The silver bells sounded far away in the Tower of Ecthelion-one, two, three, four, five, six sharp peals-the sixth hour after sunrise, and the old soldier of Rohan stirred and looked up from the book in his lap. My, where had the time gone? Pippin was supposed to be meeting him for elevensies, and here it was twelve o’ clock and no Pip in sight. “Late again,” Merry muttered. “Why am I not surprised? He’s never been on time in his life.”

“Guess who?” A hand placed over his eyes suddenly blotted out the bright day. “I heard that, cousin. I’m nearly one hundred years old, but I’ve not gone deaf yet.”

Merry grinned and gave the hand a gentle slap. “Ah, the truth hurts.”

Pippin came around to the other side of the bench. He was very old and bent and leaning on a cane, and the curly hair on his head and feet was entirely white. He had an enormous basket over one arm and he grunted as he hefted it up onto the bench. “Well, I drag this basket all this way, and this is the welcome I get? I like that! It’s quite heavy, you know, and the streets of Minas Tirith haven’t got any less steep over time.” He sounded put out, but Merry knew he wasn’t really angry.

Merry put aside his book and lifted the linen napkin covering the top of the basket. It was loaded to the brim with good things: Bread, fruit, cheese, cold roast meats, a bottle of wine, cups and utensils, and a truly enormous pile of small, iced cakes. “Good gracious! You have enough here for an army of hobbits! Very well done, and my sincere apologies. Wherever did you get it all?”

“Oh, here and there,” Pippin said vaguely. “There was even more to begin with, but I felt peckish and ate a bit on the way.”

“Hm, I can well imagine.” Pippin had been tall and lanky in his youth and considered a bit too reedy and slim, as hobbits go, but good food, a healthy appetite, and a comfortable old age had all conspired to make him rather plump, and when he dressed for formal occasions the sable and silver of the Tower Guard stretched tightly over the gentle mound of his well-fed stomach.

“None of your cheek, now,” Pippin said, seeing the amusement in Merry’s faded blue eyes. “Eat.”

Merry laughed and they fell to. Merry had once been a stocky hobbit with rosy apple-cheeks, but now he was very, very old and had grown rather thin. He hadn’t felt much like eating over the past few months they had been in Gondor. It is no less terrible to lose a good friend in old age than it is in youth, and the death of his old friend, Eomer, King of Rohan, the year before, although not at all unexpected, had hit him very hard. Now it seemed Pippin was constantly shoving a plate of food at Merry’s face, or arranging picnics in the open air to tempt his appetite. He did his best to do justice to the feast, for Pippin’s sake, although he didn’t feel very hungry. They ate and drank in silence, for the most part; long years of close companionship meant there was little need for idle chitchat, and Pippin worked his way steadily down through the pile of cakes.

They were high up in the levels of the White City, in the overgrown gardens of the old Houses of Healing. It had been abandoned long ago, and a better, more modern House built elsewhere, and it had seemed a fine and private place for their picnic-far removed from the bustle and splendor of the palace gardens, and although not as grand it was very homely and Shire-like.

Pippin smiled and closed his eyes, swinging his short legs as he sat on the bench and turning his face up to the sun. Merry had a strange feeling of time collapsing in on itself. Take away the white hair and the cane and Pippin would seem no older than the lad who had sat on this bench with him so long ago, when they had both been so young, and the city beset by foes on every side, and the future deep in doubt.

“Take away my cane and I’m likely to fall flat on my face,” Pippin said.

Merry was startled. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“My dear cousin,” Pippin said patiently. “You said nearly the same thing to me this morning. ‘Why Pip, if I took away your white hair and your cane, you’d look no older to me than the little lad who was always following me about with his thumb in his mouth, forever asking ‘why’!”

“Did I say that? Dear, my memory is slipping.” Merry sighed. “Ah, the horrors of old age.”

Pippin patted his hand. “Poor old fellow. Have another tea cake to console yourself.”

“Rather difficult, that,” Merry said, peering into the basket. “Seems a certain fat old hobbit has eaten them all.”

