In which the third time very nearly pays for all…

Many thanks to the inestimable Llinos for the beta and all sorts of helpful poking, additions, comments and criticisms! : )

Falling Into Shadow

By Marigold

 

"Merry?" Pippin questioned softly. "Are you all right?"

Merry looked at him mutely, and then to Pippin's dismay Merry's knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

"Merry!" Pippin rushed to his side. "What's wrong?" His cousin made no answer and Pippin lunged for the door. "Just hang on Merry, I'll get help!"

"No!" Merry managed to gasp, and Pippin, torn in two, dropped down beside him.

"You're ill Merry. I need to get some help. Maybe Strider…"

Merry shook his head, dazed but determined. "Fro-Frodo needs them Pip. 'I-I'm all right."

Pippin hovered uncertainly for a moment. Merry was clearly *not* all right, but if he had been in his cousin's place he too would not have wished to distract anyone with healing abilities from their desperate effort to save Frodo. They were all with poor Frodo right now, Strider, Lord Elrond, and several other grave elves. Even Gandalf had been waiting anxiously when their ragged party had arrived at the Last Homely House and had carried Frodo to his room himself.

In spite of exhaustion, fear for Frodo and the terror of facing down the Black Riders at the Ford, Merry had seemed to all outward appearances to have borne up as well as any of them. But, Pippin realised, now that he had time to think, Merry had scarcely spoken a word since the Ford, not even to thank the elves that had met them and escorted them the rest of the way to the House. That was most unlike Merry, who was always well-spoken and polite even under the worst of circumstances.

It had been Merry who had reached for the comfort of Pippin’s hand as they had been led through confusing corridors, rather than the other way around. And his cousin had stood dazedly just inside the door when their elven guide had shown them into this grand room, not even seeming to be aware of his surroundings. He had shown no interest when the elf had indicated the door to their private bath chamber or explained the workings of the shutters on the floor to ceiling windows, had not even seemed to care to learn that supper would be brought to them soon.

Now that they were alone, with Frodo finally receiving the best of care, Merry's face had gone a ghastly shade of grey and he was trembling. Even as Pippin held him, irresolute, Merry seemed to be turning inwards upon himself, his eyes dimming and his breathing growing shallow.

Terrified, Pippin made his decision; this dear cousin too needed help beyond that he himself could give. Gently easing Merry down to lie upon the floor, Pippin dashed from the room. There must be someone with greater wisdom than his to spare in this great place – perhaps he could find Lord Glorfindel…

*****

"It was well that you sought aid for your cousin," Glorfindel said. He placed the limp perian upon one of the beds, gravely concerned. He had understood at once what ailed Meriadoc, but he did not wish to deepen the fright of the young one who had come upon him in the corridor, nearly frantic with distress.

Pippin hovered anxiously at Glorfindel’s elbow. "Oh please, what is wrong with him?” Merry was completely unconscious now, his face ashen and his breaths even shallower and coming too far apart. Pippin looked up at the elf, tears in his eyes.  “Please, can you do something to help him?"

Glorfindel looked down at the ill perian in apprehension. He had not seen a case of the Black Breath in many mortal lifetimes but this was unmistakable. He should hardly be surprised; from what Estel had said this young one had been seriously exposed in Bree and again on Amon Sûl before even they came to the Ford. If Peregrin had not come in search of help this almost certainly would have ended in tragedy.  It still could; Glorfindel had seen the worst happen far too many times.

This afternoon Meriadoc had been in the very fore of the battle to drive the Nazgûl and their horses back into the raging Bruinen. The other periain had been no less fierce in their determination, but Meriadoc had dashed for the river ahead of any of his companions, when his torches were scarcely kindled. He had reached the bank at the same time as Glorfindel and Estel, despite their longer strides, Peregrin and Samwise following behind. When the incensed Nazgûl first wheeled their frenzied horses around, desperate to make their escape, Meriadoc had been grimly waiting for them alongside the elf and man. More than once Glorfindel had been sure the perian would be trampled as Merry fiercely wielded a burning brand in each hand under the very noses of the deadly Wraiths.

Three times…and the effects of the Black Breath are cumulative after all. The elf chided himself for letting his fear for Frodo blind him to the likelihood that the other periain were also suffering. But Glorfindel knew that they would have protested any delay in seeking aid for Frodo. When he had seen to caring for Meriadoc - and Peregrin - he would look in to see how Samwise fared.

Glorfindel placed a gentle hand on Merry’s brow and sensed with relief that the perian was with them still; he wandered on the edges of evil dreams, but was not yet fully in their grip. The Black Breath was dangerous and insidious, but Glorfindel had hope that Merry could be healed. It had been some hours since the rout at the Ford and that he had not yet succumbed more deeply was a very good sign. He was not raving and his body was not chilled.

Though Merry was exhausted and clearly balancing himself on a knife’s edge, concentrating all of his will to the task of not toppling over into Darkness, he was holding his own. Many strong warriors the elf had known could not have faced Nazgûl at such close quarters and lived to tell the tale, yet this small being had done so twice; Glorfindel would do all in his power to make it thrice.

