Closing the Book
by Gonzai

Rated PG: nothing objectionable, just morbid and angsty
Summary: It is now the year 1484 by the Shire reckoning, Sam has departed for the Grey Havens and Merry and Pippin are getting up there in age

The Shire was well into autumn and the evenings were becoming crisper with each passing day, prompting Pippin to stoke the fire a bit higher than usual before he sat down to take his pipe. Merry, who had already settled back into his chair, drew a particularly long smoke from his pipe and took pains not to look at the empty chair to his right. Over the years they had each chosen a chair for their evening smoke, he and Pippin and Sam, and though it had now been a few months since Rose Gamgee had passed and Sam had left for the Grey Havens, Merry was not yet used to the idea that Sam would not be joining him for a pipe.

Strangely, Merry had found it easier to accept the passing of his own wife than that of Rose; likely because Sam was no longer there, and frequently he wondered how much longer he and Pippin would be taking a pipe together. They were both in excellent health, to be sure, but both of their wives had passed on now, and certainly they were no longer young. Pippin, presumably because he had not yet reached his one hundredth birthday, was far less concerned.

“Finally, a day without grandchildren,” Pippin remarked. “I am not sure if I am disappointed by their absence or relieved that I should not have to tell tales of our adventures for a few hours. Sometimes they surprise me, for I am sure I don’t tell a tale half so well as old Bilbo did, and yet they listen as if I did.”

“I know you don’t tell a tale like Bilbo, and I often wonder that they listen to you at all,” Merry retorted.

“Ah, but if you had grandchildren” Pippin began with a sly grin.

“which I haven’t, but I could tell our tale to yours far better than you could,” Merry shot back, punctuating it with a puff of smoke. He and Pippin often teased each other on this matter, as telling stories to the young hobbits seemed to be their primary purpose these days.

“I think they might very much like to hear the tales of Master Holdwine,” Pippin smiled, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door before he could continue. “Perhaps some of the young ones are here even now. Do you think you could properly entertain them, dear cousin?”
Merry now needed more time to get up from his chair than in his younger days, but nevertheless he was still halfway to the door. “Observe, and learn, Pippin!”

But it was not hobbit children at the door; instead, Merry opened his door to find himself face-to-midsection with an unfamiliar man, who was dressed in the very familiar green and white of Rohan. The man quickly dropped to one knee so as to speak directly to Merry. “Your pardon, sir, but I have come from Rohan seeking Master Holdwine?”

“I am he,” Merry replied with surprise. “But I fear I do not know you.”

“I am Halan, grandson of Háma. I believe you may have known of him.”

“I recall him indeed!” Merry answered. “A brave man he was. And I should be glad to be of service to you, if indeed I may be.”

“On nearly any other occasion, I should be honored indeed. But I fear I bring urgent news and a request from my king Éomer, which cannot wait,” Halan replied.

“Éomer!” Pippin exclaimed, greatly startling Merry, who in his interest and curiosity regarding Halan had failed to notice that Pippin had wandered to the doorway to see what the excitement was about. “How splendid! It has been some years since we last had news of Rohan, has it not, Merry?”

“I am afraid this is news you may not wish to hear,” Halan interjected. “King Éomer has asked for an audience with Master Holdwine, as soon as he may be able to attend. I fear my lord feels the weight of his years keenly, and time may be of essence.”

Merry’s heart sank at Halan’s words; for all his contemplation at the passing of his friends amongst the hobbits, he had not given thought that his friends among men were also of advanced age and declining health. “Indeed, I shall make every effort to journey to Rohan at the earliest. However, such a journey may well take a hobbit of my age a great deal of time.”

“We understand, Master, and we have been instructed to bear you to Rohan with us, to speed your journey and ensure your safety,” Halan explained.

Pippin smiled and patted Merry on the back. “See, cousin, Éomer has thought this out quite well for you!” He paused. “Though I must admit I would not mind visiting Rohan again myself.”
“Are you the Thain, Peregrin Took?” inquired Halan. Pippin nodded. “My King instructed us to bring you as well, should you so desire.”