“Oh.” Pippin looked contrite, but a deep, rumbling belch spoiled the effect. “Heavens. Pardon me.”

“I’m certainly trying my best.” It was an old joke, and they smiled fondly at each other. The distant sounds of the city came to their ears, the cries of gulls over the Anduin many hundreds of feet below where they were sitting, and the sighing of the wind through the long, brown grass. “Windy today,” Merry remarked. “Very fine, warm weather, though, for autumn.”

“Yes, quite,” Pippin said. “I hope it stays warm and dry till winter.” Damp, rainy weather made his ribs ache.

“I predict a sudden storm,” said a deep, amused voice behind them. Merry and Pippin turned to see Legolas the Elf, standing with his arms folded and looking very stern, although his eyes were smiling. He was richly dressed in green and brown and gold, and like his lordly father far away in Eryn Lasgalen, he wore a crown of autumn leaves on his fair head, for he was a Lord of Elves now, ruling his own colony of the Fair Folk in Ithilien. “And I predict that it shall break here, right over the woolly white head of a certain light-fingered hobbit, who dared to rob the pantry of the king and gallop away with the meal and dainties meant for an embassy of Ladies and Princes of Dol Amroth. King Elessar and Queen Undomiel now sit with them and make polite conversation, while they sip a poor vintage of wine and nibble on dry cakes.”

“I’d hardly call it a gallop,” Pippin said dryly, rising up to greet him. “I really didn't go much faster than a slow trot."

Merry turned white. “Oh Pippin, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did. And don’t look at me like that. How was I to know whom it was meant for? It’s not as though it had a tag on it.”

Legolas heaved a deep, pained sigh. “I have heard of mortals that in their extreme old age they become as children, and fall again into the habits of their youth, but I did not know that it was also true of hobbits. Ah, well.” Color had risen into Merry’s cheeks, and Pippin was looking around at everything but Legolas’s face and digging his toe into the dirt. We must look like a couple of tweens caught in the beer cellar at Yule, Merry thought. “Ah, well,” Legolas said again, and Merry got the impression that he was trying desperately not to laugh. “Though I have only just arrived, the king himself sent me to search for you, for the fair young folk of Dol Amroth very much wish to meet the aged Halfling Princes from a far off land, being innocent of the knowledge of the theft of their meal. Let us not keep them waiting any longer, shall we?”

“Half a moment,” Merry said, scowling darkly at Pippin, who ignored him. “Just let me get my book.” He went to the bench and tucked the book under his arm. Pippin, his face innocent and untroubled by guilt, began to put the odds and ends of their stolen repast back into the basket. He lifted the basket, but then dropped it just as quickly. His face had turned pale and he was clutching his stomach. He staggered a little, and Legolas came forward quickly and took his arm.

Merry was on the other side and Pippin fell heavily against him. “Steady, old lad. Lean on me, now. Are you all right?”

“No, I don’t think I am.” Beads of sweat had appeared on his upper lip.

Legolas bent down to lift Pippin into his arms. “I will carry you-”

“No!” Pippin gasped. “No, please don’t, it hurts too much. Just let me lie down a bit and I’ll be better.”

Legolas and Merry managed to guide Pippin to the shade of an ancient beech tree, where the grass was deep and thick with fallen leaves, and the great roots, like old, gnarled hands, were lifting up the mossy stones of the wall behind it. Pippin sank down with a groan and Merry sat beside him and held his hand. It felt clammy and far too cool for Merry’s liking.

Legolas placed one of his own long white hands on Pippin’s damp forehead. “Perhaps it is merely the heat of the day, or overexertion, but for safety’s sake, I will fetch the king.”

“Hurry,” Merry said, looking down at Pippin’s pale face. When he glanced up again Legolas had gone and they were alone.

They seemed to sit like that for a very long while. Merry knew the Citadel was rather far away, and even Legolas’s swift feet would take some time to carry him there, but he felt ever more anxious as the minutes dragged by. Pippin sighed, and Merry lifted his age-spotted hand and pressed it between his own. “Poor old Pip! Does it hurt very much?”

