Disclaimer - I own the young Gondorians, Beven and Arron, but everyone and everything else belongs to the Tolkien estate. I have just borrowed them for my own evil purposes, will give them back relatively unharmed and am making no money from this! So don't sue me!

A/N - This is the final chapter, for the simple reason that I believe Tolkien told the rest of the story himself. Thank you so much for the amazing feedback I have received!

Chapter 6 - "It won't be long now."

Black, choking, the air was thick with dust.... Why was everything so dark? Surly morning, even in these darkened times, held more light than this. Merry blinked several times and noticed no change in his vision. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed away the residue of sleep that had gathered in the corners of his eyes and on his lashes. Nothing had changed and so Merry wondered if he had in fact died, and this was what was came after life. At the very least, he wondered if he had slept through until the middle of the next night, and no one had thought to wake him. The room he resided in was pitch dark, and the view from the wide window the same. There was no wind: the stillness of the linen drapes at the window told that much, and the air was stifling. Merry could not remember it ever being as black and oblivion like since the time he and Pippin had become locked in the wine cellar of one of the great smials in Tuckborough. It had been several hours before anyone had noticed that they were missing. At least then he had not been alone in the dark. Merry shuddered and drew his bedclothes further around himself, not knowing which was causing him to shiver: the cold of night or the fright he suddenly felt himself to be feeling.

The silence of the night in the room felt loud to Merry's ears. So loud, that it was screaming at him, laughing at him for being afraid. It was only the dark, Merry thought nervously. Why was he so scared? Everyone else would be in their beds, sleeping peacefully as on any other night - as he would have been on any other night. Why was this night different?

As he shifted in his bed and tried to get back into some kind of slumber, Merry knew the answer. The cold fingers of the dark groped at him, forbidding him to rest, and he felt an icy breath that was not the breeze brush his face. This was not night.

The shadow had taken hold. The quest must have failed.

Some small part of Merry's being denied him this thought though. If the quest had failed then why was he still here? Why had not the world ended, with the living shadow smothering all life and strangling it mercilessly? There must still be hope for the quest, thought Merry. But then why else would there have been this sudden change from the dim occupancy of the shadow to which Minas Tirith had become accustomed, to this?

Bergil knew. 'It won't be long now.' The child's words echoed round Merry's head, swirling and repeating themselves over and over like an endless cycle. It won't be long now. How many days had it been since the soldiers had departed? Ten, eleven... maybe more. They must have reached the Black Gate. This was the final debate. The shadow had deepened because the soldiers had reached Mordor. Was it in desperation or because the Dark Lord had triumphed? Perhaps the smallest and most important of all people were getting closer.

Pippin. This was it; this was his time - perhaps his last waking moments.

Seeming like a sudden influx of water, the damn inside Merry burst and his hot tears, restrained since finding some companionship, flowed forth. The pressure of grief, of the shadow and of not having any answers had grown too great. Why was it that he had to be the one to live through this? Why, when neither he nor his friends had never done anything worse than steal a few carrots did they have to end like this: killing to survive and having no uncertainty from one day to the next. He had never killed anyone before and never had a violent thought in his head beyond playfully pushing a young hobbit. Yet here he was: snatched cruelly from his element, ending the lives of others and now waiting for he himself to end. A million small explosions that destroyed those around him. Each life that had been lost, each hurt he had endured and everything that had been destroyed brought more tears to his eyes.

He cried for Pippin, he cried for the Shire, he cried for his friends that had surely been lost, and he wept that despite his efforts nothing beautiful would ever exist again. The end would come soon. As the cold fingers of shadow retreated slowly, Merry cried himself into a restless sleep.

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When he woke again, Merry was surprised at the difference in the light since the morning. Judging as always using his plain hobbit sense, something also known as his stomach, Merry guessed that it was mid afternoon - possibly just after luncheon. Hazy, watered down sunshine filtered through the window and a light breeze moved the bedclothes. The shadow remained, much as it had done since before Merry had arrived in the White City, but there was once again life to be seen beneath it. Merry no longer felt the intense weight of it crushing him and clawing at him and he wondered if all was ended or whether this was a slight reprieve before a greater onslaught began.