The elf couldn’t help thinking about the prophecy he had himself made so long ago. If pressed, this steadfast little one might have the spirit to strike down the Witch-king himself. Even as the thought came to him Glorfindel rejected it as, although this was no man, it was still too fantastic even to imagine. And Merry would almost certainly not survive such a deadly encounter. Relieved that such a confrontation would never take place, Glorfindel turned his mind back to the here and now.

The elf lord looked down at Pippin. "I will do what I can, but there will be much for you to do as well."

Pippin swiped at his tears and squared his shoulders. “Anything. What must I do?”

“I will endeavour to call him back. Then it will be up to you, who know and love him as a brother. You must talk to him. Keep him with us. I believe that he is not so…ill…that he will fail to respond to your familiar voice.”

“Is that all? There is nothing I would not do for Merry.” Peregrin looked as if he wished that there were a handy dragon to slay on this kinsman’s behalf.

“I doubt it not, young one. I have seen your bond as we travelled together. But I believe that between us our healing should be enough.” So I hope, at least, thought Glorfindel. If not, I will have to seek Elrond’s aid as soon as he may be spared to leave Frodo’s side. And Peregrin; how do you fare smallest one, both you and Samwise? I have no doubt that the frost of the Nazgûl touched you also, though not so gravely. Alas Meriadoc! This last encounter has pushed you almost to the limit of your endurance.  

Glorfindel gazed at Pippin intently and, as if aware that he himself was being assessed, the little one drew himself up as tall as he could manage. “I shall do as you say. But what if it doesn’t help?”

The elf smiled gently. “It will help, Peregrin. What afflicts your cousin can often be diminished by the love and encouragement of someone most dear, and that you can give him more than any other. But first I must do my part.”

Glorfindel bent over Merry, his hand still on his brow. As Pippin watched, a comforting light, far different from the blazing fury they had witnessed at the Ford, seemed to encompass the elf lord, spreading to engulf Merry and Pippin both.

The elf whispered words that Pippin could not quite understand and to his relief some of the greyness left Merry’s face and his cousin’s breathing seemed easier. For several long minutes Glorfindel did not stir, then finally he sighed, as if satisfied, and withdrew his hand.

The otherworldly light vanished and Pippin found himself blinking at the sudden loss of its healing comfort. He was startled to realise that he felt better somehow, though he had not realised before that he had not felt quite himself, at least, beyond being so very, very tired. Pippin was still tired, but he felt somehow refreshed and more able to face what he must.

“There.” The elf lord placed a gentle hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “I have lent him a little strength to aid in his healing, the rest will be up to you – and to Meriadoc himself. He should awaken shortly and you must not let him sleep again, not yet.”

“But he is so awfully tired.” Pippin looked at Merry sympathetically. His cousin’s face had lost its greyish cast but he was frightfully pale, and even in slumber Merry looked exhausted and careworn. These past weeks had been difficult and, as always, Merry had taken on more than his share of the worry and responsibilities.

Glorfindel gave Pippin’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “As are you, and it sorrows me to keep you both from rest. But until Meriadoc has come back to himself at least a little, sleep would not be wise. If you would like to help him to bathe, I shall see to it that your evening meal is waiting when you have finished. After that, if you are satisfied that your kinsman is recovering, you may sleep. And you will both sleep all the better after a bath, a hot meal and a pipe. Or so a hobbit of my acquaintance has told me many times.”

Pippin stared at Glorfindel in surprise. “You know a hobbit? Who?”

Glorfindel smiled to himself, satisfied that he had given Pippin something that would keep him and Merry awake and distracted for an hour or two. “Ah, that secret is not mine to reveal, though you shall learn it soon enough. An elf will be just outside your door all through this night should you need to send for me, but I think that Merry should soon be feeling better. I shall visit you again in the morning to see how he fares.”

Pippin walked him to the door with a brave face, though he was apprehensive at being left alone with such a grave responsibility. “Thank you for coming, sir. I am forever in your debt. I was so worried, with Merry ill too, and Frodo so poorly…”

“Do not fear for your cousin, Peregrin.” Glorfindel paused with his hand upon the doorhandle. “He is very strong, in body and will. I know that he is in the best of hands, and the worst is over.”

“Frodo will be all right, now,” Pippin said stoutly. “I know that Lord Elrond and Strider and everyone will make him better.”

”Frodo was not the cousin that I spoke of.” He smiled at Pippin, “But, yes, he too is in the best of hands.”

Pippin blushed. He loved his Merry more than he loved anyone, but he was not nearly so certain as Glorfindel seemed to be that he could do a good enough job looking after his cousin properly – it had always been the other way around. He would do his best, but what if his best was not good enough?

He was saved for the moment from these distressing thoughts by Merry’s loud yawn and a mumbled “Pip?”

Pippin grasped Glorfindel’s hand in gratitude, then turned and dashed to his cousin’s side. 

“Merry!”