Are You Going to Leave Me?

Author: Llinos
Beta: Marigold

The weight of the dead orc barely registered in Pippin's mind as he vaguely heard the sound of a grunt. Dimly he realised he had made the involuntary noise, as his arms complained at the effort of rolling the monster over. His mind could focus on only one thing, the sight of a furry hobbit's foot beneath that great carcass.

"Merry?"

Merry's eyes flickered open but it was hard to focus. Someone was leaning over him, the face was familiar, it reminded him of Pippin. But there was something wrong. This face was panicked and whoever owned it was crying.

Pippin drew breath, trying to stem his tears, but it was impossible. Poor Merry looked so hurt, so helpless. This was not how things were supposed to be. Always it was Merry who saved him, got him out of trouble, soothed his cuts and bumps, got cross with him when he was daft, told lies to get him out of trouble. Now, he did not even seem to recognise him, "Merry! It's me, it's Pippin!"

Pippin? Merry tried to thrust his way through the filthy black blot that was pushing down on his soul, clouding his thoughts and clamouring to own every part of his being. He grasped at the fragment of light that pierced him through his darkness. "I knew you'd find me."

As soon as the realisation that this was Pippin filtered into his consciousness, Merry's blackness seized upon it. Pippin was gone! Pippin had left him, taken by Gandalf from danger into more danger – to the blighted and besieged City. The sinister darkness pressed home its advantage on his drear thoughts. "Are you going to leave me?"

Pippin felt a surge of guilt, remembering his stupidity over the palantír. He remembered how cross Merry had been. Merry had realised that Gandalf would take him away, long before the awful fact had dawned on Pippin himself. He had not even contemplated such an outcome until Gandalf had actually urged Shadowfax forward and they had left poor Merry desolate and alone in a strange and daunting country. There had not even been time to say goodbye. How could he ever make that up to Merry?

Pippin gritted his teeth and forced back his feelings of remorse. Merry had survived and Pippin knew there would be no recriminations. Merry would forgive him – Merry always forgave him.

But his cousin seemed so lost; resigned to a bleak fate. It was as if he no longer could rely on Pippin and believed that he might desert him once again. Poor Merry, that he should think that. "No Merry, I'm going to look after you."

For a terrifying moment, fear gripped Pippin's heart as he thought Merry might die! He had saved Faramir, so how could he then lose his beloved Merry? He had to get help.

Pippin stroked Merry's forehead and was taken aback at how icy his skin felt. He had found Merry's cloak earlier during his long search and now he used it to cover his cousin's chill body. "I have to get help Merry," Pippin tucked the covering as closely as he could trying to will warmth into the stricken hobbit. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"N-no, Pippin!" Merry's eyes opened again for a brief second, filled with fear and panic. "Don’t leave me! Please Pip!"

Pippin looked around the vast battlefield. There were people moving about, collecting the wounded and dead, but none nearby. Where was Gandalf? The last Pippin had seen of him he was in the City, directing the men making temporary repairs and overseeing the housing of the sick and wounded. It was Gandalf who had given him leave to search for Merry. Although Pippin would have gone anyway, surely the wizard must have known he would eventually find him or why else would he have allowed him on this mission?

Pippin sat down and, lifting his cousin up slightly, he gently cradled

Merry's head in his lap. Perhaps he could persuade Merry to manage a few steps and that way eventually find some help. "Merry, Merry my dearest, do you think you can walk?"

"Pip?" Merry's eyes flickered and looked up at Pippin in bewilderment. "Did I fall asleep? Have Frodo and the others gone on the haywain? Must have had too much cider!"

Pippin smiled down, "Yes Merry, the haymaking is all finished and we have to get home." At least Merry's mind seemed to be wandering in happier fields now. "Tea will be ready and it's a long way across the lower pasture."

Pippin eased his arms under Merry's and managed to get him to a sitting position. Pulling off his torn Rohirric gauntlets, he took his cousin's hands in his. There was a momentary shock as Pippin realised one hand was cold, but the other was like ice, freezing to the point that he felt it might burn.

Steeling himself further, Pippin tugged and succeeded in getting Merry to his knees. "Come on Merry, see if you can stand, lean on me."

