A/N: Thank you to Pipwise for the beta!

March 29, just after midnight

A pale light shone on Merry’s face, though not brightly enough to disturb his slumber. He shifted a little in his sleep, turning over onto his back, as his mind drifted between dreams.

The light changed, and Merry, still in his sleep, felt a shadow fall across his face. Not yet ready to awaken, he shifted again, trying to ignore the outside world as he clung to sleep, but still the darkness loomed over him, creeping over Merry until his entire body was beneath its shadow.

Fully awake now, Merry opened his eyes slowly, peering though the darkness, and focused on Pippin’s cot. His eyes widened with horror as he saw a shadowed figure drifting closer to his cousin, the cloaked creature holding out one iron-gloved hand as it reached for Pippin.

“No!” Merry’s shout pierced the silence of the tent, and though Pippin did not stir, the Shadow-figure turned its attention to Merry, and he shuddered, realizing that it was a wraith.

Merry’s eyes darted around the tent – where were Legolas and Gimli? Last night they had stayed with Pippin while Merry went to visit Frodo and Sam, and when he had returned the two friends insisted on staying the night, ready to find Aragorn should Pippin’s pain grow too much to bear. But now the tent was empty, and Merry found himself facing the wraith alone.

Abandoning Pippin, the wraith drifted toward Merry, unsheathing its sword with a metallic clang that turned Merry’s already cold arm to ice.

Trying to sit up, Merry found that the blankets had suddenly turned to stone. He struggled with them, but they would not shift, pressing him deeper into the mattress instead as he felt his chest tighten in fear.

The wraith moved ever closer, obliterating nearly all the light in the tent. Merry’s left arm was trapped beneath the leaden blankets, and his ruined right arm was splayed across his pillow, limp and useless.

Already triumphant, the wraith raised its sword above its head. Merry’s eyes followed the weapon’s graceful arc and tried desperately to move his lifeless arm, but it refused to move.

The wraith was so close now that Merry could smell its wasted form; the stench of its rotted flesh curled into his nostrils and made him lightheaded with nausea. He tried again to break free from his prison of blankets, and failed as the sheets pressed down against him, squeezing all the air from his lungs until his breath came in shallow, suffocating gasps. In his heart Merry knew it was pointless, and that the wraith would kill him first and then Pippin.

No, he thought frantically, not Pippin! Merry would not let that happen now, not after his cousin had fought so hard to find his way back. In desperation Merry tried one last time to force his frozen arm into action as the wraith’s sword sliced sharply through the air.

A ripping sound filled Merry’s ears as the wraith’s sword stabbed through his pillow. Stunned, Merry stared at its pointed edge piercing through the cushion, and then at his own hand, now filled with life and holding the pillow aloft.

The wraith hesitated, but Merry wasted no more time, and twisted the pillow, turning it around until he wrenched the sword from the wraith’s grasp, and it fell to the ground with a thump.

Merry tensed, waiting for the next attack, but the wraith shrieked loudly and vanished, its shadow dispersing like smoke into the darkness.

Exhausted and shivering, Merry sank back against the thin mattress of the cot and shut his eyes, trying to calm the frenzied beating of his heart. After a time he heard a living voice calling his name, and Merry forced open his heavy eyelids to see the blurry lines of Aragorn’s face coming into focus.

“Drink this,” he ordered, and held a mug to Merry’s lips. Merry wrinkled his nose at the smell but drank it down quickly, and was relieved to feel his racing heart slow to a normal pace.

Aragorn smiled sympathetically, and dabbed at Merry’s sweaty face with a cloth. “That sounded like a terrifying nightmare,” he said calmly. “You have frightened the wits out of your cousin.”

Merry turned and saw Pippin crying quietly, his face pale and drawn in the lantern light. Sniffling, Pippin attempted to sit up, and when that proved too painful he held out his uninjured hand to Merry, silently begging him to come closer.

Stumbling out of his nest of blankets, Merry darted over to Pippin’s cot and clumsily climbed up. He reached for his cousin but his right arm was cold and dead and he could not move it. “I’m so sorry, Pippin,” he whispered, and tears fell from his eyes as well.

Seeing that Merry could not move his arm, Pippin took his icy hand and held it tight in his own. “You were yelling and crying and I couldn’t go to you,” he murmured, his lower lip quivering. “You tore your pillow into shreds.”

Glancing back at his cot, Merry’s eyes grew wide with horror as he saw Aragorn studying his pillow, its brown-grey feathers spilling out of a gaping hole in the center.

“Your arm is always cold, Merry. I’m so frightened for you,” Pippin admitted, wincing as his breath hitched painfully beneath his broken ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Merry repeated, angrily wiping away his tears. “You should be resting and trying to get well again, and not fussing over me.”

“How can I rest when I’m worried about you?” Pippin asked simply. Merry smiled a little at that, and dropped a kiss on his cousin’s forehead.

Aragorn came over and crouched down beside the cot. “What did you see in your nightmare, Merry?” he asked gently.

“I saw a wraith,” Merry whispered, shuddering at the memory as he tried to sort through his thoughts. Pippin’s hand clasped tighter around his own, bringing a little warmth to it, and Merry found the strength to continue. “It was here in the tent, and I couldn’t move my arm. It kept coming closer and closer until finally I was able to pick up my pillow and block its sword. Then it vanished.”

“Have you had other nightmares?” Aragorn inquired.

