Merry

Pippin’s room was lit brightly enough to make it easy to see the stricken young hobbit. A large lamp, well turned up, sat upon each of the small tables on either side of the bed. It had been decided, well Frodo had simply stated and no one was going to gainsay the Ringbearer, that there would always be a hobbit in the room with Pippin. This first night it was Frodo himself along with Bergil. Beregond and his son had come back to the house as soon as word of Pippin’s condition had begun to work its way around the Houses of Healing. Bergil was seriously considering taking training as a healer as well as a soldier, and so he was spending as much time as he could in the company of the Healers. It had been granted that he could help with Pippin’s care.

That there would always be a hobbit present meant either Sam or Frodo. Merry had not returned to Pippin’s room.

Merry lay in his bed, completely awake. Light leaked into his room from beneath the connecting door, not letting him forget the horror on the other side. He tried. He tried so hard to not think of Pippin that way; as a horror. Yet to Merry, what was in the next room was the stuff of nightmares. The nightmares he had had from time to time ever since that day he had wandered into that one tunnel at the Hall. He had dreamt of his mother like that, his father like that, Frodo, Pippin, Sam, Bilbo, and Uncle Paladin like that. He dreamt of Pippin’s mother and sisters in that horrible state. He had even once dreamt of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that way and was almost ashamed to admit he hadn’t found that nearly as horrible.

He even had dreamt of walking into a room and seeing himself like that.

But those were dreams. What lay in the room next to his this night was real. Brutally, horribly real.

“You stupid, arrogant, idiodic little Took!” he hissed between his teeth. “Unthinking, uncaring, reckless . . . fool! Yes. Fool. Gandalf had you pegged, you Fool of a Took!”

Merry’s voice cracked as he started tearing up again. “Pippin,” he whispered. The anger, all drained from his voice, was now replaced with despair.

This went on for a few hours. Merry would swing back and forth like the pendulum on a clock. Anger. Despair. Anger. Despair. Until he finally threw off his covers, threw on his dressing gown and walked out of his room. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer, not knowing what was in the room next door. He stole quietly out of the house and into the moonlit street. He didn’t care where he went. He was not even aware of where he was going until he realized he was in the garden of the Houses of Healing. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He and Pippin were supposed to have come here to play chess yesterday afternoon.

He and the real Pippin. The Pippin of the Shire. The Pippin he had know for the lad’s whole life. The Pippin that was at Strider’s wedding.

The Pippin he might never see again.

No.

Would not ever see again. Even if he, by some wonder of Elvish magic and medicine, emerged from the horror, he would still have the falling sickness. He would never be the “old” Pippin again.

Merry sat down upon the night-damp grass and leaned back against a broad tree trunk. He stared out at the moon and the brighter stars that shone in spite of the moonlight.

“What will you do, Meriadoc Brandybuck? What have you done up till now?” he asked himself aloud. “You’ve been upset with him and frustrated with him. Nearly the only time you’ve bothered to treat him as you used to was when he . . .”

Merry’s breath hitched. He was back to the current mess. The only reason Pippin had seemed all right, seemed to be his old self again, was because he had tricked them all and quit taking the medicine he was supposed to be taking.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “The only time you’ve been treating Pip as you used to was the day of the wedding. You, Meriadoc Brandybuck have been no help at all.”

Merry paused as the arguement continued for a while in his head. One part of his mind would offer reasons for his behaviour, the other would remind him how pathetic all the reasons actually were. The only one with much validity was that he himself was not himself. The darkness still wafted though him like the dank chill of an open grave. The skills of the Men of Gondor were inpressive. King Theoden looked just as he had a few months ago when he first was laid in honor in the Citadel. The . . . the body . . .

Merry closed his eyes a few moments to let the ache in his heart lessen. The body didn’t even smell of death. And yet, for as wondrous as it was, in its way, it was also horrible. Horrible to drag out the grieving. Horrible to stand next to his dear king, knowing he was already gone; had been gone for months. In the Shire, folks were buried the next day, at the latest. The wake would often be held a couple of days later to allow time for relatives who lived aways off to arrive, but the deceased would have already been buried. It was over and done, and it was time to begin healing.

But really, other than his grieving for King Theoden, he had no good reason to have behaved so poorly towards Pippin. No. The end of his mind’s discussion was this: he was having trouble dealing with this different Pippin. Other than the current debacle, it was not Pippin who was to blame. He had the falling sickness, a crippled hand and a leg that he had to be careful with, all because he had been brave. The truth was that the falling sickness would have its way with the lad. Pippin could not control what had happened to him, but he, Meriadoc Brandybuck *could* control how he responded to it all.

Merry tightened his lips and nodded sharply. He had faced the Witch King, well, snuck up on him from behind, and had wounded him. He could find it in himself to face what was happening to his cousin.

Merry slumped, his sudden bravado oozing away. At least he would try.

