A Day's Work
by Gonzai
Rated PG-13: war and monster imagery, nightmares
Disclaimer: None of the Tolkien characters are mine, dang
nabbit. But if they were, we would have heard more about what happened to them
in Return of the King, and so I’m borrowing them for the moment. I’ll
give them back, promise.
Summary: Series of four missing scenes from Return of
the King: in Minas Tirith after the army departs for the Battle of the
Black Gate, on the fields outside the Gates, returning briefly to Minas Tirith,
and then finishing in Ithilien, through just before Frodo and Sam wake up.
Although the healing process was taking far too long by his reckoning, Faramir knew the Warden was correct in ordering him to remain at the Houses of Healing while the battle against Sauron continued without him. And while he hoped it would not come to that, his goal was to be ready should the army of Gondor fall and the enemy once again besiege Minas Tirith. To this end, he was willing to cooperate with the Warden and take his rest. Regrettably, though, he was not getting any sleep on this evening due to a persistent and rather annoying sound from a nearby room.
The pitter-pat, pitter-pat sounded much like a small child who could not be still, and though it was truly a soft sound, in his present state the pattering sounded to Faramir nearly like the pounding of a galloping horse. After some hours of agitation he finally concluded that while he was not certain what action he should then take, he would at the least have to find the source of the sound; and fortunately he did not have to venture far from his room to do so.
The pattering was coming from the room near to his own, a room he knew was presently occupied by his fellow patient, King Théoden’s esquire, the perian he had not yet met and about whom he knew very little. But he was aware this perian was not only an esquire of Rohan but a favorite of Mithrandir and the Ernil I Pheriannath, as well as having been in the affections of his departed brother; additionally, the perian was depriving him of his rest, so Faramir determined it might well be time they became acquainted.
He entered the room quietly but gave just enough notice of his presence that the perian stopped his pacing immediately. “Our time in this place is long, but I know not the need to trod a trench into the floor,” Faramir told the halfling, who had flushed red in embarrassment. “And as the floors of this house are built of stone, it may take quite a long time to complete the work.”
“I-I’m sorry, my Lord, if I disturbed you-“ the perian stammered.
“You did, but you are forgiven,” Faramir told the halfling. “I would wish though, that you would keep your pacings to the hours of daylight.” At this the perian flushed an even brighter red. “I am afraid that we have not yet made acquaintance. I am Faramir, soon to be steward of Gondor, and brother of Boromir. I am to understand my brother was fond of you and the Ernil i Pheriannath.”
“The Ernil i Pheriannath?” asked the confused halfling.
“Your companion, Master Peregrin,” Faramir added hastily. “The men of the Third Company bestowed the title upon him, greatly to his discomfiture, I might add.” He smiled at the perian.
“He spoke a little of it,” the halfling nodded, then paused before speaking again. “Your brother Boromir laid down his life for us, and I cannot begin to repay the debt I owe to you.”
“There is no need, the Pheriannath has graciously given his fealty to Gondor and his generosity will serve for you both,” Faramir smiled down at the halfling but did not fail to notice he flinched at each mention of his absent companion. “And you have accepted the mantle of Rohan, an honorable task you have served well. However, I know not your name.”
“Meriadoc Brandybuck, sir, but I’ve always rather been called Merry.” Merry had ceased blushing but had replaced the reddening with fidgeting.
As he had with Pippin, it took Faramir only a few moments become as fond of the perian as had his brother Boromir, and already he found himself willing to do what little he could for Merry. “You wish to be riding with your lord Éomer even now, do you not? It is the hardest task for a true soldier, to remain behind when the battle rages on. But Éomer understands well enough, and you have already proven your worth to Rohan.”
Merry looked him right in the eye. “I should have gone with my King, and with Gandalf and Strider and the others too, they may need me in the battle, I am not so ill that I could not have gone.”
“But that, Master Merry, is not a decision we make,” Faramir responded. “The Warden, however unfortunately, has the final word in this house. I too am subject to his cautions. And even Aragorn himself deemed you should stay.”
“But I do not wish to let my friends meet their fate without me!” Merry stormed in frustration to the window of his room, which opened outwards to the city, and threw himself upon the sill in frustration.
