AUTHOR: Dreamflower

RATING: PG-13 for graphic violence

CATEGORY: General

SUMMARY : Marigold asked for Merry, Pippin, a sword fight to injury or death, and an earthquake in Minas Tirith. We get all that and more, when dire news from Gondor arrives in the Shire…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story is AU. It does *not* fit into my usual chronology of stories, and I am quite certain it is not canon. It takes place when Rose is nearing the end of her pregnancy with Rose-lass.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: I would like to thank rhapsody, Leaward and Marta on the Stories of Arda yahoogroup for their help in figuring out the dates, especially the differences between the Shire dates and that of the New Reckoning, and the Sindarin names of Elladan’s and Elrohir’s horses.

I also used  http://www.theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm

the invaluable site maintained by sulriel, Blue Iris, and Erin Rua for helping me figure out the travel times. I used the minimum times listed, since the journey was an urgent one, and mostly made on Elven steeds. But any errors that might exist are entirely due to my bad math.

The title is thanks to Marigold.

DISCLAIMER: Middle-earth and all its peoples belong to the Tolkien Estate. I own none of them. Some of them, however, seem to own me.

FOR THE SAKE OF FRIENDSHIP

The four ponies pounded across the ford, a great splashing following in their wake. Coming up the far bank they finally paused briefly to take a pull at their waterskins, and to allow the ponies a breather.

“I grudge every moment,” said Pippin, drawing off a glove and wiping his brow.

“I know,” said Merry, “but it won’t do for the ponies to founder.”

Sam took a deep breath. “I wish I could come with you all the way, but--”

Merry shook his head. “Of course you can’t leave Rose that long right now. We appreciate you coming as far as the crossroad.”

“What if you miss the Elves at the crossroad?” asked Freddy.

“Then,” said Pippin grimly, “we’ll continue by ourselves.”

“If you are too late--if Strider--if--you’ll tell the Queen I--” Sam choked, unable to continue.

Merry set his lips in a grim and determined line. “We shall *not* be too late. Elladan and Elrohir will see to him, and Pip and I will be there to give him your love when he wakes. But let us go on, now. I would rather we be there well ahead of time.”

And they continued on their way, thoughts in turmoil over the news that had come their way only a few days before…

Merry and Pippin had been visiting with Sam at Bag End, enjoying a morning pipe in front of the smial, when a post rider arrived, galloping up the road on a lathered pony. Sam stood up and walked down to the gate, Merry and Pippin following.

“Is there something amiss?” Sam asked.

“A King’s Messenger brought this. He said as these was urgent.” And he handed down the diplomatic pouch, with its familiar seal.

Inside were three missives. One was addressed to the Thain, one to Pippin, and one to Sam. The ones for the Thain and Pippin were addressed in Faramir’s familiar hand, though sealed with the seal of the King. The other, to Sam, was addressed in the Queen’s hand. Merry, realizing that none of them were from Aragorn’s own hand felt his stomach lurch. Something was wrong. Something was *very* wrong. His fear was confirmed an instant later when both Sam and Pippin gave exclamations of dismay.

“What is it?” asked Merry. Pippin passed the letter to him with a trembling hand.

“My dear friends--

For I know that Merry and Sam will read this letter as well--I am sorry to tell you this dire news: on the twenty-ninth of Lótessë , the city of Minas Anor suffered a massive earthquake. The City is built to withstand such, yet since the War, many buildings were weakened during the Siege. King Elessar was in the Guild Hall on the fourth level, meeting with a number of craftsmen when the earthquake struck. As the building began to collapse, he led most of the people out to safety, and then returned for those who were wounded. He was struck down by falling debris, and as of this writing remains unconscious, the healers unable to rouse him. I fear me they would have given up on him by now, were he anyone but the King.

The Queen has sent for her brothers. Now that her father has sailed, they are the greatest healers left on this side of the Sea, saving only the King himself.