"Pip! It's too dark, I can't see you!" Merry's voice was panicked again, "Why did you let me sleep so long? We'll get lost if there's no moon."

"Well, let's get you on your feet, and then perhaps I'll find something to light our way." Pippin made his voice sound happier than he felt. Although it was twilight, there was still enough light to see by. What was darkening Merry's world with such dread? "Besides, I can see well enough for both of us. Remember you always said I had eyes like a cat – must be all those carrots I ate!"

Painfully, Merry allowed Pippin to drag him upright, but then all he could do was hang weakly in his cousin's arms. "Sorry, Pip, that cider must've been stronger than I thought. I don't think my legs will work."

"Please try Merry," Pippin was still casting around to see if any possible help was near, but no one was close enough to notice two little hobbits lost amidst the chaos and devastation of the battlefield. "Just one step, foot by foot. It's not far."

Merry tried but after one faltering step, he sank back to his knees. Pippin endeavoured to haul him back up, but he had neither the strength nor the heart to cause his cousin more distress.

'I'll never get him there," thought Pippin. 'Is there no one to help me? I can't leave him here. I promised I'd not leave him again. What did Gandalf expect me to do?'

With one arm around his cousin's back, Pippin gently laid Merry down again and sat down beside him, once more tucking the cloak around him as he considered their plight.

Gandalf must have expected him to use his wits to alert him once Merry had been found. What to do? He could not leave Merry alone here, that was certain. Perhaps there was another way to draw attention to their predicament. What was it Gandalf had said to him when he bade him climb the cliff face to light the beacons?

'Peregrin Took, my lad, there is a task now to be done. Another opportunity for one of the Shire Folk to prove their great worth.'

He had put his hand on Pippin's shoulder and looked into his eyes. 'You must not fail me!'

But that had been straightforward enough. Just climb up and light the beacon and climb back down. No great wit needed for that task. This was altogether different.

"Aie! That's it!" Pippin yelped and leapt to his feet making Merry blink up at him, "The beacons!"

"What is it Pip?" Merry asked dazedly, "is it Harvest-tide already? We must be getting home. We'll miss the feast!"

"Don't worry Merry my love," He began rifling through Merry's pack that was still hung on his cousin's shoulder. Pippin had used all his matches by now but he knew Merry would have conserved some, probably so they could enjoy a reunion smoke together. "We won't miss the feast – I promise!"

Quickly as he could, and being careful to stay close enough to Merry that he would be able to rush back to his side, Pippin gathered pieces of battlefield debris into bonfire shaped heaps. He found many spent arrows, broken spears and pieces of wooden shields, orc clubs and staves. Then with his sword he hacked at the fallen dead oliphaunt. As amazed as he would normally have been to see such a creature, Pippin had paid scant attention to the beast until then; such was his concern for Merry. But now he was intent upon it, hewing and chopping at the thick grey skin until he pierced it to unleash the treasure within – animal fat!

Swallowing down the urge to be sick, Pippin cut away chunks of the yellow matter and ran to heap a large piece in the midst of each of the six beacons he had fashioned.

He had a spot of bother getting the first bonfire to catch. Merry's box had but five precious matches left and he was down to his penultimate vesta before a flare finally kindled. Blowing gently on the flame, Pippin waited until he had a good blaze going, before taking a burning arrow, smothered in the fat, to his next beacon.

Pippin had set his fires in the shape of an arrow, three forming the shaft and the other three the point, which he carefully positioned around Merry, hoping that the heat would bring some warmth to his icy cold cousin's body.

Once all six were lit, he returned to Merry and, lifting his cousin's weary head once more to his lap, sat and waited. "There Merry," he made his voice as light as he could. "The fires are lit and soon we'll be feasting and frolicking."

"Can't frolic Pip," Merry was still wandering far from the present. "I'm too addled to think. My head hurts, it's darker than death and I can't find my way."

"I'll take care of you Merry." Pippin's heart froze again at his cousin's sinister words. "I'm not going to leave you and don't you leave me!"

It seemed like a year and a day that Pippin sat there, listening to Merry's lost murmurings and whispering back any snippets of comfort he could find. But in fact it was less than half an hour before he spied across the desolate plain a sight that made his heart leap with joy.