Deciding to enjoy this time of relative normality, Merry clambered out of the tangled sheets, damp from sweat, and went to wash and dress. His tears seemed to have changed something inside of him. The fate of his friends was out of his hands for the moment: he accepted that now. They were away, doing all they could to stay alive and draw the eye of the Dark Lord away from his own lands long enough for the Ringbearer to fulfil his quest. They were now working to save his fate and the fate of all Middle-earth.

~~::~~

On his way to the kitchens, where he hoped to come across a cook sympathetic to his incessant need for food and acquire some afternoon tea, Merry came across Faramir and Éowyn, wandering about one of the evergreen courtyards. Their hands were entwined tightly together, illustrating their growing closeness and admiration for one another, yet their faces were pale and drawn: the lack of bright sunlight showing itself clear. They both seemed to be waiting for something; something that Merry sensed would come soon, although he was not entirely sure what it was.

Upon reaching the kitchens, Merry expected to be greeted and then turned away smiling by the sometimes harsh cook who would then call him back and present him with a selection of as hobbit like food as the kitchen staff could muster. He prepared his best imploring smile and crossed the threshold into the steaming, almost alive, room. The cooks paid little attention to him as he approached the large wooden table. In fact they seemed to have been expecting him. Everybody seemed to be expecting something. Now that the shadow had lifted slightly it was an air of apprehension and foreboding that hung over the Houses of Healing and indeed all of Minas Tirith.

Something was coming. Whether it was the bitter air and destruction of defeat or the sweet presence of victory, Merry did not know, but he knew that it was imminent and significant. The whole of the White City, and indeed Middle-earth, was poised, whether they knew it or not, for the final battle. It was not about minor conflicts between races of beings anymore, it was about preserving a way of life. And everyone involved was completely powerless to improve or even alter the situation.

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Bergil, Beven and Arron came for Merry not long after he had returned to his bed chamber feeling comfortably full. All three looked forlorn, especially Beven, whose fall the previous day appeared to have affected him more than he had admitted. He definitely was limping slightly on his right foot, and Merry suspected that, by the way he was breathing very carefully and walking slowly, if he was to lift the child's jacket and glance at the exposed skin, he would see some impressive bruising. Arron and Bergil's moods seemed to be affected for a different reason, however, and one which thought he knew: both children had fathers or brothers involved in the final battle. Further to a conversation with Beven on the day that they had first been introduced, Merry was aware that his father had been killed in a battle with orcs across the river not longer after he had been born. It was thus that he was the calmest of the group.

For the day's walk, the group planned to explore the upper levels of the city, taking in every spectacular view and back street that they could come across. The storm of the previous evening had cleared the stuffiness of the air caused by the shadow, and so the temperature was cool: perfect for running and enjoying the weak sunshine that the previous blackness had allowed to penetrate. The mood was sombre, but not without it's lighter, carefree moments, and the group was soon laughing once again at a tale of Bergil's.

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It was when Merry was walking about the balustrades of the White City with his young friends when the second great darkness came. It was as though a force had suddenly extinguished the sun, the blackness was that consuming and quick to arrive. It lasted possibly only a minute at the most, yet the deep emptiness of nothing was so complete that it seemed complete that it seemed that time had stopped. Or seemed to last forever. One or the other: Merry could not tell.

Almost as soon as it had started, the black oblivion ended. Bergil raised his face to the sky, rejoicing in the reappearance of light and saw that the sky was clear. The crashing, strangling, tortured sound that had occurred during the period of dark had also subsided somewhat.

Merry and Bergil looked at each other, unsure of what this fluctuation of light had meant. It wasn't just that the sky was now clear, Merry noted, it was blue, with whipped, fluffy white clouds. The same clouds that Merry had looked for cows, sheep and hobbits in when he was younger and enjoying freedom with his cousins.

