This story was first published elsewhere in March 2003. It was in the process of being beta-read when my hard drive crashed; and the "other" computer being crippled, I let it go, and sort of forgot about it for awhile, until Citrine reminded me of its existence. The original beta-reader wasn't available, though, so I put it back on the shelf to wait. Then recently Dreamflower graciously agreed to beta-read the piece. So I had this ready to go when another "dry spell" set in, and a good thing too.

There is no time for writing at present. Hope you don't mind making do with an "oldie", brushed off and sporting a new coat of paint.

This was written as a companion to the poem "Too Young", which can be found here at SoA at this link:

http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=2578

Thanks for reading. As always, comments are most welcome. (And apologies, if you've left a comment elsewhere in the past few weeks and haven't received a response. It has been an... how to put it... interesting time, to say the least. Please know that the comments were most appreciated, and still are.)

Chapter 1. Summons

Tidings now came by swift riders from Cair Andros of all that was done, and the City made ready for the coming of the King. Merry was summoned and rode away with the wains that took store of goods to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros. (JRR Tolkien, The Return of the King)

'Are you quite comfortable, Master Baggage?' the drover called up to Merry, a twinkle in his eye.

As it was, Merry felt certain he looked ridiculous, perched atop the pile of cargo like the driver of an Oliphaunt headed to battle. But he was used to being a spectacle of sorts here in Gondor, and if people wished to stare and wave he was perfectly content to grin and wave back. He took great joy in small pleasures now that the Darkness had been rolled back, the Dark Lord defeated, and the Ring-bearer--Frodo!--saved out of the Fire.

Summons had come for him, to join the other hobbits at Cormallen, if he were strong enough. Strong enough! He felt as if he could run the entire distance! But that was not to be necessary... the healers had decreed that he was to make the journey comfortably... well, as comfortably as could be managed, considering the constraints the cargo-masters laboured under. There were, as yet, no fine coaches to be had, seeing how unsafe travel had been in latter days, and even if there were, the roads would need repair before travel could be comfortable as well as safe.

'Quite!' he called back cheerfully, for this cart was filled with soft goods, bolts of cloth, he thought, and blankets, perhaps. It was a bit like trying to sleep on a bed with mattresses stacked nearly to the ceiling.

No worry of falling off, though, at the pace set by the plodding oxen. Rather might he die of old age before they ever reached the landing, to take ship for Cair Andros and Cormallen. At least it would be an easy death, he laughed to himself, leaning back upon the cushiony stack and closing his eyes to soak in the sunlight.

He must have fallen asleep, for the journey was over all of a sudden, and the drover was calling up to him again. 'Master Perian!'

'Here I am!' Merry answered, popping out from his resting place. The drover held up his arms to help Merry down from the pile, setting him carefully on the ground without jarring his shoulder. 'There, you are, little Sir, and I trust you've had a pleasant journey.'

'Very,' Merry answered with a bow, then turned to the Man who was waiting expectantly.

The drover said, 'This is Captain Fargold, whose ship will bear you to the King.'

The Captain bowed deeply, and Merry returned his bow with a proper, 'At your service, and your family's.'

'Welcome aboard, Sir,' the Captain said gravely. 'The wind is with us, our ship is loaded, so if you will board we will be on our way.' Merry nodded to the drover, and walked with the Captain to the ship, one of several tied up to the quay.

The vessel was much bigger than any he'd seen before; he'd not got more than a glimpse of the black sailed ships that had arrived in the midst of the battle for Minas Tirith, being rather preoccupied at the time. Compared to the little boats of the Bucklanders, this was a whale. He looked appreciatively over her sleek lines and graceful suit of sails. Catching his look, the Captain said, 'Ah, are ye a waterman yoursel' then?'

'In a small way,' Merry said, and chuckled, to be joined by the Captain's hearty laugh. The Captain stopped long enough to point out the features of his vessel, including the ports from which oars could be thrust into the water to speed her way against the current.

'Right now, we don't need 'em, with the wind freshening as it is,' he said, 'but if you will come aboard now we will make the most of it.'

They walked up the gangway, then Merry watched as the lines were cast off, oars were put out, and the ship was turned into the River. Midstream, the wind caught the sails and the ship picked up speed. Merry felt almost as if he were carried by a white-winged bird, flying upon the water. His legs remembered the rocking motion from boating back home, and he closed his eyes the better to smell and feel and listen.

He felt the Captain touch his arm. 'It'll be enough of a journey,' the Man said quietly, 'with time for a meal and a sleep.' He looked hard at the halfling. 'The healers said you were to rest and eat.'

'Just standing here has been rest enough,' said Merry, but he obediently turned from the rail to follow the other below. Down in the mess were ship's officers eager to meet this Perian from far lands, this warrior who had conquered a Nazgûl lord in battle. The food was good, the talk sprinkled with laughter, but Merry found himself nodding before the sweet course was served, and the Captain caught his eye with a knowing look.

'Thingal,' he said to an officer. 'Please show our guest to his quarters and make sure he has all he needs.' Merry rose to bow and thank his host in proper hobbit fashion. He was led to a stateroom that was small, by the standards of Men, but comfortable (it was the Captain's own, had he but known it), and no sooner had he stretched out on the bed, than he was asleep. He did not even feel the blanket that Thingal spread over him, nor hear the soft snick as the door closed.

When he awakened it was dark outside the porthole, but a small lamp glowed in a bracket to guide him to the door. He made his way onto the deck, to see dimming stars above and a promise of dawn in the East.

'I trust you slept well,' said the Captain behind him, and he turned with a smile.

'Very,' he said. 'Everything has been quite satisfactory.'

The Captain pointed to a dark shape ahead on the left. 'The isle of Cair Andros,' he said. 'We are nearly to our destination.' An enticing smell wafted across the deck. 'Ah, my nose tells me that breakfast is being served,' he added. 'Would you care to accompany me?'

'A hobbit never declines an invitation to dine,' Merry laughed. 'It just wouldn't be considered proper where I come from.'

Halfway through breakfast, the Captain excused himself, but laid a restraining hand on Merry's shoulder. 'Finish your breakfast, Master Perian. I must see to our arrival, but there's no need for you to rush your meal.'

Merry smiled. 'It would be a pity to rush such a fine meal, indeed,' he said.

'This? It is a mere promise of the feasting yet to come,' the Captain said with a smile of his own. He patted his stomach in a very hobbit-like gesture. 'We'll all have to have new uniforms before the celebration ends,' he said, then sobered. 'It's been a long time coming.' He nodded to his officers, and half rose from the table to go on duty.

'Do not worry, Master Perian,' Thingal laughed. 'We will not all abandon you; that would scarcely be hospitable of us. Finish your meal and then we shall join the Captain on deck.'

Merry did not make such a leisurely meal as he had the previous evening; it was not long before he was standing on deck, watching the Captain bring the great ship into the quay, the white sails rosy in the sunrise. White wispy clouds floated high in the brightening sky, promising a fine spring day.

Chapter 2. Arriving in Ithilien

Merry's gaze searched eagerly among the bustle along the quay. The message summoning him had come from Aragorn, not Frodo, and it had said merely that he was to come to join the other hobbits; no other details in so brief a missive. Likely Frodo hadn’t had a moment to sit down, to put pen to paper, in the joyous bustle that he'd heard was Ithilien. Rumour had it that two of the great Eagles had flown him and Samwise from the very mouth of Mount Doom to safety, after the Ring was destroyed. Merry looked forward to hearing the account from Frodo; no doubt Sam had covered his eyes and cowered amongst the feathers on the great bird’s back. Merry rather suspected he’d have done the same, though he’d no doubt Pippin was bitterly disappointed that he hadn’t had anything to do with Eagles.

 He didn't expect the whole Fellowship to be there to meet him, of course, but... His grin brightened as his eyes fixed on a small, stalwart figure standing like a rock among the eddies of busy dockworkers. About the right height for a hobbit, but wide enough to be three hobbits bundled together.

Pippin might come up with such a joke, borrowing clothes off Gimli and stuffing himself into one trouser leg and Frodo into another, to fool Merry. Ah, but he could see now the axe hanging from the broad belt. Gimli would never lend his axe, not even for such a grand deception. No, likely Pippin had convinced Frodo to stand in the shadow of one of the barrels on the dockside, only to step out grinning as he walked past...

Once the ship was made fast and the gangway was being extended, Merry heard the Captain behind him. 'It has been an honour to have you grace the Dove, Master Perian.'

'The honour is mine,' Merry said, turning with a smile. 'I thank you for a most agreeable journey, Captain, even if it was much too short to my thinking.'

The Captain laughed. 'You are welcome anytime on a longer journey, Sir. Perhaps we can persuade you to join us when next we seek the Sea.'

'I'd like that,' Merry said. Thingal came up with his pack, saluted, and left again with a grin for the hobbit. Merry gestured to the waiting dwarf. 'It seems my welcoming committee is here.'

'Aye,' the Captain said, as they came to the top of the gangway. He turned back to Merry, then, to say, 'May grace go with you, lad, wherever you may go.'

'And with you,' Merry answered, lifted his pack, and strode jauntily down the gangway, calling a greeting to the waiting figure.

'So, a welcoming committee of one!' he said cheerily. 'Where are my cousins, then? Could they not be torn from the feasting to meet me?'

Gimli smiled briefly before letting his face settle into its customary grim lines. 'They would have liked to come, I'm sure,' he muttered. Forcing a smile, he said with all-too-obviously put-on cheerfulness, 'And how was your journey, young hobbit?'

Merry turned to face the dwarf squarely, refusing to acknowledge a sinking feeling deep inside, that he’d fought all through the dark days until the news came of triumph and delivery from darkness. 'All right, now, what are you not telling me?' he asked firmly. Surely Strider would have said something... surely...

'We didna want to distress you...' Gimli began.

'I'm feeling more distress all the time,' Merry answered. 'Just what do I have to be distressed about?'

'Aragorn summoned you to come...' Gimli said, but seemed to have difficulty in continuing.

'The summons said only that the King called me to Cormallen,' Merry said.

'He didn't want to worry you,' the dwarf said gruffly. ‘Not with the journey you must make to come here, and you only new-healed...’

'What's to worry about?' Merry asked. He looked intently at Gimli. 'They're all right, of course.' Gimli said nothing. Merry reworded his question. 'They're going to be all right, aren't they?' When the dwarf did not respond immediately, he said again more slowly, 'Aren't they?'

'Of course,' Gimli muttered. 'Of course they are.'

Merry stared hard at him, then said softly, 'You'll be wanting more practice if you're going to tell a convincing lie.'

Gimli met his eyes. 'I'm sorry, lad.'

'How bad is it?' Merry breathed. How bad could it be? If his cousins were already dead, he'd have been told... surely...

The dwarf shook his head, dropping his eyes. At Merry's gasp, he raised his eyes again to say urgently, 'Now, lad, don't take on, while there's breath there's yet hope.'

'Why wasn't I told?' Merry demanded.

'We didn't want you to fret all the journey here, knowing how ill you'd been,' came the answer.

In Gimli's voice he could hear the implied warning: If he were to allow himself to get upset, make himself ill again, he would not be allowed to see his cousins.

Merry took a deep breath and nodded. 'Ah, well, your plans worked, it was a restful trip, very strengthening.' He looked hard at the dwarf. 'Now, where are my cousins? And where's Sam?'

'I'll take you there,' Gimli said.

Chapter 3. Entering the Grove

However, the dwarf did not take Merry to his cousins, but to Aragorn. The latter rose to greet Merry gravely, then looked sharply at Gimli. 'You told him?' he asked.

The Dwarf, usually so outspoken, cleared his throat; but it was Merry who answered.

'He didn't have to tell me.' He calmly measured the Man, nearly twice his height, with his steady gaze. 'Had my cousins known I was coming, as Gimli obviously did, they would have met every ship coming into the quay until I arrived. Had they been able. Obviously they are not.'

Merry waited, but Aragorn said nothing, though the Man’s lips tightened into a thin line as he met Merry’s gaze. 'How bad is it?' the hobbit asked at last. 'If they were dead already, you'd have told me.'

'Yes, I would have,' Aragorn answered, but he said no more. Despite his growing anxiety, or perhaps because it sharpened his senses, Merry saw for the first time the deep lines etched around the Man’s eyes by weariness and long hours of watching. Aragorn was not so much evading him, he realised, as he was fighting fatigue... and worry for Merry was in that quiet grey regard, not quite disguised.

'So they're not dead, and they're not lightly injured, or they'd have met the ship,' Merry thought aloud. 'You're afraid I'll exhaust myself hoping against hope...' he said softly. 'They're alive, but you hold out no hope,' he concluded.

Aragorn smiled grimly, going to his knee to see the hobbit eye to eye. 'I wouldn't say there's no hope at all,' he said gently.

'While there's breath, there's hope,' Merry quoted, meeting Gimli's eye, and turning back to Aragorn, who nodded, but not encouragingly.

'Very well, I've been warned. Where are they?'

Aragorn reached out to take Merry's right hand. Merry suppressed the impulse to jerk it back, suffering the large hand to enclose his.

'It's cold,' Aragorn said. 'How are you feeling?'