Gandalf slipped gracefully from Shadowfax and stooped over Merry and caressed his brow; then he lifted him carefully. "He should have been borne in honour into this city," he said. "He has well repaid my trust; for if Elrond had not yielded to me, neither of you would have set out and then far more grievous would the evils of this day have been."

Just then a cry rang out from across the devastation. Gandalf turned abruptly, Merry still held in his arms. The wizard squinted his eyes against the gathering gloom and his face set in a weary grimace. "There are wargs roaming the battlefield. They are preying upon the injured as well as the carrion." He looked sternly down at Pippin, "Peregrin, my lad, you must take Merry back. These poor men have enough to contend with, rescuing the sick and dying, I must at least put a stop to these foul beasts taking more lives."

"B-but Gandalf!" Pippin was dismayed, "I can't carry Merry and he can't walk, what shall we do?" He dropped his head down as he realised that perhaps he was being selfish. Merry was at least alive and these poor men were more in need of the wizard's help. "I'm sorry, you do what you must Gandalf, I-I'll manage somehow."

"Pippin, dear lad!" Gandalf actually broke into a smile; "Shadowfax shall bear you both back to the City. Would that I could summon you an armed escort fit for heroes, but my dear friend will serve my brave lads as befits their honour."

Pippin's jaw dropped and he could find no answer. He was glad that Gandalf turned away to lift Merry up onto the great horse's back, as he would not see the flush of embarrassment such praise-filled words had brought to his cheeks.

By the time the wizard reached down to pick him up, he had regained his composure; such as it was under the circumstances. "Gandalf are you sure Shadowfax will be all right with Merry and me? I mean, will I be able to make him go where he should?"

"Foolish hobbit!" Gandalf reverted to his usual abrupt manner, making both wizard and hobbit feel more at ease. "Shadowfax knows his business. All you need do is stay as quiet as you are able and keep hold of Meriadoc."

"I will and I won't say a word," Pippin promised breathlessly as he was thrown up behind his cousin.

"Well don't forget to say 'thank you' at least." Gandalf reminded him grumpily, "and when you are safely delivered, leave him to come back to me, but see he is escorted to the City Gates." Then he addressed the great white horse. "Take them with care my friend – straight to the Houses of Healing and let nothing stay you."

As Shadowfax moved forward, Pippin did not even dare to turn round to thank Gandalf, let alone call out to him. His arms clasped firmly around Merry's waist, he whispered into his ear, "We're going back to Minas Tirith Merry, you'll soon be better, I'll stay with you."

"Éowyn, shall I take the reins?" Merry mumbled sleepily, "I can steer, we shan't fall this time!"

"It's all right Merry," Pippin soothed, "we won't fall, Shadowfax won't let us."

As they rode through the shattered gates of the City, Pippin could not help but notice the stares of wonder from the people. The great horse trotted steadfastly forward, ignoring the held-up arms as guards tried to halt his progress, wondering why the wizard had left his precious stallion in the charge of two such small children.

Others cried out "Ernil i Pheriannath – the Halfling Prince has returned! See how he rides the great white horse and bears another before him!"

Pippin dared not wave back or make reply. He was intent on Gandalf's parting words and determined, on this occasion, to do exactly as bid.

Shadowfax halted at the doors of the Houses of Healing, and Pippin wondered how he was going to get Merry down, let alone himself. He need not have worried. Shadowfax raised his mighty forefoot and struck the door. Within moments the doors swung open and Bergil, open-mouthed at the sight, stood there.

"Erm, I think we need. . . "

Before the words left Pippin's mouth, Bergil had turned to run along the corridor, "I'll get someone," he called over his shoulder.

Éowyn stirred and her eyes fluttered open. Aragorn, having bathed the maid's forehead and stricken arm with sweet athelas water, drew back and nodded to Éomer to take his place.

"Éowyn? Éowyn, beloved sister," he took her cold hand in his, "never was I more relieved to see you awaken!"

"Éomer? How did I come to be here?" Éowyn blinked again as one trying to shake off an overlong slumber, "I dreamt that all were slain! You, the King, Aragorn."