I do not command you to return to Gondor, yet if, for the sake of your friendship, you should wish to do so, you could meet on the Greenway with the party from Rivendell, and the Elves will bear you with them. You must hasten however, for they will not stay their urgent errand to wait for you.

I am, and shall always remain,

Your friend,

Faramir, son of Denethor “

Pippin’s face was white, and he stood as though turned to stone. Sam’s letter from the Queen hung limp in his fingers as tears ran down his cheeks. Merry plucked it from him, and scanning it, saw that she had written much the same information as Faramir. Then she wrote:

“--I do not believe that fate would be so cruel as to reft my Estel from me so soon, and I am sure that my brothers will save him for me. Nonetheless, the Fellowship are his dearest friends in life. I have sent also for Legolas and Gimli, and I ask you now if you will come, to be at his side when he wakes, or to comfort one another should all hope fail.

I am certain that you will be able to meet with my brothers’ party on the Greenway if you hasten.

Please if you can, for the sake of our friendship, come.

In hopes that I will soon see you,

Arwen Undómiel”

“Very well,” said Merry, thinking quickly. “It happened on the twenty-ninth of Lótessë , which is the fifteenth of Thrimidge in Shire Reckoning. That means it happened sixteen days ago. If the messenger rode at top speed he would have reached Rivendell on the twenty-ninth of Thrimidge. That is only two days ago, and I am sure that Elladan and Elrohir would have set out at once. If we leave immediately, we can go through Sarn Ford and be at the crossroad in less than two days, and be waiting when they catch up to us.”

Sam’s face was stricken. “Merry, I can’t go. I can’t leave my Rosie right now. I would never be back in time.”

Merry looked briefly startled. He had momentarily forgotten that Rosie was nearing the end of her third confinement.

Pippin took a deep breath and shook himself out of his stupor. “If we are to hurry, we’ll have to ride top speed to the crossroad, and I am sure that we will ride pillion with the Elves. That means the ponies will need to be brought back to the Shire. Could you be away long enough for that?”

“Aye, Pippin, that I could do. That would take only a few days. But it will be hard leading two ponies back on my own.”

Merry looked up at the King’s Messenger. “If you’d care to come in and have a cool drink, we will have a message of our own for you to take to the Thain, and one which you can take to the Master in Buckland afterward.”

Merry and Pippin penned hasty letters to their fathers. It would not do to vanish from the Shire without a trace again. Meanwhile, Sam, in the back of the smial, was having a quiet word with a tearful Rose. Then it was a quick packing up of what they would need to take with them.

There was a knock on the front door, just as they began to get ready to leave. It had been less than an hour since the message arrived, and the post rider was already on his way to the Great Smials.

Rose, wiping her face quickly, went to answer. “Why, it’s Mr. Freddy!” she exclaimed, forgetting in her distress to leave off the honorific.

Merry and Pippin looked at one another. It had completely slipped their minds that Fredegar Bolger had planned to drop by during their visit.

“Why, lads!” he cried, “whatever is the matter?”

Merry tersely explained the situation.

“Well,” said Freddy, “why don’t I come along to help Sam with the ponies, so he won’t have to ride back on his own?”

“You’d do that?” asked Pippin.

“Of course I would! After all you have done for me?”

And so it was that four ponies set out at a fast clip, cross-country, directly towards Sarn Ford…

The journey towards the crossroad was silent and swift. They arrived hot, sweaty and exhausted, and half fearful that they might already have missed the party from Rivendell.

“I am certain they would have left a sign of some sort,” said Merry, “as Glorfindel did at the Last Bridge.”

A quick survey of the road around the area yielded nothing that could be a sign of the passing of Elves. Somewhat relieved in their minds, the four hobbits made a cold camp.

“We’ll stay until they get here,” said Sam. “We’re not going to go off and leave the two of you on your own before then.”

They rolled up in their blankets, huddled together much as they had during the Quest, with Merry on one side and Pippin on the other, and Freddy and Sam in between.