'Cold hands, warm heart,' Merry said. At Aragorn's puzzled look, he added, 'That's what my Aunt Poppy used to say. She'd the coldest hands of anybody I knew.'

Aragorn smiled and rose, letting go Merry's hand. 'Sounds as if you're holding your own,' he said. 'But I trust you will let me know if your pain returns.'

'I'm fine,' Merry insisted.

Aragorn's smile faded. 'Let's keep you that way,' he said. 'Come, whom do you want to see first.'

'Who's worst off?' Merry asked.

'That would be hard to say,' Aragorn answered. 'I've done all I can for them,' at Merry's gasp he put a large, warm, reassuring hand on the cold shoulder, 'and all that can be done is being done. But the rest is up to them.' He gazed earnestly into Merry's eyes. 'I just don't know if they have the strength for the fight that's been set before them.'

'So my task is to sit a deathwatch?' Merry said grimly. 'To be there to say goodbye as they slip away?' He squared his shoulders. 'I will hold out hope, Strider, enough for the both of us, but if hope fails, I'm ready to do my part.'

'Very well, then; let us go to Pippin,' said Aragorn, and Merry followed him from the tent.

On the way, Aragorn told him about Pippin's valour, stabbing the troll that was about to slay Beregond. 'And the troll fell upon him,' he concluded. Merry had a flash of memory, the stone trolls on the way from Weathertop to Rivendell, and he imagined one of those great bodies falling atop his cousin, crushing him into the ground. He staggered, and Aragorn caught him. 'Merry?'

'I'm all right,' he said, 'I just stubbed my toe. Happens to people who go barefoot a lot, you know.'

'The most desperately wounded are not in tents,' Aragorn went on to say. 'We have them in the open air, hoping that the green freshness of Ithilien will give them some comfort, and that they can breathe as much of the wholesome air as possible.'

They entered a small grove where a guardsman sat next to a bed placed upon the grass. On the bed was a small, propped up figure, which Merry could recognize, with a stretch of his imagination, as his cousin Pippin. Half the face was bruised and discolored, as were the arms showing above the blankets. His head was thrown back, his mouth gaped. The only sign of life was the unsteady rise and fall of the blankets on his chest.

'Has he shown any sign of hearing you, Targon?' Aragorn asked.

The guardsman shook his head. 'No, Sir, I've been talking to him pretty steady. I tried to get him to take some water but...'

'Very well. If you would fetch fresh water, please?' Aragorn answered in patent dismissal.

The guardsman got stiffly to his feet and sketched a salute to Aragorn, then dipped his head at Merry. He picked up the battered basin that stood on a camp table beside the bed, cloths soaking in its cooling contents, ready to soothe a fevered forehead, and limped out of the grove.

Merry stumbled to the bed and climbed upon the chair, taking Pippin's limp hand in his. 'Pippin?' he said. 'Pippin, it's Merry, I'm here. Do you know me?' There was no sign from the crushed hobbit. Merry looked from Aragorn's pitying gaze back to the bed. He raised the hand to his lips, then laid it down again, saying, 'Pippin? I'll be right back, I just want to check on Frodo and Sam.' He smiled through his tears. 'Don't go anywhere, cousin, d'you hear me?'

Aragorn's warm hand steadied him as he slid off the chair. They exited the grove, to find the guardsman waiting just outside, basin in hand; he nodded and muttered some sort of acknowledgement, then returned to the chair next to the bed. As Merry looked back, he saw Targon take up the limp hand in his own huge paw and bend closer to speak to the silent figure in the bed.

They walked towards another grove, Aragorn looking down with concern. 'Are you sure you have the strength to do this?' he asked.

'I have to do this, Strider,' Merry answered. 'The not knowing would be worse, much worse.'

Aragorn understood. 'Wait here,' he said, before they entered. He went in, and Merry heard him telling the healers and attendants to give them a moment alone. He received curious looks from the Big People who exited, but he had eyes only for the patients they had been tending.

Two beds were set close together on the grass, dwarfing the two tiny figures they held. Merry entered, Aragorn close behind him, and walked to the foot of the nearest bed, staring in wonder.

At the look on the hobbit's face, Aragorn thought again how incredible it was, what these two had accomplished.

Then Merry spoke, and his words brought sudden tears to the Ranger's eyes.

'Which one is Frodo?' he whispered.

'This one,' Aragorn answered, indicating the nearest bed. The easiest way to tell was by the heavily bandaged right hand.

Merry moved between the beds, to take up the left hand lying limp upon the coverlet. 'Frodo,' he said softly. 'I heard what you did. You followed Bilbo's road, the one that goes ever on, to the bitter end. You finished the Quest.' He stood silently, tears falling upon the hand he held. 'Don't give up, yet,' he added. 'Not when the celebrations are just about to start.'

The figure behind him stirred slightly, weakly reaching out a questing hand. Merry intercepted it, understanding somehow the need by which it was driven, and guided the hand to Frodo's, where it came to rest, peacefully clasping its quarry. 'Hold on to him, Sam,' Merry whispered. 'Don't you lose him.'

He rose, returning to Aragorn. 'I want to go back to Pippin now,' he said.

'I think you need to rest,' Aragorn said gently.

Merry shook his head firmly. 'No,' he said. 'Frodo and Sam have each other; Pippin has nobody, no proper hobbit hand to be holding his whilst he's walking in the dark.' Aragorn started to speak, but Merry interrupted him. 'Please, Strider,' he said. 'I don't think it will be for much longer. I can rest then.'

Aragorn gave in, walked with him to the little grove, and saw that he was settled in the chair by the bed. Merry took Pippin's hand again. 'See, cousin?' he said. 'That didn't take too long, now did it?'

Chapter 4. Holding On

Aragorn laid a gentle hand on Merry’s good shoulder and stood silent a long time, his head bowed, though he might have been a fly for all the notice the hobbit took of him.

Merry had eyes for Pippin alone: His ears were attuned to each laboured breath; he strained forward at every pause, as if willing his cousin to fight on, the muscles of his back and shoulders taut with dread, his cheerful tone as he commenced to speak and his forced smile belied by the tears he blinked away.

At last the Man turned away with a sigh and regretful shake of his head, murmuring, ‘If there is anything at all...’ But Merry returned no answer, nor even acknowledged the withdrawal of Aragorn’s hand; he was already well-launched on a story of hobbity doings in the Tookland on the day Pippin was born.

Hobbits were tougher than they looked; it still astounded him that Frodo and Sam had survived their ordeal, through Mordor, up the fiery Mountain, into the jaws of doom itself. Gandalf had sat long between them, reading their thoughts and their dreams, and what he’d told Aragorn... But Merry was only newly healed of his own ills, if “newly healed” were not putting the matter too strongly.

Leaving the grove, he stopped to speak to the soldier on watch, who had removed only as far as the entrance to the grove. ‘Let me know at once if there is any change,’ he said. Sober-faced, the guardsman nodded. Should the watching hobbit collapse, or the dying hobbit succumb at last, or both together, he’d sound the alarm. For all the good it would do. Aragorn wouldn’t be surprised to lose two hobbits this day, if not all four.

He had done all he could do, and yet he rued that it was not more. He started to turn back, actually, but a hand on his shoulder intercepted him. It was Elladan. ‘And now to your own rest,’ the son of Elrond said, his tone brooking no contradiction. ‘You said you’d rest after Meriadoc arrived, and I intend to hold you to it.’

‘Not much longer,’ Aragorn said, his words slurring despite his best efforts to put on a good face.

Elladan smiled grimly. ‘Not much,’ he agreed, though he was likely talking about the Ranger’s ability to keep his feet. In point of fact, he took Aragorn’s arm as they walked, and so he was ready when his foster brother slumped, at last overcome. Taking the Man’s arm over his shoulders, he half-carried him to the pallet lying ready on the grass, not far away.

***

Merry held his cousin's hand in his own good left one, through the day and into the night. When they would try to pry him loose for food or rest, he sat tight in pleasant but firm defiance. He talked himself hoarse, reminding Pippin of good times and triumphs and all the trials they had already made it through.

Aragorn himself came again, finally, but Merry would not move. 'You have to eat,' the Ranger said, but the hobbit shook his head.

'I don't have to leave him to eat,' Merry replied stubbornly. 'You have someone bring me food I can eat one-handed, and I'll be happy to oblige.'

Legolas came with a tray of bite-sized sandwiches for Merry (he imagined what the cook had said at the request) and broth that the Wood Elf tried to coax into Pippin. In the end, Legolas had to concede defeat. There was too much risk of choking with Pippin unresponsive.

Legolas urged Merry to rest, but Merry would not be moved. 'I can rest right where I am,' he maintained. 'Indeed, I feel a nap coming on even as we speak.' He adjusted his grip on Pippin's hand, closed his eyes, and ignored further words from the Wood Elf.

He was sleepily aware of hands on his shoulders, and tensed, thinking they meant to lift him away, but the hands squeezed gently and left him again. He realized they were tucking a warm blanket about him. He relaxed again.

He actually did fall asleep, for when he awakened, someone was trying gently to pry his fingers loose from Pippin's. He roused enough to protest, hearing soft voices urging him to turn loose.

'Merry! Leave hold,' came Legolas' voice. 'We need to turn Pippin, to put him into a new position. Merry... Aragorn?'

'His right hand is like ice. He ought to be in a bed of his own.'

'No!' Merry said, tightening his grip. Too tight, apparently, for Pippin gasped out a protest of his own, prompting consternation among those surrounding them.

'He spoke!'

'That's the first response we've had from him since...'

'Quickly, see if he'll take some water.'

At least the attention was off Merry and the prying fingers were gone. He held on grimly, hearing hope come into the voices around him. Pippin's hand moved in his as they placed the semi-conscious hobbit in a new position, but at least the Big People weren't trying to break Merry's grip any more. He felt another blanket wrapped around himself and hands shifted him subtly to place heated rocks against his right side. He sighed at the warmth—he hadn’t realised until that moment how he was shaking from the chill of night... and fear... and determination.

Finally the voices left them alone, and he slipped back into a dream.

***

'Pippin, how did a small hobbit like you get up a big tree like this?'

'I climbed.'

'Well of course you climbed. So why didn't you climb down?'

'I don't know how to climb down, I only know how to climb up!' the little hobbit said with perfect logic.

'That's how you got so high, then... every time you tried to climb down you ended up going higher?'

His young cousin gave him a pained look for stating the obvious. 'So how do we get down?'

'You remember Cousin Merry's First Rule of Tree Climbing?'

'Don't look at the ground,' Pippin recited dutifully.

'Right. Now Pippin, I can't carry you down this time, you've climbed too high. These branches are so thin they're making me nervous. So I'll help you work your way down, and then I'll carry you like always... but soon you're going to grow too big to carry. You really have to learn how to climb down, or else stop climbing up.'

'Merry?'

'What?'

'You're not angry, are you?'

'Of course I am! I'm missing out on fishing with Fredregar and Frodo; why wouldn't I be furious?'

Pippin, wide-eyed, stopped to search Merry’s face for signs of the threatened fury, but finding nothing but good-natured exasperation, he blinked, tried for a winning smile, started to form an apology—but was interrupted by another thought.

'Merry?'

'What?'

'May I go fishing, too?'

'Let's get down out of this tree, first, shall we? I don't think we'll find many fish up here.' Throughout the conversation, Merry remained below Pippin, guiding the little hobbit's foot down to the next branch, steadying him as he took a new handhold, moving down himself and then reaching up to repeat the process.

His breathing came a little easier as the branches got thicker. At one point there was only one branch in the right place, Merry could not easily reach Pippin from the branch below, so he risked putting both their feet on it, thinking he could anchor Pippin to the tree and move quickly down again. It was a miscalculation; as he started to take Pippin's weight the branch cracked beneath them and suddenly he was hanging in midair, and Pippin was hanging from his other hand. He desperately tried to haul them both up, but could get no purchase.

After the first terrified scream, little Pippin looked up in silence, assessing the situation. 'There's a branch to your left,' he said.

'I know—I’m trying to reach it,' Merry answered through gritted teeth. He felt as if his shoulder was being pulled out of its socket, and then to his horror he heard the branch holding their weight crack ominously.

Pippin started to kick, and Merry gritted, 'Hold still! You'll have us both loose!'

'You'll have to drop me,' the smaller hobbit panted. 'Save yourself.'

'No!' Merry said. 'Where in the world do you come up with such ideas? That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.' He would not let go. He would hang on until the end of the world, if need be. He could feel Pippin slipping, and with a great effort he reached again for the branch to his left, finally getting a grasp with his toes, working his foot over, taking some of the strain off the creaking branch that held their weight.

'Grab my leg,' he gasped to Pippin, 'but don't pull my foot loose from the branch.' He swung Pippin towards his left, holding as tight as he could, feeling his cousin slipping nonetheless. He felt Pippin's free hand grab his leg, then the other hand pulled loose from his grip and Pippin was holding on to him for dear life.

'All right, we're almost done, Pip,' he gasped. 'Grab the branch, let yourself down, there's another branch below you can rest your feet on.'

'Right!' Pippin called, and the grip on his leg eased and then was gone. Merry waited. Suddenly, from a spot several branches below him, Pippin's voice sounded, bright and cheerful. 'Hoi! I know how to climb down now!'