“It seems our plans have been quite made for us,” Merry said in wonderment. “All the same, we shall have some affairs to be settled before we leave, and I should think we may need a few days for this task.”

“As you wish,” Halan bowed slightly. “We shall return for you in three days, if this is acceptable.”

“So it is,” agreed Pippin. “Please, do stay in the Shire until then, for I can assure you that hobbit hospitality is more than pleasant!”

And so Pippin and Merry busied themselves for the next few days settling their affairs and packing their belongings. Without a son or daughter of his own to rely upon, Merry requested the assistance of one of Sam’s sons. Given their ages, and the length of the journey, it was not surprising to anyone in the Shire that they would prepare for the possibility they would not be back. And while he certainly intended to come back, and he was reluctant to believe he might not return to the Shire, Merry had a gnawing fear within him, a small voice constantly whispering to him that he would not see his home again. But he did not speak of this to Pippin.

When Halan and his men returned, both hobbits were prepared to leave and Pippin even seemed eager to depart, but Merry could not yet leave the Shire behind in his mind. As they began their journey, he gazed longingly at each landmark, each field and hill and tree, while wondering to himself if he should ever look upon it again.

In time they reached the hills on the eastern bounds of the Shire, and here Pippin requested a brief stop and then disappeared into the forest, presumably to answer nature. But when Pippin did not immediately return, Merry went into the woods seeking him, and after a brief search found his cousin standing atop a small knoll from which much of the Shire could be seen. Pippin was staring out upon the vista thoughtfully, chewing upon the stem of his unlit pipe.

“Pippin? Is something the matter?” asked Merry.

“No, no, nothing’s the matter,” Pippin answered slowly. “In fact, the Shire is really quite lovely from here, don’t you think? I can nearly imagine every last hillock and hollow, and what is happening on or in them, just by looking out from here.” Pippin snorted. “Somewhere out there in the Shire there’s a pair of young hobbit lads looking for trouble, I’m certain, just as we were doing at that age. Might even be in the fields that used to be Farmer Maggot’s, they might be.”

Merry couldn’t help a chuckle at that idea. “If those fields are producing half the mushrooms now that they did then, there’s probably a dozen lads at them by this time of the day.” He sighed. “It worries me now though, it does, that I don’t expect I should hear about any of their adventures, like they have heard about ours, and I’m not quite sure we ought to be leaving them to their own devices just yet. There’s something to be said for experience, and I’m certain I could still be of use here.”

Pippin did not turn, but spoke surely in response. “Certainly, we both could be of use here. But we are old now, Merry, perhaps not so much as dear old Bilbo, but we have nearly two hundred years between us now, and that is quite a number. Our time is well past, and it would be best for us to leave the Shire to those whose time is present.”

Merry simply stared at Pippin in wonderment for several moments. In due time Pippin realized Merry had not spoken, and turned to Merry with a look of amusement. “Indeed, is something off, my dear Merry? You look as though you never saw me before this instant.”

“I’m not sure that I have!” Merry remarked. “Tell me, Pippin, when was it that you became the wisest hobbit in the Shire? For it seems to me scarcely yesterday you nearly drowned yourself in the Brandywine chasing after a frog.”

“Does time seem that short to you? For it hasn’t to me, not for some while now,” Pippin sighed. “You know, I do recollect you promised me a frog that night, and I can’t say you ever did give me one.”

Merry frowned. “Truthfully, I cannot recall that I did either. But it’s too late for that now, for surely my old bones will not let me catch any frog worth its breakfast.”

“Neither will my bones permit me, but my heart would gladden of the pursuit all the same,” Pippin finally turned away from the view and patted Merry upon his shoulder. “I’ve seen all that I will ever see of the Shire now, and it will be enough. We really ought to continue on our way, before our escorts set to fidgeting.”

Merry lingered a moment longer, trying his best to memorize each and every detail of the Shire that he could see, and even those that he could not see. Then he closed his eyes, surely the only way he could ever turn away from his home, and stepped back to join Pippin. “You are perfectly right, of course. This world has quite passed us by, and it is no longer ours. We can hope only that the Shire will remain always as it was today.”