They awoke the next morning stiff and sore, and one by one stood up and walked about to work the kinks out. Once again they ate cold food from their packs, and then sat down to wait, taking out their pipes. There was still not much point in conversation, they were all too desperately worried to be able to talk pleasantly of any subject. Even Pippin could find no quips to raise their spirits; he kept envisioning the beloved face of their Strider, pale and bandaged, his features drawn and wasted, and the Queen sitting worried by him. Whether this was Tookish foresightedness or merely his anxiety, he could not tell, but it sapped his spirit sadly.

The day dragged on. Sam began to fret that perhaps they had missed the Elves after all, though Merry grimly and vehemently denied that could have happened without leaving a sign. Freddy tried to doze, Sam occupied himself with mending a bit of tack, while Merry began to go over in his mind the things they had brought with them. But Pippin fidgeted. He could not seem to settle in one place, but kept getting up and staring up the road, and then prowling round the edges of their small campsite. Then he would fling himself down as if to rest, only to toss and turn for several minutes before getting up to start all over again. Merry did not have the heart to calm him down by suggesting he sing, and he was starting to get on everyone’s nerves.

As the young Took headed once more to stare up the silent road, Freddy snapped at him. “Pippin! Leave off! It’s not going to make them come any sooner!”

But Pippin froze, an intent look on his face. “Someone *is* coming! But they are not on horseback. I do not believe it can be them. Quickly!”

In a trice, the four hobbits were standing alert. Freddy and Sam holding the ponies, Merry and Pippin quite ready to draw their weapons if needed. If they had not had the ponies, they would have hidden, but there was no place they could hide four animals.

They were Men. Half a dozen of them, crudely dressed, rough and dangerous looking. To the hobbits’ eyes they had all the earmarks of Ruffians as they swaggered along. Merry thought a couple of them had the look of some of the Dunlendings he had seen in Rohan. He glanced at Pippin, and their hands went to their sword pommels. Behind them, Freddy stooped to pick up several loose rocks, and Sam moved away enough from the ponies that he could easily draw Sting if necessary. He began to wish he had brought his mail, but unlike Merry and Pippin, who often made it a point to go armored, and of course had worn their armor and livery for the journey, he had not worn his since the last of the Ruffians had been eliminated from the Shire.

The Men had spotted them a goodly distance away; they stopped and huddled together, occasionally glancing up at the hobbits. This did not bode well. Then they resumed walking in the hobbits’ direction, swaggering a bit. One of them, his hood pulled over his head, limped a bit.

As soon as they were within hailing distance, one of them called out:

“Hoy there! Little folk! Who might you be, and where might you be going with such nice little ponies, so far from your Shire this fine day?” The effort to sound friendly was spoiled by the sinister chuckle that accompanied the query.

By this time they were only about ten feet away. Merry and Pippin had taken a stance that would enable them to move quickly once they drew their swords.

Pippin spoke up truthfully enough. “I am a Knight of Gondor. I and my companions are on our way to Minas Anor to the court of the King, as soon as the rest of our friends arrive to meet us.”

One of the Men, one who looked like a Dunlending, gave a hoot of sharp laughter. “A ‘Knight of Gondor’ is it? And who’s your friend all dressed up like one of the Horse-boys--Third Marshall of the Riddermark?” He cackled raucously.

But he was interrupted by a whiny voice from the Man at the back. “Be careful of them stickers they carry, boys. Them’s the little rats what run us out of the Shire.”

“Shut yer yap!” snarled the Man who had first hailed the hobbits.

A low growl came from Sam, and Sting was in his hand. “Bill Ferny,” he said in disgust, for that whine could belong to no one else.

“That’s torn it,” muttered Pippin as he drew Troll’s Bane. Merry drew the sword he had been given by King É omer, and he and Pippin stepped slightly away from one another.