Merry closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the bole of the tree. 'That's just fine, cousin.'

'So hurry up, Merry! I want to go fishing!'

Suddenly the tree was no longer reaching to the sky but hanging over the River. Merry clung to the branch he'd reached in momentary confusion.

The roar of the River was very loud in their ears from this vantage point. Swollen with spring runoff, the Brandywine rushed past in a hurry to reach the Sea. The hobbit lads were playing at stick racing, throwing sticks into the current from their vantage point in an overhanging tree. Cheers and groans sounded from the branches.

'Come on, Merry, I'll race you!' Merimas shouted. 'I've a winner here!'

'You're on!' Merry shouted back.

'I want to race too!' a small voice shouted.

'Go back, Pippin, you're too little!'

'I'm not too little! I've found a fine stick and it's going to win!'

'Go back, Pippin!' Merry started to climb back towards the bank to intercept his cousin. Just as he reached him, Pippin twisted to evade his reaching arm, lost his grip, and grabbing in a panic for Merry, pulled them both out of the tree and into the River. Merry heard the horrified shouts of his older cousins as his head went under, but kicking his legs strongly, he reached for Pippin in his own turn as the River threatened to tear his little cousin away from him.

More trees hung over the River, some trailing branches in the water, and Merry grabbed for one of these. He hung on to the tree with one hand, and to Pippin with the other, waiting for his cousins to run for help to the Hall, to fetch adults who could get them out of this. The water was icy and he was already turning cold and numb. The current threatened to pull him loose, even as it tried to pry Pippin out of his grip. He would not let go. He would keep hanging on until the end of the world, if need be.

But he was getting so cold. He was numb, and so cold, and the snow kept mounting higher and Pippin was lagging again. Though the chill bit into Merry, he held tightly to his cousin's hand. He tried to shout, to let the others know that help was needed, but the wind snatched his voice and the dark forms were swallowed up in the swirling snow.

He and Pippin were alone on the path now, struggling ever upward. The wind threatened to sweep them from the ledge, the snow made fair to bury them, but Merry knew they must not stop. Pippin was shivering violently, staggering, legs finally folding under him. Merry clung tight to his hand; he would not let go even to seek help, not even if it meant he would freeze to death here beside his cousin.

He was never so relieved in his life as when he heard Boromir shout above the blizzard. "This will be the death of the halflings! We must seek shelter and try to make a fire somehow!'

'You're right,' Strider's voice answered. 'He's freezing. Let's try to get something hot into him.' Not long after, a cup was held to his lips and he sipped hot sweet tea. It went down into him, spreading warmth through the icy chill that gripped him.

'He's swallowing!' someone said. Of course I'm swallowing, Merry thought in annoyance. What kind of imbecile do they think I am?

'Yes, he's taking the broth. It's an encouraging sign,' Aragorn answered.

Merry began to worry about the healers here. They couldn't tell broth from tea?

Aragorn spoke again. 'That's it, Pippin, just a little more. That's right.'

Merry understood suddenly, and smiled. He renewed his grip on Pippin's hand as the cup was held to his lips again and he sipped the sweet, hot tea.

Chapter 5. Waking Up Again

Merry woke and stretched, careful not to lose his hold on his cousin's hand. They had survived the night in the Old Forest; soon the grownups would be coming to find them. It shouldn't take too long. He knew they were near the Hedge, for as soon as he'd realized they were lost he had sat down and pulled little Pippin into his lap.

'We'll wait here, now, cousin,' he'd said gaily.

'I want to go back to the Hall,' Pippin had whined sleepily.

'And spoil the game?' Merry said mischievously. 'What kind of I-hide-and-you-seek-me would it be if we don't wait for someone to find us?'

Pippin had nestled against him, yawning, half-opening his eyes to say, 'But I'm hungry.'

Merry smiled down at this small, aggravating, troublemaking, dear cousin of his. 'I have an apple in my pocket,' he said. 'You can have it; I'm not hungry.'

Pippin ate the apple and fell asleep. Merry determined he'd stay awake until the grownups found them. The Old Forest was quiet enough in the day, but by night it was quite alarming, with the trees whispering and creaking menacingly about them. He pulled Pippin closer and shivered. It was getting colder, too. Next time he went out after a straying small cousin he was going to bring a cloak. He thought he'd have no trouble staying awake, but the wind in the branches changed somehow from threat to lullaby...

The sweet and pungent fragrance of athelas filled his lungs, and he took a deep breath, feeling refreshed and strengthened, his mind calmed and cleared. He felt his clothes being opened and pulled away from his right side, and soothing warm cloths applied, and the pain and also the sense of frozen cold began to lessen in his arm and side.

They'd been found! He felt himself lifted, but tightened his grip on Pippin's warm hand. He knew he must not let go, mustn't let his cousin wander again, to be lost. A voice spoke reassuringly, and he felt himself lowered again to a soft surface, blankets pulled over him; a hand stroked his forehead and a voice murmured, 'Rest.' Now that he felt warm, and safe, he could rest. Without letting go of his cousin's hand, he surrendered again to sleep.

He awakened to a tickling sensation on the hand that held Pippin's, reached with his other hand to swat it away, and opened his eyes to see a grinning Gimli.

'Good, you're using that hand again,' the dwarf said.

Merry sat up, Gimli helping him. He was on a soft bed that had been placed next to his cousin's.

Full memory flooded back, and Merry turned to Pippin. His cousin slept, still propped up in his own bed, but his head was no longer thrown back, mouth gaping in effort; he breathed steadily, without the terrible struggle evident the day before.

'Aragorn was quite put out with you,' Gimli said.

'Was he?' Merry asked absently.

'Aye,' the dwarf answered. 'He feared you were undoing all his good work. But I think he forgave you when he saw young Peregrin turn the corner.'

'He's all right, then?' Merry said, hardly daring to hope.

'O no, he's not all right, but he's a far sight better than he was, lad,' the dwarf rumbled. 'Now how about some breakfast?'

'How are Frodo and Sam?' Merry asked.

The dwarf nodded to himself. Aragorn had said that the hobbit would not see to his own needs until he was satisfied about his companions. 'They are still with us. Aragorn was able to ease them into a healing sleep last night, and now they rest easily, with no knowledge of pain or memory of sorrow, to give their bodies a chance to heal. Now, how about breakfast?' To his relief he saw Merry smile.

'I think I could manage something,' the hobbit said.

'Right!' Gimli answered, rising from his seat and rubbing his hands together. 'I will be back in a twinkling.'

Merry smiled and turned back to watch his cousin sleep.

Chapter 6. (Not) Getting Up

'When can I get up?' Pippin demanded.

Merry stared at him in astonishment. 'You're propped up to breathe, can barely lift a hand, and you want to get up?'

'I'm getting better,' Pippin maintained. He tried to sit up, only to fall back against the pillows, white and gasping.

'There now, let that be a lesson to you,' Merry said. 'You're weak as a kitten and twice the trouble.' He filled the mug with fresh water and held it to his cousin's lips, taking care that he tilted it just enough for a sip and no more.

'I hate to lie abed,' his cousin complained, then looked up.

'Hullo, Targon.'

Merry turned to acknowledge the grizzled guardsman.

'I'm on the duty roster to take a watch,' Targon said. 'You're to report to Lord Aragorn. He's with the Ring-bearers.'

'All right. Make sure he stays in the bed.' The guardsman raised an eyebrow as Merry turned to Pippin. 'Did you hear me? Stay in bed!'

Targon looked in surprise at the hobbit in the bed, who seemed to be drifting off to sleep.

'Don't take your eyes off him,' Merry warned. 'He'll be twice as much trouble when he wakes, all refreshed and ready to go.'

'Aye, lad, don't you worry. I've fought enough battles in my time, I can manage one small soldier.'

'I wouldn't be too sure,' Merry said, and with a last look at his sleeping cousin he turned on his heel and left the grove.

***

Aragorn met Merry at the entrance to the grove that housed Frodo and Sam.

'Yes? What is it?' Merry asked him.

'I'd like you to sit with Frodo and Sam today. Are you up to it?' Aragorn reached out a palm and Merry reluctantly put his right hand into it. The Ranger frowned. 'Still cool.'

Merry pulled his hand back. 'I'm fine.' He walked past Aragorn into the grove, forcing the Man to follow him. He saw that Sam still held Frodo's hand.

Aragorn noticed the direction of his gaze. 'I've told the healers to make sure their hands are joined if they have to be separated while being cared for. It seems to give them ease.' Merry nodded, not surprised. He noticed that a low stool had been set between the beds, and sank onto it.

Meeting Aragorn's concerned look, he admitted, 'I'm tired. It's taken all my energy this morning to keep Pippin abed. And it's only going to get worse as he feels better.'

Aragorn nodded. 'I'll go and have a word with him.'

Merry smiled at his retreating back. It was going to take more than a word.

Merry reached out his left hand, laying it atop the other two hobbits' joined hands. He began to talk in a low voice, telling one of Bilbo's old stories, as the healers worked quietly around him.

***

The next day, Pippin could wield his own spoon, feeding himself a few bites before laying the spoon aside in exhausted triumph.

'See? I am getting better,' he told his cousin. 'When can I get up?'

'What's this I hear about you trying to get out of bed?' Beregond asked from behind Merry. 'Don't you know you're under orders? I could have you horsewhipped.'

'I'd like to see you try!'

'I could do it with one hand tied behind my back,' Beregond answered.

Pippin eyed the arm bound to the guardsman's side, and the sling supporting Beregond’s wrist. 'You'd have to,' he said cheerily.

Beregond stared down at him sternly, but could not keep his face straight. Breaking into a grin, he said, 'You watch yourself, Master Perian. If I have to, I'll sit on you.'

'And that's supposed to scare me?' Pippin returned. 'I'll have you know I've been sat upon by a troll, no less.'

Merry laughed, and Beregond put his good hand on the hobbit's shoulder. 'Lord Aragorn has requested that you attend the Ring-bearers again,' he said. Shooting a glance at Pippin, he added, 'Looks as if you could use the rest.'

'Hah!' said Pippin. 'And when do I get to see Frodo and Sam?'

'They're busy,' Merry replied.

'Busy doing what?' Pippin asked.

Growing new skin and new hair to replace what was singed away, Merry thought to himself, but aloud he said, 'They're sleeping,' and he added, 'With all your energy you'd wake them up.' He rose, shaking his head. 'Sit on him, if you have to, Beregond. Or tell him stories. That's what we used to have to do, to keep him abed.' He thought about the serious illness that had ensued after Pippin's dunking in the icy cold Brandywine, and how they had finally let him out of bed a week before they'd meant to.

Aragorn was waiting outside Frodo and Sam's grove. He greeted Merry and held out his hands for the inevitable examination. The Ranger nodded in satisfaction. 'Good, your hand is warmer today. You've been resting?'

Merry laughed, and at Aragorn's quizzical look he answered, 'You can hardly call it that. I've spent the morning trying to keep Pippin in bed. He's already forgotten the little talk you had with him.'

Aragorn shook his head in mock despair. 'What are we going to do with him?'

'Put your best storytellers on the job,' Merry suggested. 'If they can keep him distracted long enough...'

'If he'd just put the energy into healing that he puts into bedevilling he could be up in a week or a few days more,' Aragorn said. He released Merry's right hand but retained the left, examining it closely.

'What is it?' Merry asked curiously.

'The healers say that Frodo and Sam were calmer, more peaceful, the entire time you sat with them yesterday. They say the hands of the King are the hands of a healer...' he looked back down at Merry's hand. 'So what is so special about hobbit hands?'

Merry laughed. 'That's how it's always been done in the Shire,' he said cheerfully. 'You get someone bad sick in bed, you hold their hand and talk at them until they get well just to have some peace and quiet again.'

Aragorn released his hand. 'Well, I want you to try it again today. They are much improved from yesterday's badgering.'

As Merry entered the grove, he wondered how the healers could tell. The two shrouded forms looked about the same to his eyes. Still, he placed his hand atop the joined hands and began to tell about the adventure of Uncle Ferdinand's wooden teeth. Though the quiet figures gave no sign of hearing, several of the healers chuckled at the end of the story, and thus encouraged, Merry launched into another.

***
A/N The phrase "bad sick" is a nod to Baylor's excellent stories, "Handkerchiefs and Mushroom Soup" and "I Always Know You", some of the first fanfic I ever read. 

Chapter 7. Spending Time

A healer nudged the worker next to her, nodding quietly in the direction of the Halflings. They watched, and saw the jerk of the chin that told of the little storyteller's weariness. 'There,' the healer said softly.

'He spends himself recklessly in the care of his kinsmen,' the assistant said.

'Kirian, get a guardsman to help you set up another bed.' At the assistant's look of surprise, the healer said, 'The Lord Aragorn gave orders that he is to sleep in our care this night. He is not strong enough to go and watch with the other Perian, even though there is a bed there for him.'

The healer walked over to the small storyteller, who looked up and smiled. She crouched low by the bed to speak. 'I am Wyeth,' she reminded him, 'and I wanted to tell you how much we have enjoyed the stories, even though you do not tell them to us.'

'Hullo, Wyeth,' he said. 'I thank you for all the care you have taken of my cousin and his companion.'

