Disclaimer - Trust me when I say that I'm not making any money from this! If this was mine then I probably would be, so I'm sure you an figure the rest out for yourself...

A/N - Here's chapter 3! Reviewer thanks at the end! Oh yes - set during RotK!

Chapter 3 - Theories of light

In childhood, and indeed for long after, night and the dawn are thought of as times of great healing and cleansing. A problem would be 'slept on', safe in the knowledge that everything would be all right in the morning. When Merry awoke at midday, there was no morning. The broken sleep, which had temporarily erased all dark thoughts, had failed to ward off the thick, stifling air that greeted him It appeared that dawn had forgotten to come and the sun had not risen: the hue of the shadow had simply shifted faintly. Everything seemed grey or monochrome and, as he raised his hand in front of his face to check that he had not died, Merry was alarmed to find that it looked gaunt and lifeless - as if all of the colour had been sucked out of it. He quickly lowered his hand, sank back into his pillows and shut his eyes, consequently failing to see that he had a visitor.

Ioreth bustled about the Houses of Healing that morning much as she had always done, paying little heed to the shadow. They were dark times, yes, but she had faith in the secret King. With the ancient power of the Kings he had healed three victims of a crueller ailment than any she had seen before, and with the ancient power of Kings he would attempt a battle greater than any that would ever come again. Her trust overcame fear.

She approached the room of the halfling with some care however, as he was of a race that she had no experience or indeed knowledge of, yet he seemed to be a powerful being. Balancing the bowl of kingsfoil and a lit candle carefully in one arm, Ioreth pushed open the door of the room. She had not expected the shadow to have lifted at all, yet she was surprised at the intensity of the air in the room where her young charge resided. Was there a reason for the special attention the shadow seemed to pay to the halfling? Perhaps it knew something about this remarkable race that she didn't. Keeping the candle's dim flame close to her, she walked across the cool stone floor and found the pitcher that was set down by the bed. Athelas would surely lift the gloom.

As the wholesome fragrance filled the space, Merry opened his eyes. It seemed that the shadow had been forced out of the confines of the Houses of Healing and a small amount of light had been revealed. Merry blinked, clearing his vision, and looked into the smiling face of the healer. Maybe things always did improve in the morning, for Merry felt a sudden life fill his being.

"You should be able to walk about the city today, Master Meriadoc," Ioreth informed him, the smile not leaving her face. Oh for the wonders of the King, she thought, thanking him silently for the knowledge of Athelas.

"Thank you Mistress," replied Merry, wording his phrases with care as not to seem uncouth or childlike to this woman of noble men, "I should like that very much."

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The denseness of the shadow seemed to have decreased further as Merry left the central circles of the white city. It was still present, certainly, but was less noticeable to the hobbit's eyes. Perhaps, he mused, the shadow as he saw it moved in empathy with the journey of the Ringbearer and his companion. It deepened when they were in peril and lessened when their journey advanced. Merry smiled. A nice thought, but most probably not true. Perhaps then it reflected the mood of the Dark Lord. In this case should all be worried as, if the shadow had conceded, the Dark Lord may be closing in on victory? Merry dismissed this thought with a shake of his head as he arrived at his destination. Unknowingly, he had arrived at one of the places Pippin had sat and contemplated at during his time in the city. Comfort was brought to Merry because of this, but he could not place its reason.

A shaft of sunlight escaped from behind the storm clouds that had settled themselves above the shadow and illuminated the city. Merry glanced up and turned his head to seek the view. Light seemed to bounce from the roofs of the white buildings and then catch itself on the many discarded weapons. The battlefield, where many had so bravely fought, was revealed and Merry caught sight of the grass that was growing there already. Life was still continuing.

A single pinpoint figure was what next attracted the attention of the hobbit. It moved slowly and erratically at first, but soon sped up - the sight of its destination an inspiration to continue. As it neared the gates of the city, Merry was able to identify the armour it bore as that of Gondor: something that brought a sudden feeling of panic to his heart. Was this the lone survivor of a great and terrible battle? The herald of death. Merry shuddered - such a terrible task to have to be the informant of a loved one's death. Then he came to a realisation. The only one to have escaped with his life. Pippin was in the battle. And Aragorn, and Legolas, and Gimli......

A jolt in his stomach forced Merry to open his eyes and confront the swirling mass of colours that faced his nauseous form. Then the colours ceased and the light went out.

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The peaceful sleep Merry had lain in was interrupted with the feeling that there was something he had forgotten. The sight of tarnished armour in his line of vision acted as a reminder. The lone soldier. The death of his friends.

"I think he's stirring." The armoured form spoke softly to an invisible companion who evidently was stood nearby.

"Should we just leave him there, or try and find his parents and return him to them?"

"Return me to my parents?" said Merry, sitting up abruptly and addressed the men indignantly. "Pardon me, but I am no child. I am a hobbit of the Shire."

The two men laughed and rested themselves awkwardly against the wall.

"Ah, so you are the other of the irrepressible hobbits our city has been burdened with!" It was not a question. Merry stared confusedly up at the younger of the two men.

"We fought with a young being also of your kind. Peregrin, I believe his name is."

"Then you have not heard the news?" Merry questioned the men, not wanting to believe what he was about to say. "The soldiers - they are all dead. A lone survivor arrived here to bring the tale." A single tear escaped from Merry's eyes, and he quickly lowered his head to mask his grief.

There was silence for a moment, and nothing to convince Merry that time hadn't stopped other than the slight metallic 'clink' of the armour as one of the men shifted to talk to him. Much to Merry's surprise, the noble man, who Merry deemed to be no older than him, put his hand on the hobbit's shoulder and began to laugh softly.

"Forgive me, young halfling, but I believe - while this is indeed no laughing matter - that you are mistaken. There was no lone survivor. About three days into the journey, we were given the opportunity to continue or to turn back."

"Sadly for us," continued the other man, "Our names will not be the ones that are remembered if any battle should so come to that, for we are the ones who turned back. If you had managed to stay awake, master hobylta, then you would have learnt that the lone survivor you saw was merely a herald - sent ahead to warn the city of our coming. There are many of us."

Merry smiled weakly, willing himself to believe this seemingly honest member of the 'big folk'. There was still hope for his friends then: they had not yet perished with the day. It was a lot for an ailing being to comprehend - his world had been turned upside down and then back up again in the course of an hour. Thanking the men quietly and bidding them visit him during their time in the city, he turned and returned to his reprieve in the Houses of Healing. He had much to discuss with his companions there.

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A/N - Thank you to everyone! Please continue to read and review! 

Rachel xxx