After a few more minutes of gazing at the beautiful night sky, Merry drifted off to sleep.
***********************

Aragorn awakened to the most wondrous sight in the whole of Middle-earth; his beautiful wife lying next to him in the moonlight that came in from the balcony of their bedroom. The only problem was, this was the fourth time he had awakened this night. With a sigh the King of Gondor got out of his comfortable bed, put on his dressing gown, and left his beautiful wife while he went off to get something to help him sleep.

He walked through the moonlit halls and into the pillared walk that led directly from the Citadel to the Houses of Healing. He smiled and nodded to the guards as he passed. They returned the gesture, then continued to stand their posts while wondering why their liege was heading off toward the Houses in the middle of the night, but not looking worried or anxious.

Aragorn went into the herborium, made a sleeping draught for himself then started back to his chambers to drink it and return to his bed. He hadn’t walked far when he realized that he was still a bit restless. Thinking perhaps it would help to walk about a bit more, he went into the gardens.

The moon poured its silvery-blue light over the garden, nearly as bright as day in some places while some of the shadows were as dark as if there was no moon at all. The fountain made a pleasant sound and the night blooms perfumed the still warm air. There was only one thing that did not fit the scene around him. A small figure, seated upon the ground and leaning against a large tree.

He went over to it to find that it was Merry, sound asleep. Strider chuckled to himself. Apparently he was not the only one who had been unable to sleep in their bed this night. He gently picked up Eomer’s knight and strode off toward the Companion’s house. As he walked down the hall past Pippin’s room, he was surprised to see some light showing from beneath the door. He laid Merry down, covered him, then turned toward the connecting door into Pippin’s room. There was no mistake, rather bright light shone through the space at the bottom of the door.

Frodo startled as he heard a door opening. He chided himself; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but he was weary and it was taking him a few moments to come fully awake. One of the Big Folk was standing beside the bed. About the time Frodo realized it was Strider, the King spoke.

“What has happened here!” The question was asked quietly, but with an angry intensity.

“Strider!” Frodo said, still a bit startled, by the King suddenly standing next to Pippins bed.

Strider turned his head to look down at Frodo who was shifting about in the chair in order to sit up straighter.

“What has happened?” Strider repeated his question and waved his hand in Pippins direction, while looking intensly in Frodos eyes.

“Pippin hadn’t really become accustomed to the medicine, Strider.”

“He put other dried leaves into the jars,” Frodo continued. “Elrond said it was . . . eh, hay, parsley and . . . um, dandelion leaves.”

Strider was shocked. He gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed and stared wide eyed at the eldest hobbit.

Frodo continued. “He left enough of the real herbs in the jars so they looked and smelled somewhat as they should, so Merry and Sam simply pulverized them as they had been doing, mixed them into the liquid and gave it to him. I dare say they would have noticed eventually but this,” he nodded at his youngest cousin, “happened before they discovered the tampering.”

Strider said nothing, he looked at Pippin and sighed.

Suddenly the lad’s body jerked a bit and he vomited on the towel that was laying under his head. Frodo rose, but Strider motioned to him to stay seated. Without a word he stood and began cleaning up the mess. He rinsed out Pippins mouth with water then took a clean towel from the stack sittiing on the nightstand and gently placed it under his small knight’s head. Than Strider checked Pippin’s nappy, decided it needed changing and began unpinning it.

Frodo watched as the King of Gondor tended to his cousin’s needs with the gentle hands of a caring healer. Bergil came forward to take the soiled garment and oilcloth away while Aragorn put a new nappy on Pippin. He sat down once more while he gently rubbed the ailling lad’s shoulder.

“Does he need to be rolled over?” he asked.

“No, next time he’s changed,” Frodo replied.

“I’m sure he thought he was being most clever.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“I thought he had learned better.”

“He’s a Took, they often take longer than most to learn those sorts of lessons.”

The Ringbearer and the King shared sad smiles.

“I want to be angry with him,” Frodo softly said, his voice not angry in the least. “But it would serve no purpose. He hadn’t been himself for weeks and the last . . . that last medicine he was taking, was making him sick and mad. He was angry and violent.” Frodo looked at Pippin’s empty eyes that a few days ago had been filled with fire. “I simply cannot say that I blame him for what he’s done. I’m certain he never thought it would do this to him, expecially when, at first, he was feeing so much better.”

Strider sighed, a wry grin graced his lips. “It is hard to stay angry with this one.” He sighed once more. “What a mess he’s made of himself this time. You mentioned Elrond?”

“Parsow sent for him when he realized this was beyond his present abilities and knowledge.”

“But I was not even informed.”

Frodo raised an eyebrow. “You *are* a newlywed, Your Majesty.” The hobbit’s blue eyes twinkled. “We were loath to disturb you lest it upset Queen Arwen. We all like her.”

Aragorn tried not to get angry. Although he appreaciated Frodo’s jest, he was upset that he had not been told of his young knight’s condition. After a moment he asked, “Is Elrond here, at the house?”