'It is an honour to do so,' she answered. She touched his right hand and frowned. 'Are you chilled?' she asked. 'Your hand is like ice.'

'I'm fine,' the perian insisted. 'A little tired, perhaps.'

The healer smiled. As Lord Aragorn had said, the perian's "fine" differed considerably from a healer's.

'You are still healing from your own wounds,' she said gently. 'It is time now for you to take your rest. We will watch over your kinsmen.'

He nodded, and she divined a measure of his weariness from the lack of protest he offered. She steadied him as he arose, but he did not ask for aid for the short walk to the cot, nor did she offer it, though she was ready to catch him if need be. He thanked her, lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and sighed.

'Master Perian?' she asked softly. He did not answer, and she rose to give quick orders. Soon he was warmly covered, with heated rocks tucked about him, especially on his right side, and a healer took up a chair next to his bed to keep watch through the night.

It was time to change the Ring-bearers' dressings, and then to force more nourishing fluids into them. Merry had watched the feeding process with distress throughout the afternoon, knowing it was necessary; even with the healers' reassurances that Frodo and Sam felt nothing, it looked uncomfortable at best, what with heads forced back to make their mouths gape like beached fish, and flexible leathern tubes eased down their gullets....

They had been able to spare him the dressing changes, at least. The Lord Aragorn had come once to persuade Merry to come away and take a meal, and some time later Gimli and Legolas had done the same. The healers took these times to change dressings, wash the healing wounds, to do all the things that healers take for granted but that cause friends and relations distress.

With the Halfling's steady voice stilled, the patients were restless, even in their healing sleep. The healers and their assistants spoke soft words of reassurance and made sure that the small, battered hands were once more joined when their ministrations were finished, but it was a relief when the Lord Aragorn came, bringing more of his wondrous athelas.

He held the steaming bowl before each face, including that of the little storyteller, and spoke soft words in a tongue the healers of Gondor did not know, but that the periain seemed to understand, for they calmed and slept peacefully again.

In the watches of the night, healers sometimes speak softly to each other; it is a good time for thoughtful conversation. Wyeth sat herself down on the ground next to Kirian, who was watching the little storyteller sleep.

'A strange folk, indeed,' she said softly. 'So like to us, yet so unlike.'

'What sort of person do you think he is?' Kirian said. 'You are always noticing hands... what do his hands tell you?'

'Their hands do not differ from ours save in size,' Wyeth mused. 'The Ring-bearer, now, with his slender fingers, his are the hands of a scholar, I think, or a musician. Such hands are made to hold a pen, or to coax a tune from flute or strings.'

'And his companion?'

'Hmmmm. I would say he works with his hands, as a carpenter, or... no, his hands remind me most of my grandfather. He was a gardener. Didn't someone say that little one is a gardener?'

'Yes, I heard the Lord Aragorn call him that. Even gardeners may wield a sword, he said, in times such as these. But what do you think of this one? Could he be a healer among his own people?'

Wyeth regarded the hands quietly. 'He has a generous heart,' she said, 'but his hands remind me more of the Lord Faramir's, or even the Lord Aragorn's. Hands that could heal, or hold a sword, or be turned to a number of uses. Perhaps he is also a prince among his people, like the small guardsman.'

'Perhaps.' Kirian smiled. 'It is certainly marvelous to think of them so. Just imagine me, lowly healer, rubbing elbows with princes from far lands.'

Wyeth chuckled, and Kirian rose to check on their other charges.

***

When Merry walked into Pippin's grove the next morning, he found his cousin unusually subdued. It was actually a relief to him, for he didn't have energy to spare in trying to argue the younger hobbit into staying in bed.

Halfway through the morning he discovered the reason for Pippin's unusual restraint. He'd been telling a story of Bilbo's when Pippin suddenly interrupted, reaching out to take his right hand. 'I wish everyone would stop doing that!' Merry said in annoyance. 'I think I'm going to take up wearing gloves!'

'How are you feeling, Merry?' Pippin asked.

'I'm fine!' he nearly shouted in frustration. He softened his tone at the sight of Pippin's face. 'Really, I'm fine, Pippin. Everybody is a lot more worried about me than I am, it seems.'

Pippin let the subject, and Merry's hand, go. 'Did you see Frodo and Sam today?' he asked suddenly.

'Yes,' Merry answered.

'How are they?'

'I'm told they're getting better. They are still asleep, of course.'

'No trouble keeping them in bed, then,' Pippin chuckled.

'No, indeed,' Merry answered, 'but you're doing pretty well today, yourself.'

'Aragorn said...' Pippin began, and then stopped, turning red to the tips of his ears.

'What did Aragorn say?' Merry asked. 'He filled your head with worries about me, I warrant.'

'I found you after that battle, you know,' Pippin said obliquely. 'I sat with you and watched you slipping away, and no matter what I said or how tightly I gripped your hand I couldn't stop it happening.'

Merry smiled and took his cousin's hand. 'I'm all right, Pippin,' he said reassuringly. He shook his head. 'With so many, Big People, and hobbit, elf, and dwarf looking after me it would be pretty hard to be otherwise.'

Pippin grinned. 'Good!' he said. '...but still, I'm not going to ask to get up today, because I promised Aragorn.' A mischievous smile lit his face. 'Just be sure and get a good night's sleep tonight, because I didn't promise anything about tomorrow!'

Chapter 8. Getting Better

Merry entered Pippin's grove the next day to the sounds of merriment. A guardsman whose name he didn't know was perched on the chair next to Pippin's bed, hands gesturing as they illustrated the story he was telling. Pippin's face was bright with mischief.

'...you should have seen his face! And then the Orc pulled him into the stream after itself!' The guardsman laughed again, in recollection.

'So he got his bath after all!' Pippin said. He was hugging himself and trying not to laugh. 'O Marach, stop! Don't tell any more, let me get my breath.'

Merry came forward with a smile. 'I've heard there's healing in laughter, but this might be too much of a good thing,' he said.

The guardsman rose and nodded acknowledgment to Merry. 'Master Perian,' he said. 'He's all yours.' They shared a grave look and the guardsman marched out.

'You're late!' Pippin said to Merry.

'You're not the only fish I have to fry,' Merry said.

'Mmmm, fried fish, I wonder what's for elevenses. Why are you late?' Pippin persisted.

Merry shook his head, smiling, but there was a weariness in his eyes that Pippin had seen before, when they were being carried by Orcs towards Isengard, and later, when the pain from Merry's brush with the Nazgûl returned to haunt him.

'You forget, I'm still a rider of Rohan,' Merry answered, 'And into the bargain Strider finds tasks for me. I've been at everyone's beck and call this day, it feels like, and it is a pleasure to sit down.'

'When can I get up?' Pippin asked, but he didn't really mean it; he was testing his cousin, to see Merry’s response, and he wasn't surprised at Merry's answer, after seeing the look in his eyes.

'Don't start with me,' Merry warned, holding up a quelling hand. 'I'm not up to it at the moment.'

'What is it, Merry?' Pippin asked quietly. Merry put his hand down, but not before Pippin had noticed the slight tremble of the fingers.

Merry sighed, straightened his shoulders, and pasted on a smile. 'It's nothing, Pippin, really. I'm just out of sorts. I miss the Shire, and I wish we could be amongst our own sort again, just for today.'

'Our own sort?' Pippin asked.

'Sensible hobbits! I'm tired of the Big People, their strange customs, their ways, their laws, the way they look at us as if we are children. I want to be a plain hobbit amongst common-sense folk again,' Merry finished, rubbing his eyes.

'You'd miss the feasting,' Pippin said. 'Surely you don't want to go home before the great feast everyone keeps talking about.'

'No, that would hardly be fitting for a hobbit,' Merry answered.

Pippin patted the bed next to him. 'Come, lie down here, cousin; you look tired. You won't hurt or jar me if you do. I'm getting much better.'

'Not well enough to get up yet,' Merry said.

'I didn't mean that. I meant you look as if you could use a nap, and since they've taken that extra bed out there's nowhere for you to lie yourself down. I promise I won't try to sneak off if you close your eyes.'

It did not take much coaxing to get Merry to lie down next to his cousin, and soon he was asleep. Pippin waited until he heard a soft snore before touching the right hand. It was cold, and Pippin pulled a blanket over his cousin and settled himself to keep watch.

When Aragorn came later in search of Merry, Pippin met him with a stern look and finger to the lips. The Ranger nodded and smiled, leaving Pippin to his watching.

It was one way to keep the injured hobbit abed.

***

Targon and Beregond entered the grove together, later that afternoon.

'He's still asleep?' Beregond asked.

Merry stretched and yawned. 'No, I'm waking up,' he said. 'What time is it?'

'Nearly suppertime,' Pippin said. 'You've slept through elevenses, dinner, and teatime, too.' The guardsmen exchanged an amused look at this quaint Halfling way of telling time.

'I've come to escort you to the buttery,' Beregond said. 'With missing so many meals, the Lord Aragorn told me to make sure you eat something.' Merry gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled.

'And I'm here to take up where we left off,' Targon said, taking the chair by the bed. 'Now where were we...?'

'You were telling me how Beregond got that scar on his arm,' Pippin reminded.

Beregond threw up his hands, 'Then I am leaving!' he said, 'for I do not want to be reminded!' He looked down at Merry. 'Come, Master Perian, let us make our escape before the story starts.'

They left the grove, but Beregond turned away from the buttery, taking them deeper into the woods of Ithilien, and Merry followed, wondering. When they reached a jumble of rocks, Beregond seated himself and indicated that Merry should do the same.

'What is it, Beregond?' Merry asked.

The guardsman smiled. 'I think you know,' he answered. 'I'm told you know of my... situation.'

Merry could not meet his eyes. He had learned this morning, to his shock, that the guardsman was marked for death. Beregond had looked for death in battle, only to be saved by Pippin's actions, but he expected to be called forth in a muster any day now to face an executioner's sword, a consequence of his leaving his post during time of battle, and of slaying Men wearing the livery of the Steward. Merry had sought out Strider, trying to get some reassurance, but had found none. The Ranger was as troubled as Merry, and though he said he was trying to find some way to help Beregond, his eyes were not hopeful.

'I know,' Merry admitted, 'but I have yet to understand.'

'Master Perian,' Beregond began, then leaned forward, speaking earnestly, 'Merry, there are laws that govern the ways of Men--is it not the same in the country of the Halflings?'

'We have laws, yes, where they are needed.'

The guardsman nodded. 'And I have broken our laws, more than one of which carry the penalty of death.' When Merry would have spoken he held up his hand. 'I spilled blood in the Hallows of the White City; I killed men, and not enemies either, but men who wore the uniform of the City.'

'You did it to save Faramir!'

'Perhaps Captain Faramir might have been saved without murder.'

'You fought to defend yourself from their swords,' Merry protested.

'Not all,' Beregond said, and his eyes were haunted. 'I did not have to kill the porter at the Door, I could have disarmed him. My strength was beyond his, he was an old man. But I struck out of reflex.' He stared down at his hands as if seeing blood still upon them.

'Beregond,' Merry murmured, but he had no words of comfort to offer.

The guardsman raised his eyes, attempted a smile. 'And there is the matter of leaving my post in time of war,' he said. 'Any guardsman finding me away from my post without explanation could have struck me down that night ... and under the Lord Denethor, I would have paid swiftly for my actions afterwards, and likely a less honourable death than my Captain has promised me since, but with the War and the City suspended between Steward and uncrowned King, I have had to wait.'

Merry shook his head. 'What do I tell Pippin?'

'Tell him nothing,' the guardsman said fiercely. 'He is still weak, and I would not have anything interfere with his healing. 'Twould be best if all were finished while he still lay abed, less of a shock for him than to have to stand in the muster while the deed is done.'

Merry looked down at his hands, and the guardsman continued, 'It is a hard secret to keep, but all the guardsmen have sworn not to tell Master Peregrin. Do I have your word as well?'

'You have my word,' Merry said slowly, but it was his own eyes that were haunted now, and when Beregond moved to escort him to the evening meal, he sent the man away, promising to join him shortly.

But Merry did not eat the evening meal that night, and the healers tending the Ring-bearers watched for him in vain, while the blankets they kept warm for him went wanting. It was only in the grey of dawn that he arrived, his own face grey and pinched with weariness and sorrow, and he sat down without a word between Frodo and Sam, laid his left hand upon their clasped hands, and bowed his head for a long and silent hour.

Wyeth was about to send for the Lord Aragorn when Merry cleared his throat, fumbled to wipe at his eyes with a stiff right hand, and launched into another of his seemingly endless supply of stories.

Chapter 9. Pondering

A few days after, Aragorn met Merry at the entrance to Frodo and Sam's grove. There was a grin on the Ranger's face as he said, 'Good news!'

'Yes?' Merry asked. 'Such is always welcome.'

'Frodo and Samwise are out of danger,' Aragorn replied. 'At the rate hobbits recover, they ought to be on their feet in another week.'

'That is good news!' Merry said, matching the other's grin.

Aragorn put a cautionary hand on the hobbit's arm. 'They will remain in the healing sleep for some days yet,' he said. 'I'd like you to keep sitting with them in the afternoons. There's something to the healing hands of a hobbit...'

Merry laughed. 'All the horses of Rohan couldn't drag me away,' he said.

