quiet on the cool marble.

Pippin banged his heels against the wall and stared across the greensward. His duty hours this morning had been given to tending Merry, and he wore his sable tabard over his clothes, the White Tree glistening upon it; his hauberk was laid aside (and glad he was of that--a heavier, more burdensome item of clothing had yet to be devised, he was certain). In Pippin's mind, "tending Merry" meant making sure he ate enough and slept enough, and now he glanced at his friend and was startled: Merry looked pale and wan, and his closed eyes were shadowed.

"All right then," said Pippin suddenly, hopping down and offering his hand to his cousin. Gimli and Legolas both turned toward him, eyebrows raised in surprise--really Gimli did have so much eyebrow to raise, Pippin thought irreverently, it was a wonder he could manage it at all--and Merry opened his eyes. "Off we go, back to bed. I think it's time for a nice mid-morning kip." Merry blinked at him, bemused but willing.

Legolas looked at Merry and seconded Pippin's opinion: "We have lingered here too long, and you do look wearied, my friend," he said, placing one slim hand briefly on the hobbit's brow. He straightened, and Gimli followed his lead. "We will be back ere long, with what news is given us."

Gimli helped Merry up and rumbled a gentle farewell, and Elf and Dwarf passed before the two hobbits across the grass, vanishing through the gate and into the city. Pippin held Merry's hand and chattered to him as they came into the Houses of Healing and walked through the halls to Merry's small room. Heads peeked out the doors as they passed, as all who were not injured beyond caring strove for a glimpse of the Ernil i Pherrianath.

Back in their room, Pippin bundled an uncharacteristically docile Merry into the high bed. He tucked the coverlet down and surveyed him. Merry turned his head on the pillow and gazed at Pippin. "There now," said the lad. "Are you comfortable? Too hot? Too cool? Would you like some water before you go to sleep?" The bed, like everything else in Gondor, was man-sized, and Pippin, eye to eye with Merry, looked more than usually like an officious child, hands on hips and head cocked slightly to one side.

Merry thought for a moment of sending him to fetch a glass of water, and then another blanket, and then a couple of biscuits, and then perhaps a headache draught... But he resisted the urge and only smiled. "I am fine." Pippin's face was too thin, too tired, Merry thought. The young Took had faced his own trial by fire--quite literally--and had hardly rested since. Merry turned his head and looked at the expanse of empty white quilts. He rolled his head back to meet Pippin's eye. "But perhaps lonely. Keep me company?"

Pippin jutted his jaw out. "Meriadoc Brandybuck. I will have you know, I am a Knight of the White City, a Guard of the Citadel, as you can see by looking at my very fine attire." He pirouetted neatly on his heel, displaying his finery with arms outstretched. "I cannot abandon my post and my livery and creep into your bed just because you want me to rub your neck while you fall asleep. Have you no sense of what is fitting?"

Merry looked solemnly at Pippin. "I thought I was your post?"

"You are," said Pippin. "And I intend to ensure that you get all your rest. So stop talking now and go to sleep. Really, do you never cease your chatter? People say that I am the one who goes on, but if they knew Merry Brandybuck--"

"Well, I really think I will sleep better if I am not left all alone."

Without pause (or blush for his brazen nature), Pippin pulled his tabard over his head and lay it carefully over the back of a chair. Clad in trousers and shirt, he clambered up and pushed and prodded Merry until there was room for him. "The things I do for you," he grumbled, and Merry smiled. "You do indeed," he replied, and they fell asleep beside one another, as they had countless times through childhood, youth, and young adulthood.

Just after luncheon Pippin had to leave Merry, which he did anxiously but without demur. "I'll be back by supper," he assured him, and went to work running messages for Gandalf, who had been appointed chief counselor of Minas Tirith while Faramir lay ill in the Houses of Healing. It was long past supper-time when Gandalf at last stood and noticed him, swaying in his place behind the wizard's chair, waiting for the next message. Gandalf bent down to look into the young hobbit's face, holding his chin gently. "Peregrin Took, you are overtired. Why are you still on duty?"