"I said it wouldn't be long." Bergil's voice broke through the hobbit's memory.

"Is this the end then?" said Merry, "I hoped the clouds signified otherwise. After all they are the first of the kind we have seen since the shadow descended those many weeks ago."

Bergil paused with this thought. He did not want to believe that good had won. He had to accept that this change meant it was the end, otherwise he would be disappointed if his hopes were dashed.

"Listen!" cried Bergil. A deep rumbling came from the East and, as the four friends looked to the noise, they saw that the horizon was alight with flames. A great cloud of dust appeared to be the cause of the rumbling. A great cloud of dust that was headed towards Minas Tirith and indeed all of Middle-earth - as if it was an oversized blanket being laid down.

"It's coming," muttered Arron. Fear was wild in his eyes. How did you face the end?

As if sensing the question they all were asking, Merry grabbed the hands of Arron and Bergil. Beven latched onto the hand of Arron. Merry motioned for them to lie down, unaware that, moments before, the very same action had been undertaken by the two most important beings in Middle-earth at that time.

"We will face this together," he said, "And we stand more of a chance if we are flat against the ground."

The four companions cast a confirming glance at each other and lay on the white stone of the ground. Together.

Before he shut his eyes to face the end two things swirled around inside Merry's mind: the face of Pippin. Was he still alive? Had he faced this great peril already?

The second? "It won't be long now."

The cloud of choking dust passed over the White City and the sound of eagles flying far overhead was heard.

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Merry, Bergil, Beven and Arron surged forward to catch up with Éowyn and Faramir. The cloud of dust had taken almost an hour to pass over the White City, and it had taken Merry almost as long to wash the residue of evil from his skin.

It was over.

The Ring had been destroyed.

The eagles had been heralds sent out to tell of this great victory. Now those in Minas Tirith who had had friends or relatives sent to fight were travelling to Ithilien to meet them, not knowing who had survived. The halflings had lived, they had been told, but word had not been sent as to which halflings. This brought some comfort to the extremely apprehensive Merry, as it signalled the survival of Frodo and Sam, yet it brought dread to his heart as he had heard no word of Pippin.

~~::~~

For two days they travelled, amid much celebration, towards Ithilien where the Ringbearer was resting with the soldiers who had fought in the final battle. Merry's mood flickered between despair, gloom and joyfulness, as he attempted to repress his feelings of sadness at the loss of his friends. The party travelled waving many standards and battles and, had any enemy remained, it would have been no challenge to seek the group out.

At moonlight on the second day they arrived, entering the great spread of marquees with care, for they knew that many were injured and so would be sleeping. The standards of the King waved brightly into the dusk and the party broke to find their respective beings, leaving Merry alone and unsure as to where to go. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked into the smiling face of Aragorn.

Without allowing Merry to ask questions or even say a word, Aragorn led Merry to the far corner of the camp.

"This is where Frodo and Sam are residing. There's something you ought to see."

A shadow moved silently towards the entrance of the unmarked tent, having to prevent himself from rushing forward. His injuries were grievous, yet he knew what he must do. He walked into the torchlight.

Aragorn motioned for Merry to follow his gaze. A lone figure, only a child to the untrained eye, was stood waiting, a single tear running down his cheek.

"Pippin," Merry cried, before running to greet his friend. They embraced, the embrace of those who had regained everything they thought they had lost.

The Fellowship had been reunited.

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A/N - Call me pathetic, but I'm welling up....

I hope you enjoyed my fic - this has been my favourite one to write so far :)

A shorter companion piece, following Pippin during the same time, will be posted soon - I would appreciate your comments on that when it's up!

Special thanks to Nats, for coming up with the term "deep emptiness of nothing" in the common room yesterday!

Well... I guess this is it for now! But you know I can't resist posting a new chapter of my other fics for long! Please continue to r and r - you wouldn't want to upset the children! Would you?

Rachel xxx