When he entered, he saw his cousin's face for the first time since their parting at Parth Galen. Frodo was terribly thin for a hobbit, the healing skin healthy but very pale. Samwise, too, was thin, Merry saw, startled. He had always seemed so... substantial.

Merry returned the smiles of the healers as he took his place on the stool, placing both his hands around the clasped ones. 'It's a good thing Bilbo told us all those stories,' he said to Frodo and Sam. 'I'm afraid I'd have run out by now, otherwise.'

There was no response from the still faces, relaxed in sleep.

He continued, 'Now, where were we? O yes, Bombur had fallen into the black river, and nobody had noticed but Bilbo...'

***

Legolas entered the grove and stood, smiling, to hear Merry describe the feasting of the Wood Elves. He stepped forward, saying, 'Ah, but you do not do justice to the wine, Merry!'

'I have never tasted it,' Merry answered, breaking off the story.

'We shall have to remedy that!' Legolas laughed. 'Come, now, the wine of Gondor does not compare but it is palatable, nonetheless, and it is time for you to eat.'

Merry nodded and patted the sleeping hobbits' hands. 'That's all for the moment,' he whispered to Frodo and Sam. 'Don't go anywhere; I'll be back to tell you more, later.'

King Éomer joined them as they ate, waving Merry to remain seated. He pulled out a chair, sitting down with a weary sigh. Legolas poured him a glass of wine and he nodded, taking it up for a long draught before setting it down and stretching out his legs before him.

'How goes the hunt?' Legolas asked him.

'We've slaughtered several more companies of Orcs that escaped the battle,' Éomer said. 'It's hardly sporting: The creatures are weary from running and have no clear direction.'

'Good riddance,' the Wood Elf said, with a sip of his wine.

A server brought a plate to the King of Rohan, who thanked him and fell to heartily. 'Mmmm,' he said, 'Nice change from waybread and dried meat eaten in the saddle.'

'We're living in the lap of luxury here,' Legolas said, 'but I miss the hunt.'

'Ride out with us,' Éomer said. 'We just came back for fresh supplies.'

The Elf smiled. 'Thank you, I will do that if Aragorn doesn't have any other duty for me.'

'Bring the Dwarf along. I'm sure his axe hasn't lost its thirst for Orc blood.' Éomer turned to Merry. 'And how about you, Master Holbytla? Are you healed and rested, ready to ride again with the Rohirrim?'

'My duty to my kinsmen keeps me here at the moment,' Merry answered, 'or I would gladly ride with you.'

Legolas rose smoothly from the table. 'I will seek out Gimli and tell him the good news,' he said. 'I think his axe has been feeling rather neglected of late, and in need of exercise.' He bowed and left.

Éomer turned to Merry. 'Something is troubling you,' he said. 'The battle is over but you are still fighting. I can see it in your eyes.'

Merry would not lie to his king. 'I am troubled,' he admitted. 'I find the laws of Men confusing.'

Éomer nodded, encouraging him to continue, and so Merry told him about Beregond's fate. 'Do you have a similar law in the Mark?' he concluded.

Éomer nodded. 'When a Man spills the blood of his own comrade, deliberately, there is a payment that must be made.' He looked intently at the hobbit. 'What happens in the land whence you come?'

Merry shook his head. 'It has never come up. As far back as we have history, no hobbit has deliberately taken the life of another. Accidents do happen, yes, but murder...' He no longer stumbled over the word, having lived this long among Men.

The king gazed at him in wonder. 'Murder is unknown among your kind?'

Merry met his eyes. 'Life is too precious,' he said. 'Do not Men feel the same?' He looked down at the table, fiddling with his fork. 'I know that war makes things different.'

'Have you no wars in your land, then?'

'O we have fought when threatened. Wolves, for example, that came over the Brandywine in the Fell Winter. But hobbits do not make war on other hobbits.'

Éomer shook his head in amazement. 'There should be a guard set about the borders of the Shire,' he said. 'We ought to protect your people from the evil influence of Man. Would that you were not contaminated by our madness.'

Merry stared at him in astonishment.

Éomer nodded to himself. 'I will speak to Lord Aragorn on this matter.'

'You're serious!' Merry gasped.

'Indeed,' Éomer said. 'I had considered this matter during long hours in the saddle, Meriadoc. I had thought to protect your people from Men, who would prey on the smaller and the weaker. Not all men are wise and noble, as you well know.'

'No more are hobbits,' Merry answered.

'Nay, but Men with black hearts can do much harm amongst smaller folk,' Éomer maintained. 'But now I see that we must guard you as well against the contagion of the violence that is a part of our kind, not just that which might be used against you.' He shook his head. 'No such thing as murder... your land must be a fair one indeed.'

'We have our quarrels and our blots,' Merry said. 'We're not perfect, not by any means.'

'Nay, perhaps you are not,' Éomer said with a slow smile. 'You, at least, rode out in defiance of the orders of the king, upon a time, as I recall.' He sobered. 'But I think it is of value to keep any further blots or stains from your fair land.' He rose again. 'I take my leave, Meriadoc, but will look for you upon my return.'

Merry sat a long while in front of his unfinished dinner, pondering the words of the king.

Chapter 10. Mustering Courage

Merry had been summoned to the tailors' tent for another fitting. He donned the hobbit-sized black and silver guardsman's uniform, then stood quietly while two tailors checked the fit. Though Pippin was perhaps a little taller, these days, Merry made a good substitute for fittings. Since he was less likely to fidget, there was less danger from pins, as well.

'Turn, please.' He rotated slowly. 'Very nice. I think it's ready.'

'Just in time, too,' the other tailor said. 'I hear there's to be a muster tomorrow, dress uniforms for all.'

'Yes, we finished just in time. The Ring-bearer's clothes need hemming, yet, but we should be able to knock that out by the feast the day after tomorrow. Isn't that when the Lord Aragorn said the Ring-bearer and his companion would be arising from their beds?'

'Yes, that's right.'

Merry broke in, 'Excuse me, please?'

'Oh, yes, we're done now; you may change into your own things.'

'No, I had a question,' Merry persisted.

'Yes, Master Perian?' the first tailor said respectfully.

'The muster... I hadn't heard about it yet. You said a muster has been called?'

Both tailors lost their smiles; neither seemed eager to speak.

Merry had a sinking feeling. 'What?' he asked haltingly. ‘What is it?’

The first tailor spoke slowly. 'It is rumoured that the guardsman Beregond is to be put to the sword.'

'He has waited overlong as it is,' the second tailor said in an undertone. 'They never should have drawn it out this long. Hard cruel on the man, I say.'

The first tailor hushed him and turned back to Merry. 'Will there be anything else, sir?'

'No, nothing, thank you,' Merry replied. He gathered his clothes and went to the changing area, his thoughts dark and sober.

Merry was glad he'd already spent time with Pippin early in the day. He didn't know how he could face his cousin. He had promised Beregond that he would not tell Pippin of the pending execution; now it looked as if Pippin would be a witness to it after all.

He went with a heavy heart to sit with Frodo and Sam. He was frankly amazed at how much progress the two had made in less than a week. Their flesh was filling out, their faces had colour and life again. He half expected Frodo to open his eyes and say, 'I've already heard that one, Merry, a dozen times. Don't you have any new stories to tell?'

The dressings had been removed from Frodo's right hand, and Merry grieved to see the missing finger. He'd heard Gandalf and Strider talking about Frodo and Sam's ordeal. He didn't know how they had found out the details, for he had not heard a single word from either hobbit in the whole time he'd sat with them. Perhaps they had roused and spoken when he was with Pippin. He wondered if he'd have found the courage within himself to do what Frodo and Sam had done. Probably not.

That night as Merry was picking at his evening meal, one of the Rohirrim came to him. 'There is to be a muster tomorrow,' the Rider said.

'I know,' Merry answered.

'Orders are for full dress uniform. Do you have all you need?'

'Yes, Elfhelm, thank you. I have all I need.'

'Will you be attending your cousin in the morning?' Elfhelm asked.

Merry nodded.

'Then join us at the sound of the trumpets,' the Marshall said. He inclined his head to the hobbit and left.

Merry slept poorly that night, mainly out of worry for Pippin. How badly would this shock set him back? He thought to himself, if they had to execute Beregond, why couldn't they have done it quietly and decently while his cousin was still bedridden? Why wait until now, the first day that Pippin would be allowed to get up?

He finally fell into a heavy doze near dawn, waking abruptly with the knowledge that he had overslept himself. He hurried into his "fancy togs", the fine uniform of the Rohirrim, clasping the brooch holding the heavy dark green cloak as he was walking to Pippin's grove. He found his cousin still sleeping. Someone had piled the folded pieces of the black and silver guardsman's uniform neatly by the bedside.

Merry touched his cousin's shoulder, to be answered by a light snore. He shook his cousin gently, insistently. 'Pippin? Are you awake?'

Pippin opened his eyes, blinking, confused. 'Merry! I... I'm ... I don't know what to say!'

Merry looked down at his fine-and-fancy uniform and smiled. 'Then don't say anything. It's time to get up, you've barely time to dress before we eat, and I know you wanted to see Frodo and Sam today. No, it's not the feast, that'll be tomorrow, but still we don't want to arrive at the mess after all the food is gone.'

'No, indeed!'

Merry helped Pippin to sit up.

His cousin swung his feet over the side of the bed, stretched, then noticed the pile of clothing. 'Ah, my clothes. Good, I was wondering when I'd get them back!'

Merry hesitated, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 'Well, not exactly the clothes you had... but these will do for today.' At Pippin's questioning look, he continued, even more ill at ease, 'your other clothes had to be cut away, you know. I'm afraid they're nothing but rags, now. But there's been a great deal of work done to properly clothe the armies of the West for the great feast tomorrow, so I think you'll find these adequate.'

Pippin started to pick up the undertunic, but feeling the fine silk it was made of, he went on to the intricately woven tunic of softest wool. He looked up at Merry in consternation. 'There's been some sort of mistake,' he said. 'This is an officer's uniform. All this is much too fine for me.'

Merry answered, 'It's yours, all right. They've been fitting it on me and pinning and refitting and sewing for days. It can't be for me, I already have a uniform! Besides, all the soldiers of the West are wearing their finest today.'

Hardly reassured, Pippin began to dress.

When he went to lift the mail, Merry saw a grimace cross his face, and he jumped to help ease the hauberk on, watching his younger cousin closely.

Pippin noticed the look and assured him that the mail coat was not too heavy.

'Here, let me,' Merry said, when Pippin picked up the black surcoat, also finely woven, broidered on the breast in silver with the token of the Tree. Merry lifted it over Pippin's head and settled it properly, front and back. Kneeling as if he were his cousin's esquire, he fastened the sword belt, then rose to clasp the black woolen cloak. He stepped back to survey his cousin critically; overall, Pippin wore the uniform to fine effect. It fit as if Pippin had been the one to stand through all those overlong sessions with the tailors.

Merry completed his assessment. 'You'll do. You're every inch a guardsman, from head to... well, not quite to toe.' He looked over at the shining boots that had been under the piled clothes and back at Pippin with a quizzical expression.

'Not on your life!' Pippin protested. 'I've walked the length of Middle-earth on my two good feet, and I don't intend to do any differently now!'

They laughed together.

Merry led him to where Frodo and Sam lay in their healing slumber. They didn't look that different from the hobbits who had set out from the Shire all those ages ago; thinner, perhaps, and Frodo's hand on the coverlet was missing a finger. Pippin gazed for a long time, and Merry saw tears come to his eyes. 'What is it, Pip?' he asked gently.

'I never thought I'd see them again,' Pippin answered.

Merry squeezed his arm in understanding. 'You'll get to see them again, tomorrow, and talk to them as well,' he said. 'I can hardly believe it, myself.' He looked at the angle of the sun. 'But we can spend no more time here if you want to eat.'

'Then we'd better go!' Pippin said. 'I'm hungry!'

The healers smiled as the two chuckling hobbits, looking like princes indeeed in their fine garb, left the grove.

Beregond met them on the way to the mess. He, too, was dressed in his finest, even carrying his injured arm in a sling of black silken material. He nodded to Merry, bowed to Pippin and smiled. 'You are a credit to the Guard of the Tower, Master Perian. You look ready for battle... But no battle today, only a few matters of business.'

Merry felt a stab of apprehension, remembering the rumour, but Beregond smiled and nodded reassuringly. Surely the man could not be going so calmly to his execution. Now was not the time to ask, not in front of his cousin.

Pippin thanked Beregond, and they entered a grove where long tables and benches had been laid out. The meal was simple, bread and cheese and new-drawn ale, but it was eaten with as much merriment as if it had been a feast. The guardsmen made much of Pippin, and included Merry in all they said and did.

Finally all was eaten and Beregond rose, hefting his mug in the air. He toasted the Captains of the West, and then the armies of the West, and then the common soldier, and all roared their agreement as they drank.

Then Beregond raised his mug silently, and as the mess quieted, he said, 'And now I ask that we drink to the ones who will not return, the comrades who fought beside us.' The men drank soberly.

Beregond turned towards Pippin and said, 'and one more toast. To my friend, and comrade, and one to whom I owe my life.'