“Your friends, or Master Pippin?” asked Faramir. While he had no doubt of Merry’s loyalties to his King – and the future King – it was not difficult to realize the true source of Merry’s frustration.
At this Merry flushed red again and hid his face in his arms. “Gandalf bore Pippin away to this place many days ago. The last time I can recollect that Pippin and I were not companions before then…if I recollect rightly, Pippin had not yet learned to walk. No sooner do I see him again but he is taken off to war, a battle where he will most surely die, and die terribly. And where shall I be when he dies? Here in the peace of this house, warm and fed.”
Faramir understood all too well. Where had he been, as his brother had been pricked by dozens of arrows, but comfortably camped with his men in Ithilien? “Master Pippin is a soldier of Gondor now. He understands why you are not with him, and he will forgive you. You need only forgive yourself, Master Merry.”
“If I only could,” Merry answered quietly, and turned away. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like hours. Finally Merry looked up, his tears nearly dried. “Lord Faramir…you could not have helped Boromir. There were so many Orcs…not even Strider could defeat so many. And what would this city be now, without its steward?”
Faramir in his increasing weariness had not realized that Merry had seen into him as well as he had seen into Merry. “And perhaps what would become of the Shire, should you not return? We are hatefully trapped by our circumstance, yet there may be reasons. I should like to ponder the reasons in my sleep, and well you should too.”
“Yes, I should. But I won’t sleep, not at all, until I know what has become of my cousin,” Merry replied, staring out the window. “But I shall try to keep quiet the rest of the night.”
“Your courtesy lives up to its reputation,” Faramir smiled even though he knew Merry would not see him do so. “Good night to you, Master Merry.”
Pippin was suddenly aware that he was aware. The last he could recollect was the slain troll-chief collapsing upon him and crushing him into the ground, and he vaguely supposed he had heard someone say something about the eagles. But since he was now deceased, it didn’t much matter about the eagles anymore.
Except that as he remembered from what he had heard from older hobbits trying to explain to the young ones what death was about, he was under the impression that when one was dead, one didn’t do things like recollecting. Even as he considered this, he found that he could just wiggle the toes on one foot a bit. And since he was doing those things, perhaps he wasn’t dead. But then, as he further considered, perhaps death might have been a preferable circumstance.
There were, Pippin was all too quickly realizing, numerous disadvantages to being underneath a troll, especially a large troll and particularly a large and dead troll. For one, the smell was quite horrendous. Rather like the mulch pile behind the Hobbiton stables, on a very hot day. He was sure the stench would have made him sick, except for the fact that he was able to breathe very little of it due to the troll’s tremendous weight upon his far inferior size.
‘A pity then,’ thought Pippin, ‘that no sooner do I grow taller than I also grow flatter.’ And he certainly felt flattened, as the troll’s weight had forced him into the not-hard-but-not-nearly-soft-enough ground until he could sink no further, and it now required all of his meager efforts to draw any sort of breath.
He wasn’t properly sure he really wanted to continue breathing, either, as he was more than a bit pained in his present dilemma. Extremely pained, more so even than the time when he was maybe six years of age and he had fallen from an apple tree while obliging Merry’s request for a specific apple, and had broken his arm (and even as he remembered, he knew he had done so again.) If Pippin could have smiled then he would have, remembering not the pain but how terrified Merry had been, first believing his antics had killed his little cousin, and then realizing even if he hadn’t killed Pippin, his Aunt Eglantine would certainly kill him. And Pippin’s mother certainly had made Merry quite sorry about the whole affair.
He wished Merry were here now, not that there was anything Merry could do for him in his present circumstance, or for that matter anything that could be done by anyone. He would certainly be dead long before anyone would find him, if indeed they would ever find his body. Pippin wondered if anyone had noticed he was missing yet, and found himself again wishing Merry were there; certainly Merry would be searching for him. ‘Poor Merry,’ Pippin thought. ‘He’ll be quite lost without me, I’m sure, as I would be without him.’