“I’m certain he returned to his rooms at the Citadel,” Frodo replied, but his friend’s irritation had been detected. “I’m sorry we upset you, Strider. Lord Elrond said he would tell you himself in the morning.”

The king nodded. “Bergil, would you take word to the Citadel, to be given to the Lord Elrond, that I will speak with him here in the morning. Also, have word taken to Queen Arwen that I am here. Then you may return to your quarters. I will take your watch here.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bergil bowed and was gone on his errand.

All was quiet and soon Frodo was once more nodding off. As sleep over took him, he heard Strider’s deep voice speaking softly to Pippin.

““May he be brave, and have the strong head to think with, and the strong heart to love with, and the strong hands to work with and the strong feet to travel with and always come home safe to his own.”

On the other side of the door between their rooms, Merry sat with his ear to the door. He had awakened in his bed to the sound of voices coming from Pippin’s room. Slowly they drew him from his bed to the door, but no . . . he could not make himself go in there yet. Merry had sat listening, but now he felt anger rising in him. Without thinking, he threw open the door so hard it banged against the wall.

“How dare you, Strider!” he bellowed as he strode into the room. He stopped part way to the bed. With Frodo’s chair where it was, he couldn’t see the figure laying on the bed. “How dare you say that . . . that . . . blessing while you’re sitting there next to . . . to . . .”

His fear started to take hold of him. The nightmares, the terrors, the pain and the pity threatened to flood him, but Merry stood his ground.

“Look at him! Have you looked at him? There is no one there to be brave. He’ll never, ever have a strong head to think with, nor . . .”

Merry stopped.

He knew the words of the blessing. He had said it over his cousin himself many times after he first heard Strider saying it while they were still on the Field of Cormallen. He knew what words came next . . .

. . . and he could not say what he had started to say.

“He’ll never have strong hands or feet and I dread what he’ll find awaiting him when . . .” Merry’s voiced failed him for a moment. He finished in a choked voice, “if he gets back home.”

Frodo had awakened; he was watching Strider. Behind him, he could hear Merry’s rough breathing.

Strider had an air of deep calm about him, like Frodo had often sensed in the Elves. His voice was full, rich and deep, seeming to come up into him from the earth itself.

“You left out a part, Meriadoc.”

Frodo heard Merry gasp.

“You left out a part of the blessing, Merry,” the king said again. “Say it Merry. Say what you stopped yourself from saying.”

“He will . . . he . . .”

“You can’t say it, can you Meriadoc Brandybuck? You can’t say it because you know it would be the worst lie you would have ever spoken.”

From behind the chair came the sounds of Merry sniffling.

“You know that if he’s alive, Pippin will always have a strong heart to love with. Do you not understand? That is the key. If he has that he can gain the rest, or what he cannot regain will lose some of its importance. As long as he can love, and have those around him who return that love, he can survive all of this. He can do more than survive, he can win over it.”

Strider paused. Merry could not see Pippin, but he could see Strider’s face. The healer-king’s eyes held the hobbit’s eyes.

“Come, Merry. Come here.”

Frodo heard the soft scuffing of bare hobbit feet drawing nearer. He could see Merry slowly moving to stand beside his chair; beside the bed. He was not looking at his ailing cousin, his eyes remained locked with Strider’s.

“Touch Pippin’s shoulder, Merry.”

A hand slowly reached out, found Pippin’s shoulder and gently rested upon it.

“Move you hand to Pippin’s neck, Merry.”

The hand slid to rest along the side of Pippin’s neck.

And Merry felt it. Strong and firm he could feel the beating of his cousin’s heart.

“A strong heart to love with. You can feel it. Your cousin, your closest friend, your brother has not left. He may have become hidden from you by a frightening exterior, but Pippin is there.” Aragorn’s deep voice went deep into Merry’s own heart.

“As long as you have people who love you, it doesn’t matter as much that you’re broken.”

Merry and Strider both looked at Frodo.

“It’s what that girl and her doll Pippin told us about said to him. Remember, Merry?”

Merry slowly nodded. He was slowly becoming aware of where he was standing; that he was touching Pippin.

“I do love Pip. I do. I . . . I don’t know if I can . . .” Merry swallowed hard. “If I can be here when you have to . . . change him or fe-feed him. But I’ll t-try to be in here . . . I-I’ll try.”

Bergil had come back. He had been relieved of duty but he had not been relieved of his concern for Pippin and the others. He pushed a chair over behind Merry, then gently pushed on his shoulders to make him sit down. Merry sat without taking his hand from the pulse in Pippin’s neck. He looked up at Strider.

“Can you cover him up? H-he feels c-cold.”

The king covered his knight with the sheet and light blanket, kissed the lad’s brow, then with a nod to Merry and Frodo left the room. Merry grew more relaxed. Eventually, his hand slid off of his cousin as Merry fell asleep.