"Alas Théoden King is passed," Éomer bowed his head. "But he was brought to his end by a mighty foe."

"I remember," Éowyn's brow furrowed slightly as the wavering impressions in her mind coalesced into a memory. "It was the Black Captain that slew our Uncle."

"And you in turn dealt him a mighty blow," Aragorn spoke from behind Éomer, "even to the death. It was a valiant deed my Lady."

"But, I was not alone," Éowyn tried to clasp Éomer's hand, but her icy fingers would not furl around his. "I was helped in my fight. I could not have triumphed over that foul abomination – not without his help! What happened to him? Éomer you must find him!"

"Find who?" Éomer gently soothed his sister's brow. "There was no other, do not fret, you are safe now."

"I know the prophecy of old, Milady," Aragorn stepped forward to smile down at the troubled maid. "And it has come to pass as Glorfindel foretold, 'not by the hand of man will he fall'. You, and you alone, have slain the Witch-king of Angmar, for no man could have laid sword upon him."

"Not man," Éowyn persisted, "Merry, it was the holbytla who struck the blow that saved me." She began to weep bitterly, "and now I have deserted him to his death! What have I done?"

"Merry?" Éomer was startled. "But he was forbidden by Théoden to ride with us, and how could he strike such an adversary? He is little more than a child. Do not grieve sister; your wounds have made you dream evil happenings. I am sure Merry is safe."

"I know that somehow Merry was in the battle," Aragorn laid a hand on Éomer's shoulder. "Gandalf sees much, but says little, but that is the errand on which he sent Pippin – to seek for his cousin on the Pelennor Fields."

"I took him," Éowyn whispered through her tears, "Our uncle forbade it, but he was determined and now he is lost! What dreadful deed have I done? Éomer, he saved my life. Without him I could not have delivered the final blow. "

"This is strange news indeed!" Éomer turned to Aragorn, seeking validation, "how could one so small fight in such a great battle, and against such a mighty foe?"

"Do not underestimate the fortitude of the halflings," Aragorn assured both brother and sister, "the entire fate of Middle-earth now rests with two such halflings. If we were to lose faith in Frodo and Sam, then all is lost. I am sure Merry has survived, for Gandalf would not have sent Pippin to find him were it not so."

"Then I must renew my faith," Éomer placed his other hand on his sister's, rubbing it gently in the hope of restoring some warmth. "But she is still so cold!"

"Rest now Éowyn, and awake to hope and health." Aragorn moved away, beckoning Éomer to follow him. "I have the power to heal her body, but if she falls into despair then she will die, unless other healing comes which I cannot bring."

Aragorn spoke no more but silently left the chamber, leaving Éomer to return to his grieving sister.

"I have no hope," Éowyn sighed bitterly, watching Aragorn leave. "All that I wished for is beyond reach and my life counts for nothing."

"Please dear sister," Éomer's spirit was chilled by Aragorn's words and Éowyn's despair. "Do not grieve for that which is lost, nor yearn for him who is pledged to another. You must believe that your heart can be mended."

"It cannot," Éowyn closed her eyes. "I had hoped to find death upon the field of battle, and death I found, but not my own. There is nothing left for me. Even the valiant halfling, entrusted to my care, is lost."

"No!" Éomer dropped his sister's hand and stood, reaching for his helm and sword. "What little I can mend, will be mended! I will find Merry and he shall be paid the honour due to him."

"No, please, take Merry down first!" Pippin might have almost surprised himself with his commanding tone, had he not been so worried. "Carefully! He's muttering something, but I don't think he's really awake."

Trwystan raised an eyebrow to his companion, Gwirion. "Do not fear, Master Halfling, we know our business."

As the two men lifted Merry from the horse's back, he cried out in alarm. "Help me, Pippin! I'm falling! Where are you?"

Pippin, not waiting for Trwystan's proffered arm, slid off Shadowfax and caught Merry's hand in his, "I'm here Merry, please don't fret."

Merry's head moved feverishly from side to side and his eyes fluttered as if trying to focus. His voice was muted and defeated. "Pippin? Are they going to bury me?"