It was just then Pippin thought he heard voices, but they sounded distant, and they were not moving any closer. ‘Well then, I suppose that’s it for me. They’ve come to bear off the bodies, and they shan’t even find mine,’ he thought morosely. But then he thought the troll’s horrid body shifted its weight just a bit, and then it moved slightly more, just enough to cause the most agonizing pain so that Pippin wished very much to scream. But being as he couldn’t breathe, he could not scream either, and so he took the next best option, and he fainted and recollected nothing more.
Gimli peered in long and hard at the man’s fallen body, a man wearing the colors of Minas Tirith. At length, Gimli decided the man yet breathed, and called for a litter to bear the man back to his city.
“You have found another?” Legolas called from nearby, where he also searched the battlefields for the living. “My friend, you seem to have found another calling.”
Gimli answered him with a grunt. Truth be told, he was finding he rather enjoyed Legolas’ teasing, and while he found his heart to be surprisingly light despite the carnage about him, it would not do justice to the brave and fallen to be joyful. “A calling I’d rather not have, but perhaps will not be needed again,” he shouted back. “I have heard that the eagles found the halflings even as the mountain burst, and they still lived.”
“Indeed, so I too have heard,” Legolas responded. “But I have heard nothing of young Pippin, and I would not have the heart to return without him.”
“Nor would I,” Gimli answered. Their army had won the day, Sauron was defeated, and most of those of the company of greatest importance to him had survived, but he would not be properly and fully well with the victory until he had found the halfling. The men who had fallen in this area were all men of Minas Tirith, mostly of the Third Company, the same company where Pippin had been assigned, and Gimli was certain Pippin would never have left the company of his own accord.
There seemed to be few men alive here, and Gimli was prepared to continue his search elsewhere when he sighted the fallen troll-chief. ‘How mighty a warrior was needed to fell such a beast as this? I should wish to meet him in good company, should he still be alive,’ he marveled as he considered the size of the troll. Nonetheless he had work to be done, and he was about to continue onward when he thought he saw what appeared to be a bare foot protruding from beneath the carrion. ‘What warrior would take to the field of battle with naught upon his feet?’ he wondered, ‘unless…’ and then he knew just where he would find Pippin.
Moving with surprising speed, he leapt over a pile of bodies and lunged against the troll’s corpse, but he could scarcely cause it to move. Quickly Gimli looked for Legolas. “Here!” he shouted. “I’ve found Pippin!”
Legolas did not waste time in answering, but raced to Gimli’s side pausing only to bring two men with him. It was well he had, for it required the strength of all four to push the troll’s corpse aside and reveal the battered hobbit crushed beneath.
Gimli dropped to his knees beside Pippin. The halfling was far too still. Gimli searched desperately for breath but found none, an absence made all the more painful as he saw Pippin had fallen with his elven blade turned upward and still dripping with black ichor from the wound it had inflicted on the troll. “Of all warriors on this field, and the smallest destroys the largest, and yet there is nothing to be done,” he cried.
Legolas also knelt by Pippin, but with his calm and knowledge he found what Gimli did not. “He breathes yet, but not much longer,” Legolas raised Pippin’s body in his arms as he stood. “We must bear him to Aragorn.” And he raced back to the camp carrying Pippin gently as Gimli followed.
One of a hobbit’s best talents is remaining unnoticed, and Merry was no exception, at least in most instances. While he had needed to wait (impatiently) for well over an hour before Ioreth was far enough away that he could escape his room and make for the garden, his flight went unnoticed. By the Warden and the women, at any rate. Merry had barely made his way into the garden before he collided with Bergil, causing both of them to yelp with surprise.
“Shhh!” Merry hissed. “You’ll have me caught!” Merry had come to know Bergil well in recent days; the boy was as distraught for his absent father as Merry was for Pippin. Merry, for his part, found Bergil rather reminded him of Pippin, and his companionship eased his burden very slightly.
“Caught? So, the Warden has not granted you your leave yet?” Bergil whispered as they both retreated as far from the gate as possible.
“No,” Merry answered ruefully. “I’m perfectly all as well as a hobbit should be, but yet he will not believe me, and will not let me anywhere alone. And even if I were ill – which I certainly am not! – I don’t know the harm of being in the garden.”