The Men rushed them, hoping to overbear them. The leader had drawn a wicked knife, very nearly as long as the sword Merry carried. Merry dove beneath his legs and used the same maneuver that had proved so deadly to the Witch-king: he stabbed him behind the knee. The Man’s reaction was quite different, yet just as dramatic. Blood gushed forth, and he howled in rage as he went down, but he had not lost hold of the knife, and was attempting to engage Merry with it. This was a mistake, as with a mighty two-handed stroke Merry took his hand off at the wrist. The Man fell back with a horrified howl, and his blood gushed out. As he did, Merry ran him through the heart.

Freddy had downed two of the Men quickly with well thrown stones, and Sam was attempting to engage Bill Ferny, who was trying to get at the ponies.

Pippin was also locked in a fierce battle with one of the Men. After stabbing him in the foot, he had tripped him up, and then tried to get under his guard with his small sword. But the Man grabbed hold of him, and Pippin had temporarily lost his leverage. He was writhing and trying to get around to bite him, and perhaps loosen the Man’s grip on him.

Merry seeing the trouble Pippin was in darted towards him, only to find his way blocked by another of the Men. He feinted to the left, and then turned to dart under his legs, and kept running towards Pippin. But the Man kept his balance and turned, grabbing Merry by the cloak.

Bill Ferny was not having much luck. Sting was pointed right at his belly, and Sam was backing him up step by step, towards a nearby tree. He was too much of a coward to actually fight.

Pippin finally sank his teeth into the Man’s arm, biting hard enough to tear the flesh and draw blood. The Man dropped him with an angry howl, and Pippin whirled around, thrusting upwards to pierce him through the throat. As he pulled Troll’s Bane back, blood poured over him, and he moved back quickly as the body fell.

Merry, feeling his own foe pulling him, set his feet for just an instant, and then pushed his weight backwards, throwing the Man off balance. He had turned and was about to take the fight to him, when all were stopped by a loud yell.

One of the Men Freddy felled had come to, and had managed to get Freddy down. He stood with his foot on Freddy’s back, and he held a thick club two-handed. He swung it menacingly.

“You little rats drop them pot-stickers of yours right now, or I will scatter this one’s brains from here to Rohan.” He waved the club once more, and then suddenly, a look of utter shock came into his eyes. The club dropped from his lifeless fingers, and he fell forward, an Elvish arrow sticking out of his back. Trembling, Freddy rolled away out from under his boot.

The Man who had Merry in his grip tightened it briefly, but a clear and cold voice said “I would not advise it. Please take your hand away from my friend.”

He gingerly let go and stepped back. Bill Ferny, who stood with his back against the tree raised his hands up. Those were the only two left standing, for the two that Merry and Pippin had first fought were dead, and one who had been felled by Freddy’s rocks was still laid out. And of course the last one had been slain by the arriving Elves.

Sam waved Sting at Ferny, and gestured for him to move over by the other Man. Merry and Pippin moved away from the bodies of those they had killed; Merry was white, and Pippin was positively green.

They looked gratefully up at the large party of Elves. “Elladan! Elrohir! We’re so glad to see you,” said Merry. “You arrived in the nick of time!”

The two Men stared. The Man Merry had been fighting gawped. “You really *was* waiting on someone…”

“Yes,” said Pippin, “we were not bluffing, but telling the truth. All of it.” He spat and rubbed at his face, still looking sick.

One of the twins, Elrohir, Merry thought, dismounted and came over to kneel before him and Pippin.

“My small friends, are you all right? Let me check you…”

Merry shook his head. “I do not think I took any wounds or injuries worse than a bruise or two. None of this blood is my own.” He glanced worriedly over at Pippin, who was bloodier, even, than he was. “Pip?” he asked.

Pippin shook his head. “I’ll have a few bruises, too, I am sure. And I’ve a split lip, I think, but that’s about it.” He went white again. “Excuse me,” he whispered, and turning his back was noisily sick. Merry felt his own gorge rise, but managed to fight it down.