And so the two hobbits continued on to Rohan, arriving at Edoras nearly a month after they had set out, and quite exhausted by their journey. They were warmly welcomed by Éomer and his court, and indeed Éomer was not quite so frail as Merry and Pippin had come to believe, though his time was certainly limited. They stayed in Edoras for several months, visiting frequently with Éomer until his passing late in the summer after the hobbits had arrived in Rohan. Merry and Pippin remained in Edoras a while longer, but Merry found staying in Rohan increasingly painful now that none of those he knew from his younger days remained, and Pippin had expressed interest in traveling to Gondor and seeing Elessar once more. And so they set out upon one more journey, once again accompanied by a guard from Rohan, and hoping to arrive in Gondor before winter should set in and make their travels difficult.

After several days’ journey, they stopped for the night along the banks of the river Anduin, and following their dinner the two hobbits took brief leave of their escorts to share a pipe. Or at least that had been their intent, Pippin noted to himself after Merry had dozed off, barely halfway through his smoke. Merry was rather wont to sleep at odd times these days, Pippin had noticed, and he imagined it would not be long before he himself would doze off at some inopportune time. ‘And like as not, I’d fall into my own dinner and drown,’ he thought, ‘if Merry doesn’t do so first.’

Pippin carefully removed Merry’s pipe from his hand and set it aside, lest Merry burn himself upon it, then finished his own pipe while he watched Merry sleep. While he looked forward to seeing the White City once more, and certainly would be glad to see Elessar again, Pippin was nevertheless somewhat dreading their arrival in Gondor. He was certain this would be the last time he arrived anywhere, and accordingly he had no wish to hurry their travel, in spite of the incipient winter. The thought had crept into his mind, almost as soon as he had agreed to accompany Merry to Rohan, that this would be their final journey, and by now he believed Merry also suspected as much.

He sighed and leaned back, intending to stretch himself but instead finding his joints were reluctant to move in any cooperative manner. ‘Elbereth,’ he muttered to himself, as he struggled to his feet amid a cacophony of crackling bones and popping joints. Once he was upright, he felt somewhat better and decided to take a short walk until Merry finally awoke. The sound of the Anduin’s rushing waters was tempting – his childhood experience in the Brandywine had never once deterred him from water – and he strolled down the bank to the water’s edge.

The last light of the sun struck the water in just the right manner, Pippin thought, casting colorful sparkles and ripples across the river’s surface in a most pleasing manner. He was quite fascinated by the light dancing across the water and utterly enchanted with its bubbling sound, a very soothing sound made all the better by the twinkles of light, and Pippin failed to notice he was falling asleep until his body began to tip forward towards the river. He sprang back to wakefulness with a yelp and tried to scramble backwards, but one foot caught upon a damp root, and he slipped and fell into the river just as surely as if he had not tried to avoid just such a result.

Under Merry’s determined tutelage nearly ninety years past, Pippin had become quite a good swimmer; but his limbs no longer cared for the exercise as a whole, and certainly not in such deceptively icy waters. It was all he could do to stay afloat and try not to be swept downstream. ‘Drat it,’ he realized. He and Merry had taken their pipes downstream of the camp, and the men would not hear his struggles in the river. So, then, it must have been determined long ago that he was doomed to drown, and simply a happy accident he had not done so as a child. Such an undignified end for a Thain, this was.

“Heigh-ho, Pippin!” Pippin was startled out of his self-pity by the more than welcome shout from Merry, who had suddenly appeared along the river’s bank. “Pippin! You fool of a Took! Can you swim back?” Merry called again.

“I don’t believe so,” he shouted back. “I’m a bit old for this now, and I can’t seem to get far.”

Merry paused, his face consumed by thought. Surely he would come to a solution to this situation, Pippin knew, but would he think of one in the next moment? Suddenly Merry broke from his thoughts and scurried to a tree along the bank, and climbed part way up its trunk. It was a young tree, slender and easily bent, and under Merry’s weight the top of the tree brushed the water an arm’s length or two from Pippin. “Here then, can you grab on?” Merry called.

