Chapter 4. Holding On

Aragorn laid a gentle hand on Merry’s good shoulder and stood silent a long time, his head bowed, though he might have been a fly for all the notice the hobbit took of him.

Merry had eyes for Pippin alone: His ears were attuned to each laboured breath; he strained forward at every pause, as if willing his cousin to fight on, the muscles of his back and shoulders taut with dread, his cheerful tone as he commenced to speak and his forced smile belied by the tears he blinked away.

At last the Man turned away with a sigh and regretful shake of his head, murmuring, ‘If there is anything at all...’ But Merry returned no answer, nor even acknowledged the withdrawal of Aragorn’s hand; he was already well-launched on a story of hobbity doings in the Tookland on the day Pippin was born.

Hobbits were tougher than they looked; it still astounded him that Frodo and Sam had survived their ordeal, through Mordor, up the fiery Mountain, into the jaws of doom itself. Gandalf had sat long between them, reading their thoughts and their dreams, and what he’d told Aragorn... But Merry was only newly healed of his own ills, if “newly healed” were not putting the matter too strongly.

Leaving the grove, he stopped to speak to the soldier on watch, who had removed only as far as the entrance to the grove. ‘Let me know at once if there is any change,’ he said. Sober-faced, the guardsman nodded. Should the watching hobbit collapse, or the dying hobbit succumb at last, or both together, he’d sound the alarm. For all the good it would do. Aragorn wouldn’t be surprised to lose two hobbits this day, if not all four.

He had done all he could do, and yet he rued that it was not more. He started to turn back, actually, but a hand on his shoulder intercepted him. It was Elladan. ‘And now to your own rest,’ the son of Elrond said, his tone brooking no contradiction. ‘You said you’d rest after Meriadoc arrived, and I intend to hold you to it.’

‘Not much longer,’ Aragorn said, his words slurring despite his best efforts to put on a good face.

Elladan smiled grimly. ‘Not much,’ he agreed, though he was likely talking about the Ranger’s ability to keep his feet. In point of fact, he took Aragorn’s arm as they walked, and so he was ready when his foster brother slumped, at last overcome. Taking the Man’s arm over his shoulders, he half-carried him to the pallet lying ready on the grass, not far away.

***

Merry held his cousin's hand in his own good left one, through the day and into the night. When they would try to pry him loose for food or rest, he sat tight in pleasant but firm defiance. He talked himself hoarse, reminding Pippin of good times and triumphs and all the trials they had already made it through.

Aragorn himself came again, finally, but Merry would not move. 'You have to eat,' the Ranger said, but the hobbit shook his head.

'I don't have to leave him to eat,' Merry replied stubbornly. 'You have someone bring me food I can eat one-handed, and I'll be happy to oblige.'

Legolas came with a tray of bite-sized sandwiches for Merry (he imagined what the cook had said at the request) and broth that the Wood Elf tried to coax into Pippin. In the end, Legolas had to concede defeat. There was too much risk of choking with Pippin unresponsive.

Legolas urged Merry to rest, but Merry would not be moved. 'I can rest right where I am,' he maintained. 'Indeed, I feel a nap coming on even as we speak.' He adjusted his grip on Pippin's hand, closed his eyes, and ignored further words from the Wood Elf.

He was sleepily aware of hands on his shoulders, and tensed, thinking they meant to lift him away, but the hands squeezed gently and left him again. He realized they were tucking a warm blanket about him. He relaxed again.

He actually did fall asleep, for when he awakened, someone was trying gently to pry his fingers loose from Pippin's. He roused enough to protest, hearing soft voices urging him to turn loose.

'Merry! Leave hold,' came Legolas' voice. 'We need to turn Pippin, to put him into a new position. Merry... Aragorn?'

'His right hand is like ice. He ought to be in a bed of his own.'

'No!' Merry said, tightening his grip. Too tight, apparently, for Pippin gasped out a protest of his own, prompting consternation among those surrounding them.

'He spoke!'

'That's the first response we've had from him since...'

'Quickly, see if he'll take some water.'

At least the attention was off Merry and the prying fingers were gone. He held on grimly, hearing hope come into the voices around him. Pippin's hand moved in his as they placed the semi-conscious hobbit in a new position, but at least the Big People weren't trying to break Merry's grip any more. He felt another blanket wrapped around himself and hands shifted him subtly to place heated rocks against his right side. He sighed at the warmth—he hadn’t realised until that moment how he was shaking from the chill of night... and fear... and determination.

Finally the voices left them alone, and he slipped back into a dream.

***

'Pippin, how did a small hobbit like you get up a big tree like this?'

'I climbed.'

'Well of course you climbed. So why didn't you climb down?'

'I don't know how to climb down, I only know how to climb up!' the little hobbit said with perfect logic.

'That's how you got so high, then... every time you tried to climb down you ended up going higher?'

His young cousin gave him a pained look for stating the obvious. 'So how do we get down?'

'You remember Cousin Merry's First Rule of Tree Climbing?'

'Don't look at the ground,' Pippin recited dutifully.

'Right. Now Pippin, I can't carry you down this time, you've climbed too high. These branches are so thin they're making me nervous. So I'll help you work your way down, and then I'll carry you like always... but soon you're going to grow too big to carry. You really have to learn how to climb down, or else stop climbing up.'

'Merry?'

'What?'

'You're not angry, are you?'

'Of course I am! I'm missing out on fishing with Fredregar and Frodo; why wouldn't I be furious?'