Pippin stilled himself and met Mithrandir's eye. "Because I was still needed," he said. "But if you are quite finished having me run my legs off--and they the shortest in this city of long shanks and hard stone roads--I would be glad to trudge off and see Merry for a bite to eat and a good sleep."

Gandalf laughed suddenly and released his face. "Yes, you may go. Tomorrow no-one may order you from Merry's side save only myself, do you understand?"

"Thank you, Gandalf," said Pippin, and hugged him, standing on tip-toe to do so while the lords of the city looked on in amaze.

"And do not let everyone in the Houses of Healing hear all the news you tell him," Gandalf cautioned, speaking into his ear. "What we have decided is no secret, but I would have the news come from a lord's lips, not by overheard gossip."

"Of course," said Pippin. "Good-night, then. And I hope that you may go to your rest soon, too," he added. His feet bore him swiftly away, and Gandalf, watching him go, sighed deeply. The decision to march had been made, and the hour of their going decided, but there was a wealth of detail still to be settled--the only wealth the battle had left them, he thought dryly.

Merry had saved a tray for him, and Pippin sat at the end of the bed to eat, his legs crossed neatly and the tray upon his lap. Merry sat up at the head of the bed, his back against the pillows, and waited for the hobbit's first appetite to be blunted--which happened sooner than he had anticipated. "Now, what shall I tell you first?" Pippin asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve to make Merry flinch.

"You can't be finished?" said Merry, narrowing his eyes at the amount of food still left.

Pippin wrinkled his nose at the tray, and set it aside on the high night table. "Oh, I'm fine. Just so tired from running about that my appetite has been burned up. Do you want to hear what I know or not?"

Burned up, indeed, thought Merry, frowning at Pippin's flushed face in the candlelight. But-- "Yes, tell me everything."

Pippin glanced at the closed door and lowered his voice. "Gandalf said I could tell you, but keep it quiet until the news is made free, and you hear it from someone else," he warned, and Merry nodded impatiently. "Well, then. It seems that the battle here was just the first of many, each of which will be more terrible than the last." Merry's eyes widened in disbelief. "Yes, I know--I can't imagine." Pippin shuddered and went on. "So they--Gandalf and Aragorn and Éomer and the other princes and lords--have decided that everything must lie upon--" his voice dropped to a bare whisper-- "Frodo and Sam."

Both hobbits paused for a moment. The two left at Parth Galen were never far from their thoughts, and in their private moments they had talked a little of them--were they still alive? How did they fare? How came Gollum, of all loathsome creatures the most wretched, to be their guide? But mostly they kept their fear and love for Frodo and Sam locked away tight, as being harder to bear when brought out into the light.

Pippin sniffled and then continued, resolute. "The lords and counselors hope that Frodo is near the Enemy's lands now, and so they seek to distract the Dark Lord, to keep his Eye from within his own borders, where he must think himself safe. Toward that, they are planning a great march upon the Morannon itself. They plan to leave day after tomorrow."

"Day after tomorrow?" Merry cried, so loudly that Pippin leapt to hush him. His voice lowered in volume, if not intensity. "And how am I supposed to be ready to march day after tomorrow?" he hissed.

"Merry--" Pippin stammered, amazed. "My dear Merry. You can't possibly go."

"Pippin!" Betrayal burned in the look with which he pinned his friend. "I have to go. For Frodo! I must go--I want to see it through!"

Pippin crawled forward to sit directly in front of Merry. "My dear lad, you cannot go. It is as simple as that. Your poor arm and hand--what you have already done--it is enough, enough for now." He stroked Merry's injured hand, desperate to soothe him.

"I can't believe you would say that, of all hobbits," said Merry angrily, his eyes filling with tears. "It is not enough. We cannot be left here, like baggage. Always left behind, or carried along without leave, or dismissed! For no-one of the Shire to be there--" He choked.

"Someone of the Shire will be there," said Pippin, puzzled. "I will be there for us both."