Pippin grew red as the soldiers rose together to drink a toast in his honour. He rose from the table a little shakily. Merry was concerned, but Pippin put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and lifting his mug in return, he thanked the guardsmen, saying, 'and now let us drink to the start of a new age, but let us never forget the friendships of the old one.'

Toasts over, the men set down their mugs and began to go about their business. Pippin sat down again, and Merry could see he needed to catch his breath. Many of the soldiers came to rest a hand on his shoulder or gently slap him on the back and congratulate him on his recovery. All greeted Merry with respectful nods.

Pippin made the effort to rise again, and before Merry could move to support his cousin, Beregond's uninjured hand steadied Pippin. 'Make haste a little more slowly, my friend,' he said with a smile, then sobered. 'A Man with your injuries would have lain abed for months... or not risen at all.'

Trumpets sounded and Beregond was cheerful again. 'They are calling us to muster.'

Merry wondered again at his calm. In a few minutes, the guardsman would be called to stand forth, and then they would have to watch him being put to the sword. Merry felt sick, but for Pippin's sake he smiled and said, 'Let's go, cousin. We don't want to be late.' He would delay Pippin’s realisation so long as possible, and hope that it would all be over quickly, very quickly, and he’d hustle the younger cousin away again before Pippin could quite grasp what was happening. At least, that was Merry’s plan, poor as it might be.

When they reached the greensward they found many soldiers of Gondor and Rohan already drawn up in ranks, with Aragorn and Éomer standing together at their head.

Merry was puzzled. Why would the Rohirrim be assembled at the execution of a guardsman of Minas Tirith, he wondered for the first time since speaking with the Marshall the previous evening.

A trumpet sounded, and a herald cried, 'Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, Periain of the Shire, stand forth!'

Beregond's hand tightened reassuringly on Pippin's shoulder, and then he stepped into the rank.

Merry shot him a sharp glance, and the guardsman nodded again, smiling.

No execution today, this was something else, then. He wondered what it could be, and why himself and Pippin? His cousin was looking apprehensive as well, so he urged him forward, whispering, 'Come on, Pippin. Can't be any worse than a cave troll.'

They walked to the head of the file and were told to kneel, Merry before Éomer and Pippin before Aragorn. Merry presented his sword to Éomer as instructed, and saw Strider already holding Pippin's glittering sword.

There on the field of Cormallen, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck received their rank as Knights of the White City and of the Mark.

And when all was done, a great cheer arose, and the celebration began.

Chapter 11. Awakening

Merry awakened early, though he had not sought his bed until nearly dawn. He stretched, grinning. One thing you could say about Big People, as incomprehensible as their ways were, sometimes, they knew how to celebrate. He sat up slowly, meeting the watchful eye of one of the healers. Even that close inspection could not irritate him today. He felt fine. His grin brightened. Fine. So many meanings for one little word...

He rubbed his neck and stretched again, looking up in thanks for the basin of fresh water that appeared before him. He splashed water on his face and neck, dried off with the proffered towel, nodded in dismissal, and rose from the bed to walk over to the sleeping hobbits.

Staring down at Frodo and Sam, Merry said softly, 'Today's the day. O Frodo, you do not know how hard it has been to wait.'

He sat down upon the stool between the beds, placed his hands around the clasped hands of the sleeping hobbits, and said, 'I'll be on duty later today, so if we're to finish the story it will have to be now.'

Sam stirred slightly in his sleep, and Merry looked at him hopefully before resuming. 'Now, Gandalf and Bilbo were riding back to the Shire, and Bilbo was planning what to serve for tea when they got back to Bag End. It was a little awkward, you know, having been away for so many months. He really was not sure what, in the pantries, would remain edible. Of course, there were the jars of fruits and pickles, and the flour and sugar and spices would still be good, as would the dried fruits, albeit a bit hard but they could be put to soak in a little brandy; he might manage to put together some kind of cake. Hmmm, no eggs or butter or cream, and the saleratus would be old; perhaps he could borrow some essentials from the gaffer on the way past Number Three.'

Merry paused to watch Frodo take a deep breath. One of the healers muttered to another, 'I shall miss the storytelling.'

'You're not the only one,' was the response. They listened in silence as the story went on.

'And now they were in sight of the country where Bilbo had been born and bred, and Bilbo reined up his pony to take in the lovely sight of green hills, ordered fields, smoke rising from chimneys, wash flapping from lines, hobbit children playing “chase” about the yards.'

The healers smiled at this homey picture.

Merry took a deep breath and continued. 'And so Bilbo reined his pony to a stop. "What is it?" Gandalf asked, peering intently at his old friend.'

Merry smiled, looking again at the peaceful faces to either side of him. 'Bilbo answered the wizard, musing aloud, "Something that just came to me..."

‘His eyes still drinking in the rich view, he said softly, "Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea." '

As the healers listened, spellbound, Merry closed his eyes and a vision of his homeland rose before him, green and beckoning. He continued, 'Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon.' Merry stopped, choked with tears, unable to go on for the moment.

A familiar, well-loved voice took up where he had left off. 'Roads go ever ever on, Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone, Turn at last to home afar.'

Merry opened his eyes. 'Frodo!' he whispered joyfully.

His cousin smiled and continued, 'Eyes that fire and sword have seen, And horror in the halls of stone, Look at last on meadows green, And trees and hills they long have known.' Frodo released Sam's hand, gently laying it on the bed, and reached to hug Merry.

Merry was speechless with joy, tears running down his cheeks as he fiercely returned his cousin's embrace.

Frodo patted his younger cousin’s back as if Merry were once again the small hobbit tearfully protesting his beloved cousin's removal from Buckland to Bag End after the adoption. 'Shhhh. It's all right, cousin. It's truly all right again.'

Merry found his voice. 'I thought I'd lost you,' he said, muffled against Frodo's shoulder.

Frodo put him back, holding firmly to his arms, to gaze into his face, and the cousins shared a flash of memory. A small hobbit, fallen into the turbulent waters of the spring-swollen Brandywine. An older cousin, diving into the River after him, seizing him by the curls, striking for shore. Both panting upon the bank, the older fiercely hugging the younger, saying, 'I thought I'd lost you.'

Frodo remembered young Merry's reply, and looking into his cousin's eyes, he said softly, quoting the words that had stuck with him since that long-ago day, 'I'm harder to lose than you think, cousin.'

He pulled him close again, and both laughed through their tears. The healers watched, smiles and tears mingled on their own faces. This was their payment for all the days of ceaseless care, rich coin, treasure indeed.

***

Thanks to Toni at CTF for sending me the passage from The Hobbit that is quoted here, in an IM, when The Hobbit had gone missing at our house (probably under someone's bed).

Chapter 12. Musing

Frodo held Merry until he felt the younger hobbit's shudders ease and Merry's head rested, quiet, against his shoulder.

'All right?' he asked gently.

The head nodded, and slowly Merry sat up. 'I'm sorry, Frodo...' Merry began, but Frodo hushed him.

'You've had a long road, yourself, it seems.'

Frodo stretched, looking down at Sam. 'This certainly doesn't look like Mount Doom,' he mused, and then caught sight of the mutilated hand. Touching the healing scar where the finger had been, he said slowly, 'Nearly healed... how long has it been?'

He looked at Merry, who was still beyond speech. 'Where is this place? How did you get here? Are we dead, then?' His own eyes filled with tears. 'O Merry, did you die as well?'

Merry shook his head, drawing him into another hug, then putting him away. 'No, Frodo,' he began, but his cousin was looking beyond him, a great smile brightening his face.

'Gandalf!' Frodo cried in delight. 'I don't mind so much, now, seeing you here!'

The wizard's laugh was sweet music to the hobbits' ears. 'It is good to see you, Frodo.'

'He thinks he's dead,' Merry said aside.

Frodo regarded him in astonishment. 'You mean I'm not? Then I must be dreaming, for how else could Gandalf be here?'

He jumped at a sharp pinch from Merry. 'Ouch! Whyever did you do that?'

Merry smiled mischievously. 'Just trying to prove to you that you are not dead or in a dream, cousin.' His smile became a joyful grin. 'You're here, we're here, in--'

'Ithilien.' Frodo broke in. At Merry's puzzled look he added, 'I've been here before, I recognize the trees, the smell in the air, the sound of the water, though it was only dim to me the last time I was here.' He looked puzzled in his own turn. 'But how?' he said.

Gandalf had stood smiling down upon the hobbits, letting them work this out. 'There will be plenty of time for questions and answers,' he said gently. 'How are you feeling, Frodo?'

Frodo extended his hands, looking from one to the other, then seemed to be taking inventory of the rest of himself. 'It's like waking up on my birthday,' he said, 'with the day all fresh and new and full of promise.'

His eyes focused again on the missing finger and he said, 'It really happened then. I failed.'

'No!' Merry protested, taking the wounded hand in his and kissing it before releasing it again. 'No, Frodo...'

His cousin regarded him sadly, with eyes that saw something other than their surroundings. 'I claimed the Ring,' he said. 'I put It on.'

Gandalf sat down next to Frodo, gathering him under one arm the way a mother bird might cover a nestling with her wing. 'No, Frodo, you succeeded. You brought the Ring to the Fire, and it went into the Fire; it doesn't really matter how.'

Frodo shook his head. 'Poor Gollum,' he said softly. 'He never had a chance. I'd hoped...'

'You had hoped he might find healing,' the wizard said. Just as I hope you will find your healing, he did not add aloud, but Merry to his shock could see the thought in the wizard's eyes. His attention was diverted as he heard Frodo speak his name.

'Merry.' Frodo was looking at him from the shelter of the wizard's arm, and then turned to look down at Sam, who smiled in his sleep to hear his beloved master’s voice. 'Samwise.' Merry realized that Frodo was taking stock, as he looked around the grove, obviously searching, questions in his eyes replaced by growing dread.

'Pippin's here, too!' Merry said quickly, in answer to the unspoken fear. 'He's fine, Frodo, really, but very likely still asleep after all the celebrating yesterday, or he’d be here now! ...and he cannot wait to see you and Sam. We've all been waiting forever, it seems, but the healers told us that you and Sam would waken today.'

At the moment, Sam showed no signs of wakening. It seemed he was enjoying a lovely dream, to judge from the smile on his face. He drew a deep breath, and Frodo and Merry started forward eagerly, but then the gardener turned on his side, pillowing his cheek on his forearm, and Gandalf, laying a hand on each of the hovering hobbits’ shoulders, drew them gently aside. ‘He’ll waken when he’s ready, and not before, just as you did, Frodo,’ he said in a hushed tone, ‘but rest assured, he will greet this very day.’

'How long?' Frodo repeated.

The wizard looked down at him. 'Fourteen days ago, I brought you out of the Fire, upon the wings of Eagles.'

'Fourteen days...' Frodo breathed, his face lit with wonder.

A silver trumpet sounded, and Merry looked up. 'I'm afraid that call is for me,' he said. 'I must go. Would you like to come with me and find Pippin?'

Frodo shook his head, looking down at Sam again. 'No,' he said, 'I'd better wait for Sam.' He smiled at Merry. 'You go ahead, we'll be there soon.' He looked up at Gandalf. 'In the meantime, I have Gandalf just where I want him, and I'm not going to let him get away until he answers some questions.'

The wizard's joyful laughter followed Merry from the grove.

Chapter 13. Washing Troubles Away

Merry made his way to the bathing tents, figuring that if he started getting ready at early mess call, he'd have time for a quick bath before changing into his “fancy-dress” uniform. After all, he could afford to skip breakfast after last night's feasting.

When he saw the queues at the bathing tents, he shook his head. Evidently half the guardsmen in the camp had the same idea. He had turned away when a hand touched his shoulder and a respectful voice said, 'Master Perian?'

He turned to see a smiling guardsman. 'Your cousin the Ernil i Pheriannath was here earlier, and charged me to watch for you.'

To Merry's chagrin he was escorted past a long queue of respectful guardsmen to the tent opening, where he was greeted and shown immediately to a steaming bath. He shook his head. Being related to royalty sometimes paid off, he supposed.

'Will you be needing any help, sir?' a deferential servant asked.

'No, thank you; I'll call if I need anything,' Merry answered, and the Man bowed, hung his armload of towels upon a rack next to the tub, and exited the tent.

Merry tested the water in wonder. It was hot, and clean. He would be the first to use this tubful. Really, having a Prince of the Halflings for a cousin was very useful, indeed.

Merry bathed quickly, aware of the guardsmen awaiting a turn, and dressed himself as befitting a knight of the Rohirrim. He carefully folded his hobbit clothing--he had dressed simply for Frodo's sake, no need to complicate his awakening unnecessarily. He traced one of the neatly mended slashes in the shirt, a reminder of Orc whips. More reminders decorated his back and legs in the form of scars, but he hardly thought about them; they had healed quickly after he and Pippin drank the Ent draughts.

As Merry had been recovering in the Houses of Healing, in the interlude between the siege of Minas Tirith and the march to the Black Gate, Pippin had found someone in the City, a widow Beregond knew, who had mended their clothes and somehow washed away the bloodstains, a necessary skill in a warrior society, Merry imagined. He was still struck by the contrast between warlike Men and his own people. The hobbits of the Shire were probably still quietly going about their business with no idea of the great events happening in other parts of the world. The funny thing was, even if someone came to tell them, they wouldn't be all that interested anyway.