Pippin, wide-eyed, stopped to search Merry’s face for signs of the threatened fury, but finding nothing but good-natured exasperation, he blinked, tried for a winning smile, started to form an apology—but was interrupted by another thought.

'Merry?'

'What?'

'May I go fishing, too?'

'Let's get down out of this tree, first, shall we? I don't think we'll find many fish up here.' Throughout the conversation, Merry remained below Pippin, guiding the little hobbit's foot down to the next branch, steadying him as he took a new handhold, moving down himself and then reaching up to repeat the process.

His breathing came a little easier as the branches got thicker. At one point there was only one branch in the right place, Merry could not easily reach Pippin from the branch below, so he risked putting both their feet on it, thinking he could anchor Pippin to the tree and move quickly down again. It was a miscalculation; as he started to take Pippin's weight the branch cracked beneath them and suddenly he was hanging in midair, and Pippin was hanging from his other hand. He desperately tried to haul them both up, but could get no purchase.

After the first terrified scream, little Pippin looked up in silence, assessing the situation. 'There's a branch to your left,' he said.

'I know—I’m trying to reach it,' Merry answered through gritted teeth. He felt as if his shoulder was being pulled out of its socket, and then to his horror he heard the branch holding their weight crack ominously.

Pippin started to kick, and Merry gritted, 'Hold still! You'll have us both loose!'

'You'll have to drop me,' the smaller hobbit panted. 'Save yourself.'

'No!' Merry said. 'Where in the world do you come up with such ideas? That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.' He would not let go. He would hang on until the end of the world, if need be. He could feel Pippin slipping, and with a great effort he reached again for the branch to his left, finally getting a grasp with his toes, working his foot over, taking some of the strain off the creaking branch that held their weight.

'Grab my leg,' he gasped to Pippin, 'but don't pull my foot loose from the branch.' He swung Pippin towards his left, holding as tight as he could, feeling his cousin slipping nonetheless. He felt Pippin's free hand grab his leg, then the other hand pulled loose from his grip and Pippin was holding on to him for dear life.

'All right, we're almost done, Pip,' he gasped. 'Grab the branch, let yourself down, there's another branch below you can rest your feet on.'

'Right!' Pippin called, and the grip on his leg eased and then was gone. Merry waited. Suddenly, from a spot several branches below him, Pippin's voice sounded, bright and cheerful. 'Hoi! I know how to climb down now!'

Merry closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the bole of the tree. 'That's just fine, cousin.'

'So hurry up, Merry! I want to go fishing!'

Suddenly the tree was no longer reaching to the sky but hanging over the River. Merry clung to the branch he'd reached in momentary confusion.

The roar of the River was very loud in their ears from this vantage point. Swollen with spring runoff, the Brandywine rushed past in a hurry to reach the Sea. The hobbit lads were playing at stick racing, throwing sticks into the current from their vantage point in an overhanging tree. Cheers and groans sounded from the branches.

'Come on, Merry, I'll race you!' Merimas shouted. 'I've a winner here!'

'You're on!' Merry shouted back.

'I want to race too!' a small voice shouted.

'Go back, Pippin, you're too little!'

'I'm not too little! I've found a fine stick and it's going to win!'

'Go back, Pippin!' Merry started to climb back towards the bank to intercept his cousin. Just as he reached him, Pippin twisted to evade his reaching arm, lost his grip, and grabbing in a panic for Merry, pulled them both out of the tree and into the River. Merry heard the horrified shouts of his older cousins as his head went under, but kicking his legs strongly, he reached for Pippin in his own turn as the River threatened to tear his little cousin away from him.

More trees hung over the River, some trailing branches in the water, and Merry grabbed for one of these. He hung on to the tree with one hand, and to Pippin with the other, waiting for his cousins to run for help to the Hall, to fetch adults who could get them out of this. The water was icy and he was already turning cold and numb. The current threatened to pull him loose, even as it tried to pry Pippin out of his grip. He would not let go. He would keep hanging on until the end of the world, if need be.

But he was getting so cold. He was numb, and so cold, and the snow kept mounting higher and Pippin was lagging again. Though the chill bit into Merry, he held tightly to his cousin's hand. He tried to shout, to let the others know that help was needed, but the wind snatched his voice and the dark forms were swallowed up in the swirling snow.

He and Pippin were alone on the path now, struggling ever upward. The wind threatened to sweep them from the ledge, the snow made fair to bury them, but Merry knew they must not stop. Pippin was shivering violently, staggering, legs finally folding under him. Merry clung tight to his hand; he would not let go even to seek help, not even if it meant he would freeze to death here beside his cousin.

He was never so relieved in his life as when he heard Boromir shout above the blizzard. "This will be the death of the halflings! We must seek shelter and try to make a fire somehow!'

'You're right,' Strider's voice answered. 'He's freezing. Let's try to get something hot into him.' Not long after, a cup was held to his lips and he sipped hot sweet tea. It went down into him, spreading warmth through the icy chill that gripped him.

'He's swallowing!' someone said. Of course I'm swallowing, Merry thought in annoyance. What kind of imbecile do they think I am?

'Yes, he's taking the broth. It's an encouraging sign,' Aragorn answered.

Merry began to worry about the healers here. They couldn't tell broth from tea?

Aragorn spoke again. 'That's it, Pippin, just a little more. That's right.'

Merry understood suddenly, and smiled. He renewed his grip on Pippin's hand as the cup was held to his lips again and he sipped the sweet, hot tea.