"What?!" Merry shrieked, and a healer woman knocked on the door. "We are fine," called Pippin gaily, shooting a glare at his cousin, who lay weakly back against the pillows. "Thank you!" A faint voice replied and the hobbits sat silent until they heard her footsteps move away down the hall.

Merry stared at Pippin, anger and pain at war in his expression. "I don't think you should go," he said at last.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Pippin. He put Merry's hand down.

"Really," insisted his cousin. "You aren't much better off than me. You are exhausted, you hardly ate, you've just been through a terrible battle, and, and--" he leaned forward and pressed his hand to Pippin's forehead-- "Aha! I knew it! You're too warm. You've a fever." He waited for the explosion.

Somewhere deep in his heart Merry knew he had already lost the argument when Peregrin replied gently. "I am exhausted, Merry--today I carried messages for Gandalf for nine hours and thirty-six minutes--not that I was counting." He smiled wryly, and Merry pressed his lips together, refusing to answer in kind. Pippin sighed and went on. "It is true I am not hungry, but also true that I will certainly make up for it tomorrow by eating twice as much. I think my exhaustion is also what makes me warm--it is certainly no illness or wound.

"I have been through a terrible battle. But unlike you, I was clever enough to come through uninjured. Aragorn and Éomer have come through the same battle. And Gimli and Legolas, and Elrohir and Elladan, and Lord Imrahil--will you tell them that they are forbidden to march to the Black Gate?" His eyes filled and spilled over, but his gaze was steady, holding Merry motionless. "And how could you deny me this? You say that the Shirefolk must be there at the end--for it will be the end, in most likelihood--but you really mean yourself, and you would push me behind. You say we cannot be left like baggage, but really you mean you cannot." His voice broke at last and Pippin sobbed, hands over his face.

Merry uncovered himself and crept forward over the bedclothes. "Oh, Pip," he said, and held tightly onto him, heartbroken. "Pippin, Pippin. You know it is not that I would deny your courage--you are the bravest hobbit I know. I just, I just--I can't bear the thought of something awful happening to you. I cannot bear it!" Pippin nodded his curls, held close against Merry's chest, but could not speak for his weeping. Merry bit back his own tears: "I do not want you to go without me. That is all, really. I hated being apart from you when Gandalf took you off--I was so lonely! And then Aragorn left and he took Gimli and Legolas with him and I was really alone, with all those horses and tall Men, and hearing nothing but that Minas Tirith was doomed--it was awful. And now you will go off without me again and I am ashamed, ashamed." Words failed him and his anguish rose up and choked him.

At last the sorrow passed, as it always does, and Pippin slid down off the bed to fetch them both handkerchiefs, hiccupping slightly. He scrambled up again and curled against Merry, both of them sniffling. Finally Merry sighed, and then yawned. Pippin smiled at this, but his words, when they came, were gentle and relentless. "I have to go, you know."

Merry closed his eyes in pain. "Yes, I know."

"It may be..." Pippin stopped and took a deep breath, and rubbed his eyes angrily before he continued. "It may be that something--something awful does happen to me at the gate of Mordor." Both shivered at the word. "It may be that we will fail--certainly Gandalf is his usual cheerful self and predicting nothing but doom and destruction for us all." A little smile faltered and died. "And if that is so, then your time will come, to face battle once again, as all face it in the end of the age." Merry squeezed him a little. "Don't hold me back, Merry. Let me choose, to go forward toward my battle, as you did yours."

Merry could not speak for some minutes after these words, but clearing his throat finally, he kissed Pippin's brow. "I will not hinder you," he said quietly. "I will not speak of it again."

And so despondently Merry now stood and watched the mustering of the army. In [one] company Pippin was also to go, as a soldier of Gondor. Merry could see him not far off, a small but upright figure among the tall men of Minas Tirith.

At last the trumpets rang and the army began to move. Troop by troop, and company by company, they wheeled and went off eastward. And long after they had passed away out of sight down the great road to the Causeway, Merry stood there.
--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, Book Five, "The Black Gate Opens"