Pippin was quite frozen by now, and he could scarcely feel his limbs as he struggled against the water, but he was just barely able to swim slightly, and after a minute or two he was able to grab hold of a branch. “Hang on, Pip,” Merry blurted as he backed off the tree and onto the ground. Unfortunately Pippin’s weight now replaced Merry’s, and Pippin found himself dangling from the tree limb, half in and half out of the river. “Confound it all,” Merry muttered. “Hold on, Pippin, I’ll fetch help.”

“Easy enough for you to say!” Pippin spluttered. “Do hurry, my arms will come off any moment now.” And he was not certain that they would not, for the chill of the river had sunk into him now further than he had ever felt cold before, and he already wondered if he should recover from this chill even if Merry succeeded.

Fortunately Merry was quick to return with the men, one of whom waded into the river while grasping the tree and plucked Pippin from the river, then deposited the very chilled and rather embarrassed hobbit on the riverbank.

“Sweet Elbereth, Pip! What were you about this time, that you decided to take a swim?” Merry complained as the men carried Pippin back to the camp. “You’ve frightened another five years off of me, you have.”

‘And more than five off myself,’ Pippin thought to himself, but did not voice that unpleasant thought. “In all truth, cousin, I was simply watching the sun’s last moments, and I slipped down the bank. Now, I would not have gone to the river to begin with, were you able to stay awake long enough to smoke.”

This had the effect on Merry that Pippin had intended; Merry flushed red and protested immediately. “Fall asleep with a pipe? Not I, dear cousin, I would never”

“And where is your pipe?” Pippin parried. Merry turned a deeper shade of red as he realized he had no answer. “It should be where I left it, after I took it from you lest you burn yourself.” He sighed. “My dear Merry, I am sorry, but I don’t think either of us mean to do half the things we do these days.”

When they returned to the camp the men assisted Merry in getting Pippin into dry clothes and wrapped in a number of blankets before setting him by the fire. Pippin was too cold and tired to protest their assistance, nor to refuse the hot soup offered him; but he did not accept the fresh pipe Merry suggested, for his lungs already burned as if full of the strongest smoke. Indeed, he already felt as though he burned with fire from head to toe, and worse yet, he felt frozen in those places as well. He was truly one miserable hobbit, but all the same he suspected much worse was to come to him, and while he wished he could console his quite worried cousin, he could not tell Merry what he feared.

Pippin was far more accurate in his suspicions than he would have liked, for by the time they reached Minas Tirith three days later, his condition had deteriorated such that Pippin was taken directly to the Houses of Healing. He had become wracked with a high fever and could scarcely breathe, and he was now far too feverish and weak to realize where he was. Nor did he recognize Elessar when the King arrived in the Houses, summoned by the healers when they realized the severity of the hobbit’s illness.

Meanwhile, Merry was sent outside by the healers, so distracting was his fretting and worry. He waited in the gardens, pacing frantically about in his distress, for much more than a day before Elessar sent for him. It was well then for Elessar, now slightly bent and grey with age, that Merry was also elderly, or otherwise the anxious hobbit might have toppled the King in his urgency. “What of Pippin? Will he be well? What can I do? What-“

“Hush, Master Brandybuck,” Elessar responded. “No, Pippin is not well. I have done what I may for his fever, and indeed it has nearly left him. I doubt he will die, but I doubt he shall be well again either. Such an illness does not leave the old. Would that we should meet again under better circumstances, but be assured he will be the best kept hobbit in Gondor, and you nearly as well.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, my King, your generosity is always the finest, but I should not be happy until Pippin is himself once again. And he will be, I’m sure, Tooks are a stubborn sort as you know well as I. He will be better, and soon,” Merry answered, speaking far more bravely than he felt.