Elrohir placed a hand on Pippin’s back and rubbed it a bit, offering him a waterskin.

Elladan dismounted, and went over to the one who was unconscious. He shook his head. “ This one should waken with naught more than a headache.”

He stood up and turned his regard on to the two remaining Men, who quailed beneath his grey eyes. Ferny let out a whimper. The other gulped loudly.

Sam had helped Freddy to his feet, and they came over to where the twins now stood.

“I am sure grateful for your turning up now,” he said.

“As am I, my lords,” said Freddy, his eyes wide at the sight of the Elves. For all that he had expected to be seeing them, he still found it rather amazing.

Elladan shook his head. “I am glad we were able to spare you further difficulty, but I would that we had arrived much sooner, and spared you the encounter altogether.”

Elrohir smiled. “Yet these doughty warriors had most of the enemy already accounted for. I think Estel will be very proud of you when he hears of this.”

At this reminder of *why* they were here, Pippin burst into tears. “Oh if only he’ll be able to! And here we are delaying you when every second counts!” Merry took his distraught cousin into his arms, patting him on the back. Now he felt much like weeping as well.

Elladan looked back at the dozen Elves who were mounted behind them, and called something out in Sindarin. Four of them dismounted, and came forward. There was a brief consultation, also in Sindarin, and then two of them went back to their mounts and came forth with lengths of rope. Ferny and the other Ruffian, who had looked frightened before, now looked thoroughly terrified, as the two Elves yanked them ungently, and began to bind them. The other two Elves went over and lifted the unconscious one, and binding his hands behind him, carried him over and draped him across one of their mounts.

“Our delay will be brief enough,” said Elladan. “We shall send Amdir and Nellas back to Bree to put these malefactors into the hands of the Rangers. He looked at the hobbits. “You will have to leave your ponies, for we shall bear you before us and ride like the wind.”

“No, begging your pardon, Mr. Elladan, sir,” said Sam. “Freddy and me are taking the ponies back to the Shire. I can’t go--” he stopped for a moment looking as though he were going to burst into tears himself “--seeing as my Rosie is due in just over a month.”

“Ah, I see. My felicitations, Master Samwise. Well, that will simplify matters. However, I believe we shall send Galathil with you, to see you safely back into the Shire.” Another Elf dismounted, and came up to Sam at Elladan‘s signal. “Do not fear delaying us, for we had planned to have a brief respite, for the horses’ sake. Let us see to cleaning you up.”

Some of the Elves dragged off the bodies somewhere out of sight, and then returned a bit later. The hobbits did not ask what they had done with them. In the meantime, Elrond’s sons and a couple of the other Elves produced some water and helped Merry and Pippin to clean up a bit.

Some food was brought forth, including some lembas, and the shaken hobbits were given mouthfuls of some miruvor.

All too soon, it was time to mount up and leave. Merry and Pippin embraced Sam and Freddy, and then were lifted up to the magnificent steeds ridden by the peredhil. Merry was riding with Elladan and Pippin was riding with Elrohir.

“Noro lim, Tinnuroch! Noro lim, Súldál!“was the cry, as Elladan and Elrohir shot off, followed now by nine Elves rather than twelve.

Back at the crossroad, Sam and Freddy watched sadly. The other two Elves had already left with their prisoners, leading their horses and walking.

Galathil stood by the two hobbits, and placed a sympathetic hand on their shoulders. “Come, Master Samwise and Master Fredegar! Let us see you and these fine ponies back to your home in the Shire.”

On the backs of the great Elven steeds, secure in front of Elrond’s sons, the miles flew by. For Pippin, it was a reminder of the journey to Minas Tirith, with Gandalf and Shadowfax; Súldál was of course, not so swift as the Lord of the Mearas, but still far faster than an ordinary horse. Pippin wondered if Gandalf, far away over the Sundering Sea, had a way to know what had happened to Aragorn, and if he and Frodo and Bilbo would be worried. He supposed that he should be glad if they were spared the worry, but somehow, the idea that Gandalf might somehow know felt comforting.