“Not so much, now that I’m lying down flat,” Pippin murmured. “You know, this isn’t really so bad. It doesn’t hurt terribly, and you’re here, and it’s very peaceful.” He closed his eyes against the bright flecks of sun filtering down through the leaves.

Merry was frightened. “Pippin! Don’t go to sleep!” Pippin didn’t respond. Merry looked around, desperately searching for something, anything, for Pippin to focus on, something to keep him in the world. The long grass swayed, leaves blew around in gusts of wind. Over by the bench the ants were coming to investigate the scattered contents of the basket, and the pages of Merry’s book fluttered in the breeze. Merry squeezed Pippin’s hand. “Pippin, you can’t die today! I haven’t finished reading my book!”

Pippin opened his eyes. “Now really cousin, what on earth does that have to do with me?”

Merry was trying to collect his panic-stricken thoughts to form a suitable reply, but just at that moment he saw Legolas come into sight, King Elessar close on his heels. The king was finely clothed in garments of black and silver, and he wore a simple crown of silver on his dark hair, now touched with gray. Behind him trailed the queen herself, Arwen Undomiel, a vision of lovely womanhood in scarlet and gold. To Merry’s utter astonishment, she was followed by several ladies-in-waiting, a half-dozen men of the guard, and a gaggle of handsome, well-dressed young people-the Ladies and Princes of Dol Amroth! -With their numerous noble and elderly chaperones in tow.

Pippin turned his head to look in the direction of Merry’s bug-eyed gaze and his pale face grew even whiter. “Oh stars,” he moaned feebly as the crowd descended. “Must I perish before an audience?”

The crowd of fine folk might have trampled Merry and Pippin in their nervous excitement and desire to be of help, had not Legolas and the guards held them back. The queen sat down beside Pippin and lifted his head into her lap. The king knelt down next to him and felt his face and limbs, placing a hand on his chest to feel the beating of his heart. “How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know, not so very long.” Merry felt miserable. His own heart was beating like a drum, and he couldn’t seem to think. “Can you help him?”

The king went on with his examination, looking very grave, and Merry felt heartsick. But then the king’s face brightened, as if a shadow of fear had passed away. “I believe I can. Pippin, is the pain here?” He pressed gently on Pippin’s stomach. Pippin yelped and nodded. The queen made soothing noises and petted his cheek, and the wings of her long, dark hair brushed his face. She smelled wonderful, like a garden of flowers in midsummer after a rain. It will be almost worthwhile to die in such a fashion, if she will only keep doing that, Pippin thought.

The king sat back. “Pippin, what have you eaten today?”

“Oh, some rolls, and sausages, and porridge this morning, a few apples and pears for a light second breakfast, some cheese, some wine and cakes-”

“Hm. How many cakes?”

“Six,” Pippin said firmly. The king raised an eyebrow. “Twelve. Oh very well-fourteen or so. I wasn’t counting.”

Even Merry looked astonished. “Well,” the king said, exchanging an amused look with his queen. “I have seen this ailment before. Overindulgence in rich food and drink is the cause, and simpler foods and bed rest are the cure. My dear hobbit, you have nothing more serious wrong with you than a severe stomachache from eating too many sweet things! Consider it justice and punishment from on high for your misdeed in taking what did not belong to you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have never felt so humiliated in all my life!” Merry said.

“How do you think I feel?” Pippin said. Evening was drawing a dark curtain around the White City, and Merry and Pippin were back in their rooms at the palace. Pippin was sitting up in bed and looked mournful. A tray with a cup and an empty bowl was on the table next to the bed. The king had ordered Pippin to bed and, much to his dismay, condemned him to a diet of broth, bread, and water for the next several days. He had been carried back to the Court of the White Tree in the king’s own arms, and seemingly trailed by the entire population of Minas Tirith. “Being carried at the head of a parade with the entire city gawking at me! I felt like the prize-winning piglet at the Overlithe Fair.”