But Merry was not right on this occasion; though Pippin recovered from his immediate condition, he failed to improve, and after a time his condition began to deterioriate. He was rarely well enough to leave his room and visit the gardens with Merry and Elessar, and after a few months Pippin no longer sought to be anywhere but in his bed. This distressed Merry to no small degree, and while he continued to be Pippin’s constant companion, Merry’s consistent denial of the same facts Pippin had already accepted caused great concern to Pippin, who in turn had confided his concerns about Merry to Elessar.

One evening, a month or so after Pippin’s last venture outside his quarters, Elessar found Merry alone in the gardens, halfheartedly smoking his pipe and appearing rather distraught. Elessar was certain the hobbit would not have been found at all, if Merry’s ability to make himself vanish were anywhere near to what it had been in his younger days.

“Master Brandybuck! I see that we have the same thoughts for such a fine evening as this, I had intended to enjoy a pipe as well,” he greeted the unhappy hobbit. “I would wish to join you, if you would allow it.”

While the expression on Merry’s face clearly indicated he wished to be alone, his natural preference for companionship and his respect for Elessar won out. “If you so wish, my King, you may join me. Although I will admit this is not the finest I have smoked, and you may find the company disappointing.”

Elessar sat near Merry and lit his own pipe. “Never would I find the company of any halfling disappointing,” he responded. “Particularly the company of you, or of Master Took.” Elessar received the response he expected; at the mention of Pippin, Merry looked away and fell silent. “You are troubled this evening.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Why do you think so, my Lord?” Merry asked quietly.

“For all the many years I have known you, you do not smoke your pipe alone, and since arriving here you have always taken it with Pippin,” he answered. “Merry, I do not speak to you as your King, but as a friend of long years.”

Merry sighed. “Pippin did not wish to smoke with me this evening. Since he first took up a pipe, he has not declined to at least join me.”

“It is the pipe he declines, not your company,” Elessar said kindly.

“Is it?” Merry asked sadly.

“Master Pippin is quite worried about you, in fact.”

“Worried about me?” cried Merry. “I should think not, for it is Pippin who deserves the worry. He has not gotten a bit better as he should.”

“No,” Elessar said slowly, “He has not improved. And he understands why he has not. And he understands that you do not understand, and he is quite concerned about you, as are we all.”

“It is you who does not understand!” Merry leapt to his feet and paced about in agitation. “Pippin is barely 96 now, young enough for a hobbit in this day. Surely he will improve, if not tomorrow then the next day, and he will be better again. He would not leave me, no sooner than I would leave him, for we promised long ago we would never let the other be alone in this world.”

Elessar also rose, and placing one hand upon Merry’s shoulder, turned the hobbit to face him. “Some promises cannot be kept, no matter how much one wishes so, and Pippin has accepted that he must break that promise to you. And in your heart, Merry, you must accept it as well, for yourself and for Pippin.”

Merry looked away. “I cannot.” He looked to his pipe. It had ceased to burn with his lack of attention. “I am afraid I really was not wanting to smoke tonight. Good night.” And he returned to the castle without looking back.

“Good night to you, my friend,” Elessar sighed as he watched the hobbit disappear. It was strange to him, that the living should need counsel while the dying were gracious about their lot, and particularly surprising to him that this should be with the two hobbits. He could only hope that Pippin would fare better, should Merry allow Pippin the opportunity.

Not many more days passed before Pippin found himself not only uninterested in his pipe, but he no longer cared to be sitting up, and the mere act of drawing breath had become an unwanted chore. He was quite certain his time was now very limited, and he very much wanted to discuss this with Merry. However, Merry had barely been to see him since the night Pippin had no choice but to decline the pipe, and the information Pippin had received from Elessar was not encouraging. Pippin knew he could wait no longer for Merry, and he requested another meeting with Elessar.

“It is a very sorry circumstance that I must call upon you again, Strider, but I fear it can’t wait any longer,” Pippin explained.

“You need not apologize, my dear friend,” Elessar answered, “but I have seen little of Merry for several days now. He has kept only his own company. I am surprised, I would have expected much the opposite of him, but as Gandalf often said, hobbits can still surprise you.”