Merry thought of his journey with Dernhelm. This was far different; they were not riding to war, or to the possibility of his own death, yet in a way it was a sadder, grimmer sort of fear that gripped him. When he rode to war with the Rohirrim, it was in the faint hope that in some small way at least he could be of some help to Pippin and Gandalf trapped in the City. But now, he thought, there is nothing at all I can do for Strider, except be there and worry. He wondered if they would have done better to stay in the Shire--they had after all, already caused one delay. If they were too late by only a few hours, he would never forgive himself.

There was no singing and little or no conversation. Meals were a bite or two of lembas , and a sip of water, along with an occasional sip of miruvor .

It was three days before they passed into Rohan, and another day’s hard riding brought them to Edoras. There they learned that É omer had already gone to the White City to be by the side of his friend and fellow King, but that at the last report only two days ago, there had been no change in King Elessar’s condition.

The brothers thought this a hopeful thing, for the one thing all had dreaded, though none had spoken, was the idea that they might already be too late. As soon as the horses were rested enough, the party moved on. It would be another four days to Minas Anor.

As the world passed by, Merry and Pippin began to take notice of their surroundings. It was night, and in the moonlight, they splashed through a small stream. Pippin realized that they were in Gondor at last, not far from where he and Gandalf had entered. Soon, as day began to break, they saw the white spires of the many tiered City rising ahead of them. As they approached the Pelennor, they slowed for one of the watch there.

“Praise be!” cried the watchman. “It is the Queen’s brothers at last! And I see you have brought with you the Ernil i Pheriannath and his kinsman as well!”

“What news?” asked Elladan.

“There is no fresh news,” replied the Man, “and in this case at least that is very good. Please hasten now to our Lord King Elessar, and may it be that you bring healing to him!”

Elladan nodded courteously. “We can but do our best. But before he was your king he was our little brother, and he is our sister’s only hope of happiness. Rest assured that if it be in our power, and within the will of Iluvatar, we shall not let him slip through our fingers! Noro lim, Tinnuroch!” And like an arrow from the bow, the party moved on.

It was dawning now, and the great Gates of the City stood open. There was no halt this time as they pounded through. The watch knew there was only one reason for a party of Elves to be in such haste, and they raised up a ragged cheer. Word began to spread through the streets that the King’s Elven kin had arrived, and he would soon be well.

In the growing light, they clattered up and up the silent stone streets, from one level to the next, winding their swift way. Soon they approached the sixth level and the Houses of Healing. Another mounted figure awaited them as they drew near.

“Faramir!” Pippin cried, with tearful joy.

“Well met, Pippin,” he responded. “My lords, we are most glad to see you here! The Queen is already aware of your arrival. Please follow me and I will take you to him!”

They rode a short distance further, and then dismounted. A group of grooms and guardsmen waited to take the horses. The other Elves who had come to escort Elladan and Elrohir waited behind, and the twins rushed off after Faramir.

Merry and Pippin, on their shorter legs, were soon left behind. They were both very familiar with the Houses of Healing, and were not lost. But they did not know where the King lay.

Pippin stopped one of the brown-clad healers who was rushing through the corridor. “Excuse me!” he said. “Can you tell me where the King is?”

“Sir Peregrin! Sir Meriadoc! Yes, yes, I will take you there myself!”

He led them into a wing of the building with which they were unfamiliar. As they trotted behind him, it was all they could do to keep up. Suddenly they heard a familiar voice.

“*There* you are! Faramir was most distressed to find he’d left you behind, my lads!”

“Gimli!” exclaimed the hobbits with relief. They rushed into his rough embrace.

“I am glad you are here, my friends! Did Master Samwise not make the trip?”