"No, indeed!" Pippin took Merry's face in his hands and spoke quietly but firmly, "they are going to heal you, I promise!"

"Stand aside young perian," Trwystan ushered Pippin out of the way as he manoeuvred Merry into Gwirion's arms. "Had you not better see to that horse?"

"You can help him, can't you?" Pippin looked anxiously at Gwirion, who was laying Merry down upon a litter, "please, you must."

"We are not healers," Gwirion shook his head, "we are battle sore warriors assigned to help here until we may return to the field. There are many sick and dying people in this place, he will have to take his turn and his chance."

"But, surely there is something…" Pippin knelt beside Merry and saw that his face had taken on a grey pallor, "…Merry? You'll be all right, don't be afraid, they'll take care of you."

"Erm," Trwystan coughed ostentatiously, "the horse, I think you had better see to your steed."

Pippin suddenly remembered Gandalf's instructions, "Oh! I'm sorry." He jumped up and turned to their benefactor. "Thank you very much Shadowfax, Merry and I are most grateful."

Trwystan raised both eyebrows this time, "I meant, shouldn't you take it to the stable?" He and Gwirion lifted the pallet between them and suddenly Pippin was torn in two.

He could not abandon Shadowfax to go to the City gates alone, the guards would probably try to stop him, but neither could he let them take Merry inside without him, added to which, how was he to ensure Merry got the proper care? These two weary soldiers seemed inclined to leave his poor ailing cousin to take his chances, but Merry was a hero – Gandalf had said so himself!

As if fate had read his troubled mind, two figures miraculously appeared in the doorway.

Bergil had run back to see if his new friend needed any help. He looked from Merry on the litter to Pippin, who was hovering anxiously by the wizard's great horse. "Shall I take Shadowfax to the stables?" He asked, "I think he knows me well enough."

Behind him strode a tall, fair warrior that Pippin recognised from Rohan. It was the King's own nephew, Éomer! He paid no heed to Pippin or Bergil, but addressed the litter-bearers in a tone that bode no argument. "The perian! Let me take him. You are needed elsewhere."

Pippin was stunned for a moment, then quickly regaining his wits, took Bergil's hand. "Please, not to the stables, but could you escort Gandalf's steed to the City gates? Be sure no one delays or hinders him, I would be forever in your debt."

Bergil nodded and took his place beside the great horse, who immediately understood what was required and, with a farewell snort and toss of his noble head at Pippin, started back down towards the shattered gates. Bergil ran at his side, barely keeping up with the magnificent animal.

Éomer, ignoring the faint protests of Trwystan and Gwirion, gently scooped Merry up into his arms, cradling his head against his mighty chest. "Be at peace Rider of Rohan," he spoke firmly to Merry's incoherent murmurings, "Lord Aragorn is within and he has brought succour to my sister, just as he will to you."

"Will he find my grave at last?" Tears trickled down Merry's face, "I have longed for it to bring me peace. Do not let Pippin grieve, for he is of the living and I belong with the dead."

"Sir?" Éomer looked down at the touch to his elbow, "is it true?" Pippin's face was wrought with anxiety. "Did Strider heal the Lady Éowyn? Can he make Merry better?"

"He has healed her in body," Éomer spoke softly so as not to distress Merry further. "But her spirit remains in despair. Just as Merry is afflicted with this bitter malady, so Éowyn is riven with guilt and anguish."

"Oh," Pippin was even more deflated by this news, "so will she… I mean, might they both…?" He could not bring himself to say the words.

"We must have faith," Éomer smiled grimly, "that perhaps they will find hope in each other."

"Where is he?" Pippin climbed down once more from the bench beneath the high window and darted over to Merry's bedside. The last 30 minutes had seemed like an eternity to the hobbit. Éomer had carried Merry to a fair bedchamber on the third floor, where the window looked out over the corridors below. It was, in fact, the room of the herb-master and designed so that he could keep watch on the comings and goings within the Houses of Healing.

Leaving Merry in the charge of a healer, who bathed his wounds, and Pippin, who alternated holding his cousin's hand and running to look through the window, Éomer had gone in search of Aragorn and to break the news of Merry's discovery to Éowyn.