The Shire, green and beckoning, rose in his mind’s eye, the Brandywine rolling as it ever did between the rich black fields of Buckland and the lushness of the Marish. The colours of springtide would be over the land, verdure and blossom, the land wakening from its winter slumber, the trees decked out in their new finery, the children dancing to welcome the sunshine after the rains--and snows--of winter.

He chuckled to himself. After Caradhras, the heaviest Shire snowfall would seem a mere dusting by comparison.

Ah, the Shire... the memory of his home was one of the things that had kept him going, that and love of Frodo, and of Pippin, who’d been as determined as Merry himself to follow Frodo. Though Merry did not have such an adventurous spirit as his two cousins--he much preferred the settled life—well, someone had been needed to go along to keep an eye on them, keep them out of trouble. His face relaxed in a smile. Keep them out of trouble! If that was what he’d done, he’d like to know how they might have found any more troubles than they had found!

On second thought, perhaps he didn’t want to know.

But, ah, the Shire. They’d never be able to imagine, back home, the sights to be seen here at Cormallen. Tall Men bowing gravely to Pippin, calling him “Prince” in a strange tongue. Bowing, as well, to Merry, though it brought the hot blood to his cheeks and made him want to stammer like a blushing lad, asking a lass to dance. As surely as they’d be bowing to Frodo and Sam, and rightly so! (His eyes twinkled as he imagined Sam's reaction.)

But he’d be glad to leave it all behind again, even the celebration and feasting, and return home to the Shire, like wakening from a dream into good, solid reality again, where nothing ever changed and all things stayed the same.

After the scolding he anticipated from his parents and near relations for being gone... what was it, six months now? ...they’d be back to life as it always was, in the Shire, day-in-and-day-out, six proper meals a day, mundane tasks to perform that he’d never quite take for granted again.

He realized he was getting lost in his thoughts, and keeping others waiting. He shook himself, picked up his bundle of clothes, and left the tent.

The servant was hovering outside the entrance to the tent, evidently waiting for a call from within. He bowed as Merry emerged, saying, 'I hope that everything was to your satisfaction, sir.'

Merry thanked him, glanced at the angle of the sun, and realized he still had time for breakfast.

He found Pippin already eating, and joined him. 'So how are Frodo and Sam?' asked Pippin. Gimli had conducted him direct from his bed to his breakfast, promising him time with Frodo after he’d taken on enough food for the day’s endeavours; and Pippin, ravenous with recovering hunger in addition to a tween’s usual appetite, had not resisted too much.

'Frodo's awake,' Merry said, 'or at least he was a little while ago. Sam's still sawing logs and looks as if he could sleep another week.'

'I've had enough sleep to last a lifetime,' Pippin said. 'I may never sleep again!'

Merry laughed. His cousin had fallen asleep at the table in the middle of the celebrating the previous night, and been carried to his bed. 'Let's just take it one day at a time,' he told Pippin. 'You've only been up since yesterday. Don't push yourself.'

Pippin snorted in frustration. 'How can I?' he said, 'with so many, Big People, and hobbit, elf, and dwarf looking after me it would be pretty hard to push myself.'

The words sounded familiar to Merry, though he couldn't place them, exactly. 'I know just what you mean,' he said feelingly. 'I'm afraid to sneeze for fear someone will pop me into a bed. There are too many healers about with too little to do. I hope they all get sent packing to the City again soon.' He took a last bite and rose, saying, 'I see Elfhelm; he's come to tell me it's time to attend the King. I'll see you at the feast, cousin, if not before.'

Pippin nodded and waved cheerily, his mouth too full for speech.

Chapter 14. Celebrating

Merry stood in the ranks of the knights of Rohan. He unsheathed his sword, a gift from Éomer to replace the one lost to the Dark Captain's demise, and joined the rest in calling out praise for the Ring-bearers. Frodo and Sam passed by, their eyes shining with wonder and their faces flushed, too bewildered by the spectacle even to notice Merry and Pippin in the ranks.

Merry grinned as Frodo recognized Strider and ran to meet him, Sam close behind. He nodded in quiet satisfaction as the Man bowed on his knee before them, took them by the hand, said a few quiet words, led them to the throne and placed them upon it. Merry joined the rest in the shout of acclamation, then quieted to hear a minstrel sing the tale of the Quest, and he wept and he laughed with the great host at the telling of the tale. He had heard bits and pieces of it, of course, from Gandalf, who was not so close as he had been, and Legolas and Gimli, who’d been there when the Eagles had landed, and of course he’d lived a good bit of the tale himself, before the Company was broken at Parth Galen. But now, to hear the tale from beginning to end, and all in order; to know what Frodo and his faithful Sam had encountered, surmounted somehow: Black Riders, Orcs...

Merry found himself shuddering, his hands icy cold, when suddenly a large, warm hand rested on his shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, and remained, a reminder of life and warmth. Merry swallowed hard, nodded to himself, stood a little straighter, but the hand remained a moment or two more, steadying him. He glanced, up and a little behind him, to see Éomer, his face a study in concentration, brow furrowed with concern as the Ring-bearer collapsed, in the story, unable to go on, and his companion took him up in his arms and made to carry him.

Merry wept, and saw tears on the faces of the other warriors surrounding the throne, and his rage at Gollum’s sudden treachery was reflected in the faces he saw, and looking at the figures on the throne, he saw that Frodo had taken Sam’s hand, holding it tight through this last part of the tale, where they stood upon the flanks of Doom itself and the world trembled.

A great sigh went up as the Ring went into the Fire, and Merry realised only then how tense he’d stood, how he’d held his breath at the last, long enough to make his head swim. He drew deep breaths as Gandalf, in the song, called to the Eagles; they leapt into the sky, they flew on the wings of the gale, swooping up the heroes of the tale, snatching them from the burning jaws of death even as the Mountain split itself in terrible throes, vomiting a river of fire to devour everything in its path.

He drew deep breaths of the fresh, green air of Ithilien as the tale concluded and the minstrel bowed before the hobbits on the throne, offering his instrument before him, in homage, as if, once such a tale had been played and sung, the harp could never play again any lesser song.

But Frodo shook his head, put out a hand to touch the minstrel’s, nodded, and said something—Merry heard nothing of the low, quiet words, but the minstrel blinked away tears, smiled, bowed his head a moment, and then rose, dismissed by Aragorn to attend the feast.

Pippin joined Merry briefly as they walked to the pavilions made ready for the feasting. 'Did you hear what he called us?' the younger hobbit said mischievously. 'We are Greathearts of the Shire.'

'I think he was talking about Frodo and Sam,' Merry answered.

'I thought he'd never finish,' Pippin continued. 'I'm about to drop from hunger.'

'Well you don't get to eat quite yet, you have to serve the king, you know.'

'What, Strider?' Pippin cried. 'He's served himself for so long I don't think he knows how to be served.'

Merry smiled. 'He is a Man of many talents,' he said. 'Don't underestimate him.'

'Don't make me nervous, now, cousin,' Pippin warned, 'or I'm likely to drop his wine cup in his lap, and then where would I be?'

'Off on patrol to hunt Orcs, I suppose,' Merry answered.

'Huh. Sounds a lot more diverting, somehow. It would be nice to be the hunter instead of the hunted, for a change.'

'Shhh. It's time for the Standing Silence,' Merry hissed.

For a wonder, Pippin was able to stand a moment without speaking, then nodding to his cousin with great dignity, he took his place behind Aragorn's chair as Merry moved to stand behind Éomer's.

Merry heard Sam's voice raised, calling Frodo's attention to them. 'Well if it isn't Pippin. Mr Peregrin Took I should say, and Mr Merry!' Merry met his wondering gaze and gave a little bow. 'How they have grown!' Sam continued. 'Bless me! But I can see there's more tales to tell than ours.'

Pippin gave Merry a wink and turned to Sam. 'There are indeed,' he said, 'and we'll be telling them as soon as this feast is ended.' He suggested, with mischief in his eye, that Sam should ask Gandalf if he wanted to hear any tales at that moment, 'though he laughs now more than he talks,' Pippin concluded, and Gandalf fulfilled his words at that moment with a merry, ringing laugh.

'Peregrin...' the wizard began, shaking his head, but decided instead to laugh again.

'See?' Pippin said. He neatly filled Aragorn's wine cup and presented it gracefully to the king. 'For the present Merry and I are busy. We are knights of the City and of the Mark, as I hope you observe.' Belatedly recalled to his duties, Merry filled Éomer's wine cup and made sure the king's plate was filled.

'And now, Sir Meriadoc, I am well served,' Éomer said, 'and I order you as your king to take your seat beside me and partake of the feast.'

'Who am I to disobey my king?' Merry asked, and Éomer laughed. Aragorn had seated Pippin beside him, Merry noted, and his famished cousin had managed not to drop from hunger, or spill wine all over his charge for all his threats.

After the feast had ended, Merry and Pippin walked with Frodo and Sam under the trees until they came to a quiet place where lanterns hung from branches, and the white Moon flickered through the fluttering leaves. They sat there on the grass, breathing the fragrance of Ithilien and talking. Gandalf joined them there soon, and after a while Legolas and Gimli found them, and they talked long into the night of all that had befallen the Fellowship since their parting.

Sam scratched his head, looking bewildered. 'It sounds as if you've taken a book of fairy tales and mixed up all the pages, and then jumped into the story,' he said. 'I can't make heads nor tails of it.' He eyed Pippin again. 'But what I'd really like to know is how you got to be so tall, young Mr Pippin!'

'We've told you already, twice or four times, perhaps,' Pippin answered laughing. 'It was the Ent-draughts.'

Sam shook his head. 'Walking trees,' he muttered. 'It just don't sound possible.' He looked up sharply. 'You're putting me on, Mr Pippin, it's one of your jokes, it has to be! I'm a gardener, I know well enough about trees.'

Pippin laughed helplessly. 'He'll never believe us, Merry,' he said. 'We're just going to have to take him there, and let him see for himself.'

Gimli gave a shudder. 'Believe them, lad,' he said. 'And leave your hatchet at home when you go to visit!'

They could have talked through the night and well into the next day but for Gandalf, who rose finally, to call an end to the evening. Not unkindly, the wizard said, 'It is now time to sleep again,' peering from under his bushy eyebrows at Sam and Frodo.

Merry got up. 'I'll walk you to your beds,' he said, 'seeing as my own bed is set near yours.'

Gimli growled at Pippin that it was well past time for him to seek his own bed. When Frodo heard the dwarf tell how near death had come to his young cousin, he threw his arms around Pippin and held him tight for a moment. 'I had no idea,' he said soberly.

'It would take more than a troll to finish me,' Pippin said reassuringly.

The dwarf snorted. 'Come then, young hobbit,' he said. 'I'll escort you to your rest, to make sure you don't go astray and end up where the guardsmen are pouring more ale.' The other hobbits laughed as he took Pippin firmly by the arm and led him away.

Legolas took his leave, and the hobbits stood a moment to hear the elf as he went singing down the hill.

Frodo sighed. 'What is it, cousin?' Merry asked in concern.

'It is sad to think of all the Fair Folk leaving Middle Earth and sailing away,' Frodo answered. 'Seeing the friendship that has grown between those two, I wonder what Gimli will do when Legolas finally seeks the Sea.'

'Well, perhaps he will stay for another hundred years of Men, as he said,' answered practical Sam. 'He might stay until he loses Gimli, at least, and by then it won't matter to us if he goes or if he stays, now will it? Dwarves live a lot longer than hobbits do.'

Frodo shook his head and smiled. 'Come, Sam,' he said. 'I think we had better look to our beds before Gandalf comes back and shortens our lives further with a scolding.'

Arm in arm, the three hobbits walked back to the grove. Merry was relieved to find no healers on watch. He saw Frodo and Sam to their beds himself.

Gandalf's estimate of their energy had proven accurate; when they reached the grove Sam and Frodo were more than ready to stretch out on their beds, and were asleep as soon as their heads touched their pillows. Merry pulled up the covers over the two, and softly bade them good night, though he doubted they heard. He looked down upon them for a long time, then sought his own bed, falling quickly into dreamless sleep.

Chapter 15. Anticipating

The days flowed by after that, in a seemingly-endless stream of activity. There was the journey back to Minas Tirith, for starters, and seeming to go much more quickly, the distance shorter somehow than Pippin remembered from the march to the Black Gate. Yes, the armies of the West returned to Minas Tirith, most of them, anyhow, for there was to be a grand celebration and Coronation when Aragorn reached the city. The King had returned at last!

The Coronation was a grand and solemn affair, the hobbits all agreed. Men certainly knew how to do things up with pomp and ceremony and feasting to follow. Why, the Coronation feast had lasted nearly until morning the next day!

***

'I'm glad it was you carrying that crown and not me,' Pippin said. 'I probably would have dropped it.' The hobbits, after sleeping half the morning away, were gathered for tea the day after the Coronation. Pippin was certainly gratified to be keeping company with the Ring-bearers. He'd found as a guardsman that the people of Minas Tirith did not see fit to eat as often as hobbits would, getting by on merely two or three meals a day, and he was glad that someone was making sure the Ring-bearer and his companion had food available to them at all times.