“No,” said Merry. “I am afraid it was not a time when he could leave Rose. Their third child is due very soon now.”

“Ah,” laughed the Dwarf. “It is good to hear some *pleasant* news. Come along with me, laddies!”

He led them down the corridor to a door on the left; they went in and found themselves in an antechamber, with benches round two sides. The far end of the room had a door closed fast, and the fourth wall was pierced with tall windows looking out over the White City. Legolas and Faramir and Éomer sat on one of the benches. There were low tables in front of the benches and on that one sat a pitcher of wine, a bowl of fruit, and a platter of bread rolls and cheese. A servant was pouring another goblet of wine for the King of Rohan, the Steward and the Elf; another goblet, clearly Gimli’s stood on the table as well.

The sight of solid food, after days of naught but lembas, caused the hobbits’ bellies to rumble loudly. They blushed.

“I’m sorry--” started Merry.

“Do not apologize, Merry,” said Faramir. He looked at the servant. “Please bring more food, more substantial food, as well as the special goblets which were prepared.”

The servant nodded and went out. Merry and Pippin looked at Faramir and Legolas. “How is he?” asked Pippin, finally, in a fearful whisper.

Legolas sighed. “There has been no change for weeks. But there is hope now that his brothers have arrived. I am sure they will be able to rouse his spirit.”

The two hobbits climbed up on the bench between the Man and the Elf. Gimli sat down on the other side of Legolas and took up his goblet.

“How was your journey?” asked É omer.

Merry and Pippin looked at one another. Pippin shrugged. “We had a spot of trouble right after we left the Shire, before we met up with the Elves. But after that, it was just riding…and riding…and riding.”

Legolas looked at them closely. “And just *what* did your spot of trouble consist of?” he asked. He knew the hobbit way of making light of serious things. If they even bothered to mention it, it must have been more than just a “spot” of trouble.

The two hobbits looked at each other, but just then the servant returned with a tray, and in addition to bowls of steaming soup, more bread and cheese, some various sliced meats, and some raw vegetables, cleaned and cut into bite sized pieces, there were two smaller goblets, sized just right for hobbit hands.

Faramir poured some wine out for them, and the two of them applied themselves seriously to the food. Gimli and Éomer took a bit of the food as well, but Faramir and Legolas were no longer hungry. Still, they knew that until their hunger was sated, the hobbits would not concentrate on anything but the food.

However, when they began to slow down, and Pippin was playing with his cheese as much as he was eating it, Faramir asked “We were wondering about that ‘spot of trouble’ you mentioned?”

They looked at each other and sighed, and then Merry said “You tell them, Pip.”

So, with initial reluctance, Pippin began to describe their encounter with the Ruffians. His voice gained enthusiasm as he began to describe Merry’s fight and Merry’s skill. Merry snorted. “I’m surprised you had time to notice what I was doing, since you were very much occupied yourself,” he said. Then he began to describe what had happened with Pippin.

“But,” he said, “I am afraid it would have ended badly if Elladan and Elrohir had not shown up when they did. At the very least, it would have been the end of poor Freddy, for I know that wretch would not have kept his word. And I am not altogether convinced that it would not have ended badly for Sam and us as well.” He shuddered.

“I was so afraid,” said Pippin, “that we had caused a delay. Do you think that Elladan and Elrohir got here in time?”

Legolas sighed deeply. “I do not know, mellon nin, we can but wait, as already we have waited these many days. But I am hopeful. Elrond taught all his sons well, and there are no greater healers in all of Arda.”

Hours passed and the day drew on. More food was brought when the Sun was high, for the nooning, but even the two hobbits could barely bring themselves to eat. They drank more of the wine, and there was an occasional bit of conversation, as Merry and Pippin thought to tell the others of some bit of news about Sam and his family, or Legolas and Gimli now and then brought up their happenings in Ithilien or Aglarond, or Éomer telling of the doings in Meduseld. But the conversation was desultory at best.

