A/N: Written for Marigold’s Challenge 35. Italicized quotes are borrowed from The Return of the King. Pippin’s vision appears in a previous Challenge story of mine, At Last. Thank you to Marigold for the beta!

Pippin followed Gandalf through the crowd. People hurried to and fro, many of them wounded. The most gravely injured were carried on litters to the Houses of Healing while the rest hurried, each with a task to fulfill. The Houses were already teeming with those who had been hurt while fighting inside the City’s walls, and now the wounded were finally arriving from the Pelennor.

The rain had come and gone quickly, leaving smoke where there was once fire and sunlight in place of the clouds. Faramir was safe, but Pippin’s heart was still heavy with the horror he had seen in the Hallows and he wished once more that Merry were here.

Three nights before an image had unexpectedly appeared in his mind of his cousin wearing a helm and carrying a shield as he rode with a young soldier on a great grey horse. He had been so pleased then, wondering when Merry would arrive at Minas Tirith, but after the terror and death he had witnessed today fear grew in Pippin’s heart and he almost hoped that his cousin had been riding somewhere else, anywhere else, than this war-struck City.

At least Gandalf was here, Pippin thought as he scrambled to keep up with the wizard’s stride. Gandalf was gruff and quiet but a familiar face nonetheless, and now as he turned to Pippin he even smiled a little.

“Come along,” he said. The wizard’s voice was stern but the hand he placed on Pippin’s shoulder was gentle and soothing. “There are many tasks we must see to now, my lad, and I am depending on your assistance. First we must-”

Gandalf was interrupted by a murmur that arose in the crowd, followed by cries of “Make way!” Pippin stood on his toes and peeked around Gandalf in time to see the bier of Théoden pass. He watched the procession in shock, recalling how he and Merry had spoken with Théoden at Isengard and how kindly the old king had treated them both, and how interested he had been in hearing tales of hobbits. Pippin glanced up at Gandalf, looking for reassurance, but the wizard’s face was turned away, grimly watching another group of men approach.

Following his gaze, Pippin watched as the men passed, bearing a litter between them. The soldier they carried was young and pale, with long golden hair, and Pippin felt his heart sink at the sight. “Look, Gandalf! Look!” he said, tugging furiously on the wizard’s sleeve.

“That is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan,” Gandalf said gravely. “The niece of Théoden.” Pippin looked up at him in astonishment.

“She is the young soldier I saw, then,” he said. “Do you remember what I told you Gandalf, about seeing Merry? The Lady Éowyn is the one I saw riding with him. That means Merry is here, somewhere.” Pippin glanced around anxiously, but the line of Rohirrim had passed, and his cousin was nowhere in sight, nor was there anyone to ask where Merry might be. It seemed a good thing to Pippin that Merry had not been amongst the wounded carried in, and yet he wondered what might have befallen his cousin.

“Where will wants not,” Gandalf murmured half to himself. For a long moment he did not speak, his brow furrowed in deep and troubled thought before he unexpectedly smiled and rested his hand on Pippin’s curls. “I do believe your cousin needs you now, Peregrin, and I daresay you know where to find him.”

Pippin’s heart leapt with both joy and fright. The idea of searching the City for one small hobbit seemed a daunting task to him and he had never been able to summon a vision; always the Sight came upon him unbidden. Just then a sudden image flashed in his mind, of an empty street with a small figure stumbling through it, and though Pippin did not know exactly in which part of the City that street was, he knew that somehow his feet would carry him there.

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled. “Now I must see to several tasks of my own. I shall be in the Houses of Healing if you need me, Pippin.”

With a nod, Pippin dashed off, running in the opposite direction of the constant stream of people heading toward the Houses of Healing. For a moment Gandalf watched, the twinkle in his eyes fading into worry and grief. He knew that soon he would have another hobbit in his care. Turning, he strode into the Houses to see how Faramir and Éowyn were faring, hoping that Aragorn would arrive sooner rather than later.

Again and again as he ran through the levels of the City the image of Merry – for Pippin could see his cousin more clearly every time – sprang to his mind unbidden, and Pippin watched in his mind’s eye as Merry, bruised and weary, and clasping his arm tightly to his chest, walked slower and slower until he stopped completely in a narrow lane, leaning against a stone wall in exhaustion.

Pippin was reminded of the images he had Seen of Aragorn racing after them when he and Merry had been captured by the Uruk-hai and, like then, he was spurred to action. In his heart he somehow knew that he was close and he hurried through the winding, empty streets, desperate to reach Merry. A thought nagged at him, reminding him how poorly Merry looked in those images, and Pippin wanted nothing more than to find his cousin and take care of him.

When he reached the fourth level Pippin turned off from the main road on an impulse and went down a small street, moving deeper into the residential area of that level of the City. The houses loomed over him, tall and white like snow-capped mountains, but Pippin paid them no mind as he pressed on. Ahead was a smaller road, little more than a lane, empty except for a small figure huddled against the wall. It was Merry, and Pippin dashed ahead to meet him.