“He surprises me, indeed,” admitted Pippin. “I haven’t the time now to wait, though, and I would wish to speak with him tonight, whether he wishes it or no.”
“Consider it done. He will appear this evening if I must order him chained and dragged, though I am sure it will not require that much effort,” Elessar smiled. “You have been a most worthy subject of Gondor, Master Pheriannath, and I am pleased to have been so long in your company.”

Pippin could hardly help but blush. “It has never been any less than an honor to have you as my King, even when you weren’t yet a King, and I regret I cannot serve you longer.”

“Regret it not, dear Pippin. Farewell,” Elessar kissed Pippin’s hand before he left.

‘Well,’ thought Pippin, ‘would that things should be so well with Merry tonight.’ But he knew that was not likely at all. Indeed, he was not so sure but that Elessar would have to have Merry dragged in like a sack of potatoes. Fortunately this did not come to pass; Merry did appear at Pippin’s chamber within the hour, unchained and upright, although firmly escorted by a soldier.

“Really now, Pippin, sending a soldier after me?” Merry grumbled.

“It was very important that you come tonight,” Pippin responded, “whether you wished to or not.”

Merry fell silent. “I – I do wish to be here, I just – I don’t”

“You don’t want to,” Pippin finished. “As I do not want it, either. Unfortunately, my dear cousin, time cares little about our wants.”

“No, it most certainly does not,” Merry sighed and sat beside Pippin. “I am most truly sorry for my behavior, Pippin, I truly am. I have no excuse for it.”

“Perhaps you do, Merry. Perhaps you were frightened.” It was not often that Pippin understood things better than did Merry, and he could not help but enjoy the look of shock upon Merry’s face.

Merry recovered himself quickly. “I should think not!”

Pippin chuckled. “Ah, my dear Merry, you don’t stretch a story quite like you used to. I’m afraid I don’t believe you, not a bit. And furthermore, I do believe I know what you’re frightened of.”

“Really, cousin?” Merry crossed him arms, a bit too defiantly. “And that would be, if I might ask?”

“You forget that many years ago, you told me what you were afraid of,” Pippin answered softly. “You told me if I were gone, you feared you would not wish to live any longer. And I am afraid, Merry, that this may be true, and put to the test quite soon.”

Merry had no answer, for truly he knew that Pippin was correct. After several minutes, he finally spoke. “I had forgotten that day in Ithilien. After we returned to the Shire and things were right again, I made myself forget. And I did not remember it again until we arrived at Minas Tirith. I am frightened, Pippin, because I knew myself far too well that day, and I still do.”

“Even the little I have seen of you, I have seen less of my dearest cousin, and more of a stranger,” Pippin whispered, “and I knew you remembered. But you must find a way without me all the same. I’m quite sorry about it, but I cannot change it.”

“No, we cannot change it,” Merry answered sadly. “And I know not what I might do instead.”

“Well,” Pippin replied, “you might start by visiting with me this evening. I’ve scarcely seen you in some time, and I’m sure we could find something to speak about.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure that we could,” said Merry.

“For instance, do you think we shall ever meet again? In the next world, I mean, I suppose it’s rather like the Gray Havens but of course I really don’t know”.

Elessar left the two hobbits alone that evening, and ordered his servants to do the same, although he left instructions to keep near throughout the night. He needn’t have done so, for as the first gray fingers of light reached Minas Tirith the next morning, the anguished wail of a hobbit could be heard in nearly every corner of the city, and those of the house of Elessar knew the Pheriannath was no more.

When Elessar reluctantly entered the chamber, he found that Merry had thrown himself across the still form on the bed, and Elessar required his utmost patience to coax the despairing hobbit away from his departed friend. He could not, however, persuade Merry to eat, or to sleep, or to leave his chambers. The inconsolable halfling refused to come out even when Pippin’s body was laid to rest in state, an honor rarely granted to any but a king, and Elessar became greatly concerned for Merry.