Pippin took Merry's cold hand in his and soothed his curls back from his ashen face. "Don't leave me Merry," he whispered, "Strider will come soon."

Merry made no response, even as the healer tightly bandaged a deep cut on his shield arm, gouged by the very orc that the hobbit had finally slain. "That will serve for now," the healer remarked to Pippin, "although I suspect there may be venom in that wound for which the herb-master's skill will be needed. These creatures often smear their weapons with the taint of foul toxins."

"Should I fetch him?" Pippin asked at once, "in case the poison should spread!"

"He will arrive in due course," the healer reassured him, "your comrade will not be overcome by this ill in the next few hours. Rather he needs the tending of the Lord Aragorn, or King as I have heard tell. He, and he alone, can bring healing for the poison that invades your friend's heart."

"But where is he?" Pippin climbed onto the bench once more and looked frantically over the winding passages below. "Why does he not come?"

"My apologies, Master Took," the serious voice made Pippin jump, first from his skin and then from the bench as he ran across the room to take Strider's hand. "I have been delayed by many calls upon my time. Had I known before Éomer came to find me that Merry lay sick, I would have come sooner."

"Oh Strider," Pippin was filled with relief and remorse for his impatience, "I am sorry! Ever since that night at Bree we have been a nuisance to you."

"Do not apologise Pippin," Aragorn laid a calming hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "but make yourself useful and find me some clean water that is boiled and bring it, still warm, to your cousin's bedside."

"I shall provide what is needed my Lord," the healer smiled, "please allow the perian to remain here; he has barely left his comrade's side, except to look for your coming."

"Of course," Aragorn nodded to the healer and went to Merry. He ran his hand lightly over the hobbit's brow. "Poor Meriadoc, you struck a blow in valour and it has returned upon you ten-fold. But do not let your heart dwell in shadow, return now to those who love and honour you. Merry? Come valiant Rider, find your way back to us."

Pippin hardly dared breathe. He hung tightly to the post of the great bed in which Merry lay, so still and white, and it suddenly struck Pippin how small and lost his cousin seemed in that vast bed; alone and childlike in this great world of Men.

"Merry?" Aragorn took the cold hand in his, "the battle for Minas Tirith is fought and won. You rode through the thick of the conflict as bravely as any Rider of Rohan, for such you are now named. Do not let the Shadow overwhelm your heart, fight back as the great warrior you have become."

Although Pippin knew Merry well deserved this praise, it seemed incongruous to speak to his dear cousin of wars and fighting. Pippin understood that Aragorn knew well the black shadow that threatened to overwhelm Merry's heart, but no one knew Merry's heart quite as well as Pippin himself did.

"Did he speak to you of aught? When you found him and brought him here? Pippin?"

Shaking his head from his reverie, Pippin realised that Strider was asking him a question, almost as if he had been reading his thoughts. "He did, but we spoke mostly of the Shire. He thought we were back there and it was haymaking time and that he was drunk on cider."

"Then you should remind him of that once more." Pippin looked up with surprise and saw that Aragorn was almost smiling. "I know that hobbits have gentle peace-loving hearts, valiant though you may be when tested. But now is the time for pleasant thoughts and sweet memories. Speak to him of those things again Pippin, for your words may bring healing too."

Aragorn guided the younger hobbit to curl up by his cousin on the great bed and, having a care for Merry's bandaged wound, Pippin wrapped his arms around Merry and whispered softly in his ear. "Merry? Merry we must awaken now. The sun is high and the day is warm. Can you hear the bees in the meadow? They are collecting honey from the pink clovers. You always said that pink clover makes the very best honey Merry. Shall we have some for our tea? Fresh bread, warm from the oven, with yellow butter and golden honey, that's what Uncle Bilbo always has for tea."

Pippin looked up briefly as the healer returned with a bowl of steaming water. Aragorn nodded for him to continue as he crumbled some leaves in his hand and dropped the fragments into the vapour.

"Or shall we lie here a little longer, under this haystack? The hay smells so sweet when it is newly mown. You lie here and rest Merry, and I'll run and pick you a posy of red poppies and blue cornflowers, just as I did when I was little, and you laughed as you wove the flowers into a crown to place on my head. You called me Thain Pippimus, King of the haystack; do you remember Merry?"