But Merry was not himself. His eyes were distant, as if he were gazing at the horizon, though it was clear to Pippin that if his cousin saw anything, it was some nightmarish vision. Merry was pale and trembling, and the arm he cradled to his chest looked broken or otherwise useless. The street was silent and Pippin had to speak, had to reach out to Merry in the only way he knew how.

“Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you!” he said as cheerfully as he could muster. To Pippin’s relief his cousin’s eyes seemed to clear and they focused on him.

“Where is the king?” said Merry, rubbing his eyes. “And Éowyn?” Suddenly he crumpled, sliding down to the doorstep as he began to cry from the shock and horror of it all.

Pippin hardly knew what to do. Never had he seen Merry so grief-stricken, and he wondered just what had happened to his cousin to make him act this way. Over the walls he had seen the oliphaunts and trolls, and had heard tell of a strange, fire-breathing beast, like a dragon out of one of Bilbo’s tales, that had brought down the Gate to the City. It had not been a dragon at all, but a battering ram, and Pippin knew that what Merry had seen had been far more terrifying, and he did not dare to ask his cousin to speak of it just yet.

Instead Pippin sat beside Merry on the step and put his arm around him, trying to take away some of his pain as he quickly told his cousin that Théoden and Éowyn had been brought to the higher levels of the City, and asked if he was hurt.

“No,” said Merry. “Well, no, I don’t think so. But I can’t use my right arm, Pippin, not since I stabbed him. And my sword burned all away like a piece of wood.”

Pippin glanced at his cousin’s side and saw that the Barrow knife was indeed gone. Anxiously, he took his cousin’s wounded hand and held it tightly in his own, feeling its icy touch seeping even through his warm leather gloves. It seemed that the best thing to do for Merry now was to help him to the Houses of Healing, and he was glad that his cousin agreed to walk with him. Carefully he helped Merry stand.

“Lean on me, Merry lad!” said Pippin. “Come now! Foot by foot. It’s not far.”

“Are you going to bury me?” said Merry.

Pippin’s heart broke at his cousin’s words, but still he managed to sound cheerful. “No, indeed!” he said. “No, we are going to the Houses of Healing.”

He led Merry out of the narrow, winding lane and back to the main road. With each step Merry seemed to grow worse, his feet faltering as he leaned heavily on Pippin for support. A sweat broke out on his cousin’s face and his skin turned a pale grey, and Pippin feared Merry had developed a fever. He recalled how his mother had cared for him so tenderly through many illnesses, and she had certainly never made him walk when he had a fever. It was a high climb from here to the Houses of Healing for someone as terribly hurt as Merry was, and Pippin did not think his cousin would make it.

Pippin slowed them to a halt. He was torn in two. Perhaps if they had not been wearing armour he would have been able to lift his cousin, but Pippin knew that Merry would be too heavy to carry, and he did not want to undress him here, and risk him catching a chill. Should he leave Merry, and run for help? Pippin wished someone would pass but the street was empty, and he hated to leave Merry alone again. What if his cousin should take a turn for the worse, without anyone there to help him?

Footsteps suddenly pounded on the pavement, and Pippin turned to see Bergil run up. He called out to him, and asked that he take a message up to Gandalf before the boy ran on, intent on his errand.

Relief washed over him, and Pippin carefully eased Merry down to the ground, arranging his cousin’s head on his lap and taking one of his hands in each of his own. A ray of sunlight escaped from the clouds and fell upon them, warming them both. Merry closed his eyes and sighed tiredly, half in a doze.

“Rest now,” Pippin said, releasing Merry’s left hand to caress his cousin’s brow. The right hand Pippin continued to clasp tightly, still hoping against hope that his touch would warm it. “That was my friend Bergil who just passed; he is a good lad. I think you’ll like him and Beregond, his father. I have so much to tell you, Merry!”

Merry’s skin was clammy and colorless, but he murmured quietly and Pippin smiled, knowing his cousin was listening. He went on. “Of course, I know you have a great deal to say too, but I shan’t bother you with questions now. Instead I think I’ll take advantage of the situation and force you to listen to me.”

One corner of Merry’s mouth lifted in a smile, and Pippin squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, what I say won’t bore you too terribly, I think. I met Boromir’s brother, Faramir. Remember how much Boromir spoke of him, and how proudly? He was right to boast, you know. Faramir saw Frodo and Sam just a few days ago, and not far from here. He said they looked fine, Merry, safe and healthy and whole.” Pippin smiled. “We’ll all be together again soon, I just know it.”

“Do you See it?” Merry murmured.

Pippin thought a moment. For an instant an image sprang to mind, of four small figures sitting together in a great field of green. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes Merry, I do.”

At that Merry opened his eyes and smiled so brightly that Pippin felt his own eyes fill with tears, though he blinked them back. The sound of brisk footsteps came to his ears, and in a moment Gandalf appeared. Pippin almost felt as if he could laugh or sing at the sight.

“Help is here, Merry,” he whispered, and released his cousin into the wizard’s care. Gandalf lifted Merry easily and carried him to the Houses of Healing as Pippin followed behind, and though he worried about his cousin his steps were lighter, and he was filled with hope.