“Yes, but not since…” Merry glanced over at Pippin uncertainly. “I had one while I was travelling on the ship to Cair Andros. But I don’t want to talk about it now,” he added quickly, and looked away from Pippin’s concerned, curious eyes.

Thankfully, Aragorn did not press him further. “Have you been doing the exercises I taught you?” he asked instead.

“Yes, every morning and night, just as you said,” Merry replied. “They warm up my arm, and loosen it a little, but it always goes back to being cold and stiff.”

Merry saw a movement from the corner of his eye, and blinked in surprise to see Gandalf stepping closer from where he had been standing quietly with Legolas and Gimli by the tent flap.

“When did you plan on saying something, Meriadoc?” the wizard demanded, his voice stern. “Or did you intend to suffer in silence?”

“It’s not always this bad, Gandalf,” Merry protested. “Besides, I don’t think anything can be done about it.”

Gandalf harrumphed loudly, but Aragorn did not deny it.

“The exercises should have helped you more, Merry,” he mused thoughtfully. “You were not free of the Shadow when I last saw you in Minas Tirith, and I think that your fear for Pippin has invited it to linger in your mind and body.” Aragorn smiled gently. “Do you still doubt that your cousin will recover, even after I have assured you that he would?”

Merry hesitated a moment, glancing over at Pippin. “Yes,” he whispered, looking down, unable to meet everyone’s concerned gazes.

“Poor old Merry,” Pippin cried. “There must be some way to help him, Strider.”

Brow furrowed, Aragorn considered the possible forms of treatment for Merry. Tonics and draughts would soothe him for now, and let Merry sleep peacefully, but they would not truly defeat the Shadow.

Before he could think of an idea, Aragorn was distracted by Pippin, who was feebly struggling to sit up. Quickly, he helped the hobbit sit up slightly, propped against a mountain of pillows.

Pippin smiled weakly in thanks, desperately trying to ignore his aching and throbbing body, and turned to Gandalf, asking him to come closer.

“Yes, my lad,” Gandalf said gently as he settled on the edge of the cot, noting with concern the pain visible in the hobbit’s eyes and face.

“Do you think my stars could help Merry?” Pippin murmured. “They might warm his hand, at least.”

Gandalf studied Pippin for a moment before laughing, the surprising sound rumbling through the tent.

“A generous thought, and a very wise one,” he said, and carefully patted Pippin’s shoulder. “Perhaps your stars will chase away the Shadow that lingers within your cousin. What do you say, Merry?”

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Merry said doubtfully.

Pippin grinned as much as his bruised face would allow. “Will you call them down now, Gandalf?”

“Certainly,” he replied, smiling fondly as he watched Pippin try to reassure his cousin, who was obviously reluctant about this strange, new treatment.

“Don’t worry, Merry,” Pippin was saying. “You will probably like the stars so much that you’ll ask Gandalf for a pair of your own.”

Merry grinned as he carefully settled himself more comfortably beside his cousin. “I’m content enough to leave the stars to you, Pippin. It gives me peace of mind to know that you’re being watched over even when I can’t be with you.” His smile wavered, and he looked troubled again.

“Not that that will ever happen again,” Pippin replied softly, but firmly. He squeezed Merry’s cold hand tightly before letting go with a smile. “You’ll need that in a moment.”

Gandalf took Merry’s hand and closed his eyes, muttering words that Merry’s ears strained, and failed, to catch. He watched closely, expecting to see the stars burst in through the tent flap, and was shocked when he felt something warm appear in his hand.

“But how did…?” he trailed off, seeing the light of the stars peeking between his fingers.

“That is not for you to trouble yourself over,” Gandalf said with a mysterious smile. “Concentrate on the stars and allow them to help chase away the darkness and bring warmth and life back to your arm again.”

Nodding, Merry sighed shakily and allowed himself to grow accustomed to holding the stars. After a time he felt his fingers grow warm, followed by his hand, and before long warmth was flowing through his arm all the way up to his shoulder.

Soon his arm no longer felt cold and dead and useless, but alive and able, and with this change in his body came a change in Merry’s heart. Slowly, he grew confident that Pippin would recover, and Frodo and Sam as well, and that they would return home to the Shire at last, whole and healthy and together.

Merry looked at Pippin, who watched him with eyes darkened by pain and exhaustion, but for the first time since his cousin had woken up Merry was able to look past that and see that there was life there, also, that would not be extinguished.

Taking a deep breath, Merry let the stars go. He watched as they sprang from his hand and leapt over to Pippin, hopping like small stones across a river over his crushed chest in greeting and in care, before soaring past Legolas and Gimli to escape through the open tent flap.

Open-mouthed and a little dazed, Merry watched, straining his eyes, as the stars soared higher and higher until they disappeared in the pale morning light.

“Are you all right, Merry? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Pippin fretted, glancing over at Gandalf for help.

“No, of course not,” Merry replied, coming back to himself as he took in his surroundings. The sun was rising, and the world seemed brighter without the shadowy darkness that had colored his vision in the past few weeks.

He reached over and pulled his cousin into a careful but thorough hug, and smiled genuinely for the first time since Pippin had gone to battle with the host, leaving him alone in that city of stone.

But now when Merry thought of those long, terrible days, his heart was no longer made heavy by doubt and fear, but was light and filled with such hope and joy that he could never hope to keep it inside. And so he laughed a little, and more still when he heard his friends join him.

TBC in the next and final chapter :)