Merry and Pippin had finally succumbed to exhaustion; Merry lay with his head in Legolas’ lap, and Pippin’s in Faramir’s. Gimli’s head was against the wall, and he was snoring. Éomer had stood and begun to pace the room, sometimes going over to take deep breaths of air out of the huge windows.

Suddenly the door to the inner chamber opened. It was Éowyn, who had been assisting with the nursing of the King, and keeping company with Arwen in her tireless vigil by the King’s bedside.

Éomer spun to face his sister, Merry, Pippin and Gimli wakened and sat up instantly, and Faramir and Legolas stood up. All of them had expressions compounded equally of fear and hope.

She gave them an exhausted and wan smile. “Please come in, gentlemen.”

They filed in silently, and filled with hope, for surely she would not have smiled were the news not good.

Merry and Pippin gave a gasp at the sight of their beloved Strider. He lay with closed eyes, nearly as pale as the linens on which he rested, his eyes sunken, his face drawn and wasted. Both of them thought immediately of how Frodo had looked when he came out of Mordor. They burst into tears.

But Elrohir stood up and went over to them. “Weep not; the news is good. His spirit was wandering in a fog, but it had not gone far, it was only lost and needed guidance to return. His sleep now is a natural one, and he should wake on his own in an hour or two. I think he would be pleased to see the faces of all those nearest and dearest to him when he does so.”

Elladan nodded. “He is weak in body, and will need much time before he is his usual robust self, but he *will* be well, and he is out of danger now.”

There was a good deal of silent jubilation at this proclamation, and the friends all laughed quietly and embraced one another.

Arwen stood. Her face, as well, showed the effects of her long vigil at her husband’s side. “I am more glad than I can say that you have come here. He will recover much more quickly amid the love of his friends.”

She turned to Faramir. “I believe that the news of his recovery should wait to be announced when he actually wakens. As soon as he does, however, the proclamations should be made, and the bells rung out with the joyous news!”

The Steward nodded. “I agree, my Lady. I will see to the writing of the proclamations and then I shall return quickly, for I would be here when he opens his eyes.” He turned to go out, but not before receiving a quick embrace from his wife. Éowyn pulled his face down and gave him a brief kiss, ere he left the room.

It was not long before he returned, and all of them stood by the King’s bed, in anticipation of his waking. The Sun had gone her way and the Moon was rising, when the lashes fluttered, and the grey eyes opened. His eyes lit up at the sight of Arwen, and that first look held all that either he or she could ever say. Then he gave a little sigh, and his gaze flicked sideways. Merry and Pippin were right there at the level of his face. His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile, and he whispered weakly “I am hungry. What is the time?”

Everyone burst into laughter, and tears as well.

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It was nearly two months later. Merry and Pippin sat on a low wall in the herb garden of the Houses of Healing, watching their King take a very slow stroll on the arm of his Queen. He was not yet the powerful warrior he had been, but every day he was progressing well. He was beginning to chafe at the restrictions of his weakness, and was ready to at least take up once more the reign of his realm.

A messenger made his way along the path, to bow before his King and Queen. “My Lord King, I bring messages from the Northern Kingdom.”

Aragorn took the messages, and looked at them. “Sir Peregrin,” he called, “we have here missives from your father, and from Master Samwise. Which should I open first?”

Pippin laughed. “You *should* open the Thain’s I suppose, but I rather hope you’ll open Sam’s. I’m sure he wants to congratulate you on your recovery.” For word had been quickly sent to the Shire as soon as the King had wakened.

The King nodded, and slipped his finger under the seal; he drew out the letter, and a grin began to spread itself over his face. “It seems,” he said, that Mistress Rose has a namesake, a daughter born to them--” his brows drew together in concentration “--about two months ago. It appears that her birthday is the same day as I awakened.” His face split into a grin, and the grey eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed.

Pippin nudged Merry with his shoulder. “Our Strider is well and truly back,” he said happily.

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