'Then Gandalf would certainly have turned you into a toad for spoiling the ceremony,' Merry said.

Unabashed, Pippin grinned. 'It was quite a spectacle, wasn't it?' he said. 'Imagine, scruffy old Strider, a king!'

'O hello, Strider!' Frodo called cheerfully, and Pippin whirled.

His cousins laughed, and he put a hand over his heart. 'Don't do that to me!' he said dramatically. 'I think I've lost an inch of my height from the shock.' He eyed the tea tray. 'I need another cake to fortify myself.'

'You can have one of mine,' Frodo said. 'I couldn't eat another bite.'

'But Mr Frodo...' Sam protested.

Frodo turned on him. 'Don't you go offering him your share, Samwise Gamgee. You gave up enough meals on my behalf. You're done with such foolishness.'

'It's all right,' Pippin said off-handedly. 'I'll just eat Merry's share.'

'You already have,' Merry answered.

Pippin looked at the tray, surprised. 'O,' he said. 'So I have.'

***

And so the days continued to flow past, filled with events. The hobbits did not have to attend them all, and a good thing, too. Pippin found he didn’t mind so much, when Frodo “begged off” that he might go to the quiet of the Hall of Records, to facilitate the making of the written account he planned. Strider was busy these days, too, spending part of each day sitting in the Hall of Kings, sitting in judgment, handing out penalties and rewards one after another, and wisely too from all that was said in the marketplace.

And then there were the diplomatic meetings with the Haradrim, and some from the lands of the Easterlings, though not all of those had surrendered at the last battle.

Pippin spent much of his time in the first part of the week following the Coronation in attendance upon the King, but after the third day Elessar, having noticed the stifled yawns, had sent him to attend Frodo instead. He still stood at the King’s shoulder during the great feasts, or at least at the start, before Strider waved him to a chair. He stood ready to pour the wine into Strider’s cup, having to wait until after a man, one of the elite guard assigned to the King, quietly poured off the first half-glass from the evening’s bottle, and drank it down. Curious customs, as these men had. Pippin supposed it was a reward of some sort, though Strider never asked any of the hobbits to taste the wine before he did—they always received their portions from the King’s wine, along with the King, after the taster had downed his.

In any event, Pippin was growing weary of the social whirl, and he said as much to his cousins when the week was half done. 'I'm getting tired of celebrations,' he said, right out. It seemed they'd been suffering through feasts and banquets and speeches and ceremonies for days.

'You? Tired?' Merry asked in astonishment.

'Well, the feasting is all right, I suppose, but the rest of it, all the trappings and ceremonies and speeches, I can do without.' He yawned and stretched. 'I think I shall shut myself up in a tower like Frodo and write my memoirs.' His attempt to look serious and scholarly was rather spoiled by his cousins' shout. 'Or maybe I'll just join Frodo and help him write his.'

'No thank you, cousin!' Frodo laughed. 'I'm having quite enough trouble as it is!'

'Well, the next time a guardsman comes with one of those fancy invitations, tell him I'm not at home. I'm going to run off with Bergil and have an adventure instead.'

'Beregond will set Gilwyn upon the trail and find you,' Merry said, laughing. The seamstress had a knack for locating a hobbit who'd lost himself in the City, either by accident or on purpose.

'Now that's a celebration I wouldn't mind attending,' Pippin said. 'When is Beregond going to marry Gilwyn, anyhow?'

Merry sobered abruptly, tried to cover up with a laugh. 'O, Pippin, you know she's too busy trying to keep track of you and Bergil! She's no time for marrying at the moment.'

And Beregond would not marry the widow, only to make her a widow a second time.

To distract Pippin, Merry returned to the topic of feasting. Food was usually a good distraction for the younger hobbit. 'How about the toasts?' he asked.

'As long as they keep pouring that good wine in my cup, I don't mind the toasts,' Pippin answered. 'Of course, it makes a lot more work, you know, as I have to keep pouring wine into Strider's cup as well.'

Chapter 16. Executing Justice

They did not see much of Strider these days, outside of the feasts and celebrations. 'He's too busy being king, you know,' Pippin opined, several days after the Coronation.

'And what exactly do kings do?' Frodo asked him.

Pippin shrugged. 'O I don't know. Kingly stuff, I suppose. Polishing his crown, practicing walking without tripping over his royal robes and whatnot.'

Merry laughed. 'Pippin, you are impossible.'

His cousin regarded him gravely. 'I know,' he said. 'It's taken years of practice.'

Merry was glad to see Pippin so much better, though he was not fully recovered by any means. The younger cousin had suffered a breathless fit only a day earlier, the result of a cloud of dust that enveloped him when he’d helpfully pulled down an ancient stack of written sheets for Frodo to peruse, in the Hall of Records. He had protested that it wasn’t his fault, was it, that what Frodo wanted was near the bottom of the stack? And what was so important about the information, he’d wanted to know (once they’d got him breathing again, rather than coughing and gasping for air), when evidently it was so very unimportant no body had wanted it for years, centuries, perhaps!

His cousins worried what would happen if Beregond's execution were to take place before they left Minas Tirith to return to the Shire, an event that seemed more likely with each passing day. Merry had heard the murmurs of the guardsmen, had seen the strain on Beregond's face though he always greeted the hobbits with a smile.

Pippin had been assigned to guard the Ring-bearers, not that they needed guarding, but it was a way to keep him under the watchful eyes of his cousins. As a result, he did not come in much contact with the guardsmen of the City these days, making it easier to keep the secret from him. Merry had told Frodo and Sam, of course, for he was counting on their help to deal with Pippin if and when the day for Beregond's hearing came.

***

The day came when Merry's fears were realized. The four hobbits had been strolling down a corridor on the way to the Hall of Records, where Frodo wanted to look up yet more dusty information. Sam came, of course, as he went everywhere that Frodo did. Pippin was along as the Ring-bearers' guard; he took his duty very seriously, and besides, you never knew when another tray of food would pop out of nowhere to tempt Frodo's appetite. (Pippin had promised to tie a cloth over his nose and mouth during any unearthing to be done.) Merry was with them for want of anything better to do; Éomer did not require his attendance at the moment

They heard brisk footsteps approaching behind them, and turned to see Beregond, Targon marching by his side, the Captain of the guard behind them as if an escort.

Merry noted that for the first time since he'd met the guardsman, Beregond was dressed in full uniform, wearing the black surcoat with the Tree broidered in silver on the front, instead of the plain black surcoat Merry had always seen him wear. He had not been allowed to wear the uniform of a guardsman since that terrible night when he abandoned his post to save Captain Faramir from the flames.

Pippin greeted his friend with delight. 'Beregond! You're a guardsman again!'

At that moment, Merry noticed that Beregond's scabbard was empty; he bore no sword. The sudden, sick certainty hit him, and he knew where the escort was taking the guardsman.

As Pippin moved to walk with them, Merry pulled him back by the arm. 'Pippin, no!'

Pippin tried to shake him off, but Merry gripped more tightly. 'Pippin, you mustn't--you don't know what is happening.'

'What's the matter with you?' Pippin demanded, still trying to pull free.

'Pippin, he's going to his execution!' Merry said bluntly as Frodo took Pippin's other arm.

'What do you mean?' Pippin cried out. 'No, I don't believe it! Beregond!' He stared after the three guardsmen, who did not break stride nor look back at his shout.

'He didn't want you to know,' Merry said miserably. 'He was hoping we would leave for the Shire before this, and you would never know.'

'But why?' Pippin cried miserably, then sagged in his cousins' grip. He knew why. He knew very well.

'Pippin?' Frodo asked gently.

The younger hobbit shook his head. 'It's my fault,' he said brokenly. 'If I had not stopped to talk to him that night, he'd never have left his post.'

'Faramir would have died,' Merry said softly.

'No,' Pippin said, still shaking his head. 'No, I could have found Gandalf, he could have been in time.'

'Faramir would have died,' Merry repeated. 'You know that, Pippin. It was Beregond's life... or Faramir's. Beregond made that choice. You must respect that.' He didn't have to like the laws of Men, but he could understand that they were better off to have laws to live by.

'Come, Pippin,' Frodo said. 'You need to sit down.'

'I don't want to sit down!' Pippin protested. 'I want...' he sagged still further and Merry feared he was about to faint. 'I want...' he said more softly, then, 'I don't know what I want...' He took a few sobbing breaths and straightened again.

A hand touched Merry's shoulder, and he turned to look up into the face of a guardsman who was not one numbered among Beregond's company.

The Man seemed ill at ease, but said, 'So you know about the hearing...'

'Yes,' Frodo said quietly.

'It is tradition for such executions to take place at midday. When the silver trumpet sounds...' The Man did not finish the thought, did not have to, as a matter of fact. He looked grimly at Pippin. 'Are you well, Sir?'

Pippin laughed without humour. 'As well as can be expected.'

Merry was surprised at the question, but the guardsman continued, 'There is a garden, where the friends and family wait to receive the body.' Pippin nodded, and the soldier continued. 'Beregond charged me to find you, to tell you, if you were still in the City when his hearing was called.' He gave them directions to the garden, saluted, and marched away.

They found Beregond's older son--Beregond’s younger son had been left with his grandfather, at Lossarnach, to be spared this very ordeal--and the widow he’d have married, under different circumstances, and her son, all waiting in the little garden set aside for families to receive the bodies of their dead, to take them to the final resting place. Birds sang, a spring breeze blew, the day promised to be fair.

Merry and Frodo supported Pippin as they entered the garden. Sam hovered solicitously, helpless to do more. Pippin shook off their hands and went to greet Bergil and the widow Gilwyn, whom Beregond had refused to make a widow twice over, and her son Fargil.

'I'm sorry,' Pippin said, but could find no other words to add.

Gilwyn's face was pale, but calm. 'He didn't want you to know,' she said softly. 'He set great stock by your friendship. He would do nothing to jeopardize your recovery.'

'Can we do anything?' Frodo asked.

She shook her head. 'You can wait with us. You can honour his memory.' Her voice broke, and she turned away for a moment to compose herself.

Bergil slipped an arm about her waist and faced the hobbits. 'Thank you for coming,' he said soberly.

Bergil's arm still about her waist, Gilwyn took Fargil's hand, and held out her other hand to Pippin. The four walked together to the little fountain, stood watching the water cascade into the bowl in a never ending stream. Time seemed to stand still, until the peaceful murmur of the water was broken by the sound of a silver trumpet that rang out above the City.

The mourners stiffened. Pippin returned Gilwyn's intense grip on his hand, wishing he had more comfort to offer. He wondered as a great shout was heard, but the widow said only, 'His comrades honour his passing.'

It was not long before they heard the sound of a cadence call and booted feet marching in the street outside the garden. They heard the company called to a halt. Gilwyn straightened with an effort, and turned to the gate.

Beregond’s fellow guardsman Targon entered alone, and the mourners walked to meet him. Targon held out his hands to Gilwyn. 'The King's justice has been done,' he said flatly, and she nodded. He looked intently into her face. 'The verdict was not death,' he said.

Pippin stood wondering as Gilwyn caught her breath. 'Exile?' she demanded, in horror. Exile... to be cast ceremoniously out of the City, bringing shame and disgrace upon his family.

Pippin had heard Beregond say, when the soldiers had been discussing justice under the Lord Denethor, that such a fate was worse than quick death by sword.

Targon shook his head, and to their wondering eyes, began to smile. 'No, lass, not exile. The King has shown justice, and mercy, and infinite wisdom.' He turned, and behind him they saw Beregond walk into the garden.

Gilwyn gasped, broke free of Targon, and ran to him.

Tears came to the watching hobbits’ eyes as Beregond smiled down at Gilwyn. 'I told Targon to break it to you gently,' he said. 'I didn't want it to be too much of a shock to you, when we all expected the worst.'

'By rights...' she said.

'By rights, I'd be dead now,' Beregond said. 'By justice... I am appointed Captain of the White Company of Ithilien, guard to Faramir, prince.' He held his arms open, and Gilwyn and the boys hugged him all at once in a glad throng.

He looked past them to Pippin. 'Well, Master Perian,' he said. 'It seems our friendship has not been cut short after all.'

'Beregond...' Pippin murmured, wiping at his eyes with a hand that trembled, for some reason. 'I don't know what to say.'

'You, speechless?' Beregond laughed. 'This is an historic occasion!' He gave a last hug to his family, then gently shook them free. 'Come, let us leave this place,' he said. 'We don't belong here.'

He looked at Pippin. 'Master Perian, are you still sick of celebrations, as I heard you say the other day?'

'No,’ Pippin said huskily, and cleared his throat. ‘I think I could manage one more,' he added, his voice clear, strong and glad.

The guardsman grinned. 'Good. We have something to celebrate after all.' His gaze encompassed the other hobbits. 'Bring your friends; we'll show them how we guardsmen make merry.'

As they walked from the garden, Merry joined in the laughter. He fully intended to live up to his name.

~*~*~*~* The End *~*~*~*~

Related stories to be found on Stories of Arda: Choices, Duty, There and Back, He Died With His Boots On, All's Well That Ends Well, Memorium (found in "This and That"), and To See Justice Done. Links available upon request. No time to put them in here; my computer's about to crash again.