It was not long after that Gimli and Legolas arrived in Minas Tirith to offer their respects to their departed companion. “After all these many years, I no longer need worry myself about you, dear Pippin, and I should wish I would still be worried,” Gimli lamented, and then he had laid the Elven brooch given to him by Galadriel so long ago beside Pippin. “A token of the fine chase you once led us upon, my friend.”

Legolas added one of his arrows to Gimli’s brooch. “And this, a token of the troll we slew together, and the one you bravely destroyed alone. A fine soldier, and a worthy companion you were.”

Elessar had left instructions summoning both Legolas and Gimli to meet with him after they had paid their respects. “I am certain that the absence of the remaining member of our Fellowship was conspicuous. I am, to be sure, of great concern regarding Meriadoc, for he was not himself even while Pippin lived, and he has yet to leave his chambers since Pippin breathed his last.”

“You believe he has not much time remaining,” Legolas noted. “Perhaps it would not be our place –“

“Our place, bah!” Gimli sputtered. “Where would I find our friend Merry? A dwarf can always find reason to continue onwards, and so shall he!”

Elessar stifled a laugh. “Indeed, and such is why summoned you! Please do meet with Merry, and best of fortune go with you.”

Though it took much persuasion and argument with the grieving hobbit, at length Gimli was able to gain a brief audience with Merry. And indeed Gimli’s encouragements seemed to help Merry in the next few weeks; while he rarely ventured into the city, from time to time he visited the gardens, and he accepted such as the servants would bring him. Merry took it upon himself to review many of Gondor’s ancient texts to ensure they mentioned hobbits, and properly so, and this endeavor kept him well occupied and reasonably content for several months.

One morning, however, Merry was suddenly taken ill, and was far too sick even to rise from his bed. Alarmed by this news, Elessar went quickly to see Merry and was quite surprised to find the hobbit considering his illness rather casually.

“I hadn’t thought to mention it, really, but I am ill every year on this date,” Merry had explained. “It is the anniversary of the day I struck the Witch King, and he will not let me forget the hurt I put upon him, for he returns it in kind each year. I shall be much better tomorrow, and the day after, you needn’t worry about me.”

And yet, while Merry did improve over the next several days, he was slow to return to the old texts, and did not have quite the same fervor for them that he had prior to his illness. Nor did he visit the gardens, and by the end of the summer he no longer left Elessar’s house, and did not take interest in the old books at all.

“No complaints, really, and no fault of Master Gimli, or Pippin, for they were wise enough,” Merry told Elessar, “but I don’t care for another visit by the Witch King, and if I am not present for his next visit, it would be far preferable to me.”

As the days wore on, Merry left his quarters less and less, and rarely spoke to anyone save Elessar, and he spoke infrequently even then. While Elessar was reluctant to break any confidence Merry had, he nevertheless had the servants report to him their observations of the elderly hobbit. It seemed to the servants, that Merry rarely left his chair by the fire, where he would sit and read the old hobbit histories, many of which he had written himself. They also told Elessar that Merry appeared to consume less and less of the food brought to him, and that he had not asked for any pipeweed in some time.

One morning, the servant responsible for Merry’s breakfast returned to Elessar’s chambers with unusual haste. “My lord! Master Brandybuck does not answer his door, despite several calls to him,” she informed the King.

Elessar went directly to Merry’s quarters, and called for Merry himself, but received no answer. He felt he already knew why Merry did not respond, but allowed the hobbit ample time to answer before he opened the door and entered the room.

The fire had long since burned out, and the room was chilly. Merry’s bed was untouched. Merry was still sitting slightly slumped in his chair, the book of Bilbo’s journey still open in his lap with one hand resting upon it as if to turn to the next page. It appeared as though he had fallen asleep while reading, but Elessar knew better.

He approached slowly, not wishing to confirm what he already knew. He placed a hand upon Merry’s forehead and tried not to shrink back as Merry was as cold as his room. “Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered as he gently removed Merry’s hand from the book, “You shall no longer be alone.” He then closed the book, and placed it on the shelf with the other books which would remain in Minas Tirith permanently, a testament to the hobbits and their place in the history of Middle Earth.

THE END

©copyright 2000 Gonzai   

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