“Prize-winning ass, is more like it,” Merry said. He was still fully dressed but had removed his waistcoat and unbuttoned his collar, and he was stamping around the room, putting Pippin’s clothes back in the wardrobe and building up the fire. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, carrying on like that and frightening everyone half to death over nothing.”

“It didn’t feel like nothing,” Pippin said. Merry merely grunted and flung down the poker, then threw himself into an armchair and sat with his back turned, staring into the fire. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you, but it really did hurt.” Merry remained silent. Pippin thrashed about and kicked the covers off, then struggled to crawl out of bed. He picked up his cane from where it was leaning against the washstand and hobbled over to where Merry was sitting. If he left him alone Merry was likely to sit up all night brooding until he fell asleep in the chair, and then he would be stiff and chilled to the bone in the morning. “Merry? I really am dreadfully sorry; please don’t be angry with me anymore.”

He put his hand on Merry’s shoulder and leaned around to peer into his face. To his horror, he found that Merry had tears in his eyes. “We’re coming to the end of our road, Pip.” Merry said. “I’m tired, and my arm aches, and I miss Estella so much. I’m ready. But you, Pippin! You’re eternal, like the sun in the morning and the stars at night. I’m so very fond of you, and I’m not ready for you to go on ahead without me, I’ll never be ready. You are all I have left in this world.”

Pippin felt tears sting his own eyes. “Poor old Merry!” He put his arm around Merry’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Wherever I go, that’s where you’re going, too, but I’m not going anywhere, not today at any rate. I really did frighten you, didn’t I? I am so sorry I could just kick myself! Here, use my handkerchief.” He patted his sides, fruitlessly searching, then realized he was in his nightclothes and had neither pockets nor handkerchief. “Oh well, use my sleeve, there’s a good fellow. Let’s just get some sleep, and we won’t talk about this anymore.”

Merry laughed with the tears still in his eyes and wiped his face on Pippin’s sleeve. That had always been Pippin’s gift: To bring out laughter through tears, like the sun coming out after a storm. Merry felt worn out, and it seemed like a bother to go back to his own room and climb into a cold bed, so Pippin pulled him over to the wardrobe, helped him off with his clothes and gave him one of his old nightshirts to wear. It was a good fit-Pippin and Merry were about the same size, although Merry had shrunken somewhat with age, and Pippin had grown stouter.

The bed was warm and deep and wonderfully soft, and the pillows smelled like the sweet herbs the maids had tucked into them when they were stored. Pippin was just falling asleep when he heard Merry say, “I can’t help but wonder what it’s like, sometimes…”

Pippin rolled over. “Wonder about what?”

Merry was on his back staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest, fingers laced together, and the room was tinted red and gold with the half-light of the sinking fire. “I wonder what it’s like…” His voice dropped down low. “To go, to pass away. Where will we end up?”

Pippin sighed. He had said they wouldn’t talk about it anymore, but he’d never get any sleep at this rate if they didn’t talk. He put his small, warm hand over Merry’s laced fingers. “Dear Merry. Since we are both so very old, I’ve always imagined it will be somewhat like today, like lying down in the warm sun and falling asleep, and when we wake we will be in some far, green country we‘ve never seen. Everyone we have ever cared about will be there waiting. My sweet Diamond, and your dear Estella, and old Bilbo, and Frodo and Sam, and Boromir-”

“And Mam and Dad,” Merry whispered.

"And my parents, and my sisters. And who knows? Perhaps even Gandalf, and Legolas, and Gimli will be there too, in time. It will be so wonderful, all of us together again at last."

Oh, if only that could be so. "You really, truly believe that, don't you?" Merry whispered.

"Yes indeed, I really, truly do," Pippin yawned. "Now go to sleep."

Merry sighed and took up the hand that lay on his own, and kissed it.

"Yes, yes," Pippin said affectionately, his voice fading as he fell into sleep. "I know."

Merry lay awake in the dark for a long while and listened to the familiar sound of Pip’s quiet breathing. When he finally drifted away he fell into a sweet dream of warmth and peace, of a veil of silver rain drawn back, and the shore of a far, green country coming into view under a swift sunrise.

The End.