"How fares our smallest warrior?" The voice was low and Pippin had scarcely registered its owner, so intent was he upon Merry. He turned and saw that Gandalf had spoken and now stood with Éomer in the doorway.

"He is weary now, and grieved, and he has taken a hurt like the Lady Éowyn, daring to smite that deadly thing." Aragorn laid his hand on Merry's head and called him by name once more.

"Merry? Come Merry," Aragorn ran his hand through the fair curls just as the scent of athelas stole through the room. "Wake Merry, waken to a new dawn."

"Can you smell the blossom Merry?" Pippin felt his own heart lift as the sweet fragrance brought memories of home. "The orchard is in full bloom, there will be a fine crop this year. See how the petals carpet the grass with white, like a deep and perfect fall of snow. Almost as if Thluggul the Yuletide dragon was coming, you remember Merry? To fill our sacks with presents and we would sit before the blazing Yule log and feast on chestnuts and mince pies and you would steal sips of mulled wine when your mum wasn't looking. And Brandy Hall would be ablaze with laughter and songs and tales of old. Can you smell the warm spices, the nutmeg and cinnamon in the Yulepudding, can you Merry?"

As Pippin spoke the greyness started to leave Merry's face and he finally murmured, "Yes Pip, I remember", until at last, as Aragorn gently called to him once more, his eyes opened wide, and he said:

"I am hungry. What is the time?"

"Merry!" Pippin almost shouted in joy. "Trust you to think first of food."

"You should not be so surprised Peregrin Took," Gandalf gave a knowing wink to Éomer and Aragorn. "It is practically all you have spoken of to your cousin since I arrived here."

For Frodo and Sam!

Author: Llinos
Beta: Marigold

"But I should be ashamed to be left behind," Merry sat on the edge of a bench in the great hall, his feet swinging impatiently, as a healer replaced the bandage on his wounded shield arm. He looked plaintively up at Aragorn. "Please do not consign me to unwanted baggage once more."

"You are not fit for such a journey," said Aragorn. "But do not be ashamed. If you do no more in this war, you have already earned great honour."

"From what Pip told me," Merry glanced over at his cousin, who was already clad in his full armour, "the march to the Black Gate is a distraction, to give Frodo and Sam a longer chance, not a full battle."

"I'm afraid that Master Peregrin Took," Gandalf cast a knowing look at Pippin, "has understated the desperation of this venture."

"Gandalf is right," Éomer added bluntly, "it is the final endeavour! If this fails, then all is lost."

"Pip?"

"Well, I didn't want you to worry Merry," Pippin confessed, "I knew you would try to stop me from going, or insist on going yourself, and honestly Merry, you're not well enough yet."

"Yet!" Merry's voice was growing tense with frustration, "there isn't any time for 'yet'! If this is the last battle, please don't deny me my part in it."

"I thought I'd lost you before, Merry," Pippin pulled off his gauntlet so he could take his cousin's hand. "Don't make it true, please, I couldn't bear it."

"And what if I lost you, Pip?" Merry's voice calmed as he tried to squeeze Pippin's hand in turn, but his right hand still had little feeling. He hoped Pippin would not notice his lack of response. "How would it be, if anything happened to you, and Frodo and Sam never returned, and I had sat here and done nothing? Would you die happy, knowing that?"

Pippin shook his head but said nothing. There was no answer to such a question.

The healer finished his work and patted the newly bandaged arm gently. "There, that is mending well Master Perian."

"Thank you Mr Dysgwr," Merry had grown to know and like this healer while he was confined to bed. "So I'm fit enough to join the march?"

"I am merely a physician, not a soldier," Dysgwr said diplomatically. "It is not for me to order troops into or out of battle, just to repair them. I bid you take care Meriadoc, that is all!" He left quickly before he could be drawn into the debate.

"Merry," Aragorn raised both eyebrows, slightly alleviating his stern expression, "I strongly suspect you have enlisted the neutrality of Master Dysgwr. Nevertheless, you are not well enough to join this battle. Your shield arm still requires a bandage, your sword arm is barely healed, and…" Aragorn placed two fingers beneath Merry's chin and gently tilted the hobbit's face up, "…the shadows beneath your eyes show me you have not slept with any peace, to say nothing of the bruises that still darken your face. You are not healed enough for a fight such as this."

