Chapter 9 - Darkness and daybreak

Pippin stared at the green canvas ceiling of his seeming prison. Three days. Three days since he had last left his bed and witnessed the spring sunshine brought by the departure of the shadow. His ribs ached with every breath, and it took all of the strength he could muster just to sit up; and all because he had wanted to run in the forest. He smiled weakly, and watched as the olive hue of the tent seemed to change into the deep pine of the woods of North Ithilien.

The healers amongst the soldiers had discharged him, only days after his awakening, allowing him to sit quietly outside and enjoy the fresh air. If the truth be told, it was as much for their sanity as for Pippin's; after all, a sleeping hobbit is one thing, but an awake and recovering hobbit is quite another. On at least two occasions did Pippin have to be bodily forced back into his bed. It seemed that the knowledge of the completion of the quest had brought new life to the crushed hobbit, and he was happy enough to forget that his ribs still pained him if he even so much as lightly brushed them with his hands. More than anything, Pippin was becoming slightly claustrophobic in the cramped tent with the big folk, so they had given him leave to spend the afternoon under the shade of the trees. It was only when Pippin became reluctant to re-enter the confines of the aid tent that the accident happened. He had run, attempting to escape from the soldier sent to collect him, and tripped on a protruding tree root - jolting his already injured ribs. He remembered little else; only the fire that had consumed him with fever, and the ice that seemed to follow. The darkness had held an increasing hold too, causing his world to spin as if playing childhood games.

Then he had woken, and bright sunlight streaming through the canvas door chased away the blackness. The pain had remained, however, and Éomer had informed the hobbit that it would be several days until the healers allowed him to travel to the fields of Cormallen and sit a vigil at the Ringbearer's bedside. Aragorn and Legolas had gone on ahead, once they had been assured that Pippin would suffer no lasting harm and his fever from the strain on his ribs had abated, so there was nothing left for Pippin to do but lay and wait. Merry would be arriving soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On the fourth day, news came of Mordor: a band of rogue orcs remained and were headed towards the camp. The injured, who had remained only while they recovered and were too ill to travel the extra miles to Cormallen, had to be moved. They would be safer together.

The group left in the dead of night, many bearing makeshift stretchers created from wooden shafts of spears and blankets, on which to bear those who could not walk. Pippin was aware of none of this, for he had been slipped a sleeping draught with his supper. It was well really, as his discomfort would have been great otherwise, and Éomer doubted that he would have slept willingly.

~~::~~

The drug induced haze began to end, and the dark blurry shapes against a grey sky became focused images of people and feature of the landscape once again. The pain returned to Pippin's ribs, although it did not feel as intense as before, the fire now being reduced to the buried embers that continue to burn long after the flames have left, and he now felt able to sit up for longer periods. The Ringbearer and his companion still slept, by all accounts, although whether it was enchanted healing sleep or the sleep of sickness Pippin had not been told. He would have to visit them when Merry arrived.

When Merry arrived... Gandalf (who had swept in, his brow creased and looking older than Pippin felt he had ever looked before, to greet the sick hobbit) had said that word had come from the White City that a walking party had departed the day before and looked set to arrive in two days. Two days was too long, thought Pippin, but there was nothing he could do. At least they were coming.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One hour, two hours.... five hours passed and still Pippin waited; a forlorn figure wrapped in a blanket. There were only five more travellers to arrive, the first party had told him that much, although they had no recollection of whether there was a hobbit amongst them. They had only said that they were behind because the sicknesses they had suffered made them move at a slower pace. Pippin could not blame them really, after all, a hobbit, especially a sick hobbit, would look just like a small, stooping child to them. But what if Merry had not been with them? He had been recovering well when Pippin had parted with him on that wretched day, but who knew the potency of a wound made by the Witch King? None he knew, save Frodo, had suffered one, and Frodo had had Lord Elrond to heal him What if the hands of the King were only a temporary healing device? What if Merry had been taken from him?

Pippin did not think he could stand the pain.

Merry must be with the party that would surely arrive soon. He had to be. He would be. There was no other way it could be. Pippin needed Merry; he had always needed Merry. What he thought would be his last living thoughts as he lay crushed by the troll had been of his cousin, and he was certain that that was what had withheld him from the blackness. Merry had been like a brother to him, the best brother he could ever have wished for; they had played together, cried together, and Merry had always been there for him... through everything. He couldn't have left.

A dim light bobbed far in the distance, and the sound of weary voices could be heard over the silence. Pippin stood up, his eyes blurred with tears and a wooziness that had settled in his head brought on by exhaustion. He went to trip and found himself being caught by strong arms. Arms that held a familiar scent. Aragorn had come to take him back to the camp.

"Come Pippin," said Aragorn, "You will see them in the morn."

"Merry..." whispered Pippin. He would be there when the travellers arrived even if he were dying. Tiredness and a protesting body was not going to stop him.

"I will let you know if Merry is with them, but now you need rest."

Rest? What good was rest if it brought him only ill news? He needed to know now.

"Please, Aragorn. I need to do this. I need to wait for him." Pippin looked up at the ranger with glittering eyes, and Aragorn saw the pale skin that shone through in trails that cut through the dirt on his face. He could not say no now.

"If you hurt beyond comprehension tomorrow then you will have only yourself and your scallywag cousin to blame."

Pippin smiled and embraced his friend. He understood.

~~::~~

From where he stood, swaying gently, against the support of the healer's tent where Aragorn had insisted he wait, Pippin could just discern the murmuring voices of Aragorn and a soldier from Minas Tirith. What were they saying? Who were they with? He needed to know.

The flickering lantern light illuminated the figure's faces, but Pippin could see nothing of their clothing or whether Merry was with them. There was nothing he could do but wait; wait with an urgency he had never felt before.

He closed his eyes: tiredness was beginning to take him into its clutches. The chill air was beginning to affect him too, and Pippin drew his elven cloak closer around his shivering frame. In the half light, he imagined a child coming towards him; the figure he had been thinking of since they had been parted; the being he wanted to see most in the world. It was just his fanciful imagination as usual. Or was it?

A warm hand touched his cheek and wiped away the tear that trickled from his eye.

"Merry..." whispered Pippin, and dared look at the hand's owner, seeing what he had known he would see the instant he felt the hobbit's presence.

The two cousins had been reunited.