"Éowyn was bereft when she thought you were lost," Éomer said quietly. "Please do not add to her distress by putting yourself in such danger again."

"But Éowyn would go herself if she could!" Merry said defiantly. "She told me, she desired nothing more than to fill an empty saddle of some fallen Rider, but her body is too broken," Merry glanced up at Aragorn, then looked away, as if he knew more than he said, "and her heart is empty too."

"She is a noble and valiant shield maiden," Aragorn agreed. "I do not doubt her bravery, nor do I doubt yours Merry. But now is not the time for you to take arms again."

"Meriadoc, you are a brave soldier, and so you have proven," Gandalf shook his head, "but be a little gentle on yourself. Do not let your intrepid spirit force your injured body to take on this fight."

"It would be a lie to say I am fully healed," Merry admitted despondently, "and I daresay that one small, injured hobbit will make little difference to the outcome of this war."

Merry looked steadfastly at the concerned faces around him. Gandalf, magnificent in his gleaming white robes; Aragorn, regal and strong, but still filled with compassion. Éomer, his noble bearing well befitting his new role as King of Rohan. Even Pippin seemed filled with majesty, grown taller from the Ent draught and proudly bearing the arms of the Guard of Minas Tirith, betrayed only by the tears that filled his eyes at his cousin's plight.

"But what of Frodo and Sam?" Merry said quietly. "They are just two hobbits, set alone in that terrible wilderness, with all resting upon their shoulders."

"Merry, I understand," Aragorn explained, "but your injuries could prove a hazard to others, as well as to you. Would you risk that?"

"Does a soldier throw down his arms if he is wounded in battle?" Merry countered. "Or does he fight on, for his country and comrades? Perhaps I can do little in such a war, but what little that may be, please do not deny me the right to fight for those I love."

"Meriadoc, Knight of the Mark I shall dub thee," Éomer said solemnly. "Well you served Théoden King as his esquire, and protected my fair sister with such gallantry that I am now deeply ashamed I ever doubted your prowess. But your honour is won, there is no need to prove further that you are brave and valiant."

"I thank you Éomer King," Merry lifted his head proudly, "But it is not for me that I wish to fight; it is for my own kin. Frodo and I grew up as brothers; Sam has been my friend for many years and Pippin… Pippin is the twin of my soul. Would you Éomer, sit idly by, even wounded, if Éowyn were marching to battle?"

Éomer's eyes flashed as suddenly he realised the depth of Merry's loyalty and love. Before any of the assembled company could speak he drew his sword, and commanded, "Kneel, Meriadoc, son of Saradoc!"

Merry slid from the bench, waving off Pippin's proffered arm, and sank to his knees before the new King. Éomer tapped him lightly with the sword on each shoulder and said, "Swear you allegiance to Rohan? To protect and serve her people, to command and be commanded, to honour her King and lay down your life in the defence of the King's Realm?"

"I swear!" Merry looked up with proud defiance in his eyes, "As long as I shall live, my King, my sword and my body are yours to command."

"Then arise, Sir Meriadoc, Knight of the Mark," Éomer held out his hand, and Merry took it, rising on slightly wobbly legs, to stand before his King. "And now, Sir Meriadoc," Éomer said with a grim smile, "my first command to you is that you ride pillion with me to the last battle."

"Éomer?" Aragorn frowned, "is this wise?"

"It is his right," Éomer replied, "and he is now under my command, so there is no more to be said." He turned back to Merry, "Knight of Rohan, get you to the armourer at once and report back to me when you are suitably attired as befits your station."

"Sire." Merry bowed and then cheekily winked at Gandalf as he linked Pippin's arm. "All right Pip?" He whispered.

"All right Merry, you stubborn fool," Pippin muttered back, "we're both going to war."

"For Frodo and Sam!"

"Aye," Pippin squeezed Merry's hand, his love and admiration for his brave cousin grown even greater than he thought possible. "For Frodo and Sam!"

 -The End-