“Nor do I, but the Warden is well known to err in favor of annoyance,” Bergil grinned. “When I was with the pox he would not let me free for a month.”
“A month!” It was all Merry could do not to shriek it. “I have been here far too long already. And there’s something about the city today. Something is going to happen, and I do intend to be part of it.”
“As do I,” agreed Bergil. “I was coming to fetch you. I have heard tell of an eagle arriving at the city.”
“An eagle?!” gasped Merry. “Gandalf knows the eagles. Perhaps – Owph!”
Merry was interrupted by the twisting of his ear by a strange hand, and by the yelping sound Bergil made, Merry suspected the hand’s owner might have acted likewise with the boy. Nor was Merry excessively surprised to find the hand belonged to the Warden.
“Master perian, you lead a fine chase! Far too fine. Shall I have you locked in your room? Or do you even recall the instruction I gave you earlier?” Several days of seeking solace in the garden without permission had caused the Warden to be increasingly frustrated with Merry.
Merry was no less frustrated by the Warden’s excessive caution, and was no longer inclined to hide his distaste for his imprisonment. “Well, I believe your instructions were to stay in the Houses and not leave for any reason without your permission, were they not?”
“A cheeky one you are, and I see you have enlisted one of our lads to assist you in your escape, no less. Indeed, I shall have you locked away for now.”
“You can’t!” Merry insisted. “There is news in the city and I shall hear it in spite of you!”
“Yes, you will hear it indeed,” grumbled the Warden. “You shall hear it –“
“From the eagle himself, and in my company,” Faramir finished, striding in just in time to retrieve Merry and Bergil from the Warden’s grip. “Remember Mithrandir’s words about the Pheriannath? Remarkable they are, and far more resilient than men. I am quite certain Master Merry is perfectly well and able to attend, would you not agree?”
The Warden may have found Merry frustrating, but he had no wish to defy his lord. And so Merry (and Bergil) were quite glad to find themselves escorted by Faramir to the gates of the city, where the eagle was awaiting Faramir’s approach.
“Lord Faramir,” the eagle began, “I bear news from my King, Gwaihir, and from Mithrandir. Sauron has fallen, and his army has dispersed.”
The eagle had to pause then, as the cheers and shouts from the men present made speech difficult. He continued when the din lessened. “King Elessar requests a caravan be sent to the fields of Ithilien with all haste. There are many warriors fallen, and many more injured and in need of tending.”
Merry could wait no longer. “Is there any news of a halfling?”
“Or my father, Beregond?” Bergil added.
The eagle cocked his head slightly. “There are far too many injured men to be accounted for, nor have I heard of a halfling who fights alongside of men. Yet I have heard, that my King has rescued two halflings from the foot of Orodruin, and they are borne to Ithilien as we speak.”
“Sam and Frodo!” Merry cried out joyfully, though his heart still pained for news of Pippin. “They have succeeded!”
“So they must have,” Faramir agreed. “And I am glad to hear of it. Friend eagle, I beg you to advise Mithrandir I shall send as many as may be spared to Ithilien as the King requests.”
“My Lord! I must be sent with them! I cannot wait for another moment more to learn what has become of Pippin,” Merry begged.
Faramir smiled. “And tell him if you would, that I shall send this halfling and the boy as well, so that they may learn of those they seek.”
Not even each other’s companionship could ease the anxiousness of Merry and Bergil as their company made its way to Ithilien. No more news was forthcoming to the travelers, and little more was made available when they reached the camp well after nightfall at the end of their journey. A guard sent Bergil to seek his father among the wounded men, but he said he knew nothing about a halfling fighting for Minas Tirith, and sent Merry on his way into the encampment to seek his answer.
Merry wandered for hours on end, first about the camp, then through the fields searching for Pippin or news of him, yet he found no one whom he recognized and none who knew Pippin’s whereabouts. His feet and his heart grew heavier with each step as both his hope and his strength flagged. He was beginning to consider that the Warden’s cautions might have been well taken, when he was startled by the snort of a horse behind him and then surprised by a familiar voice addressing him.
“Meriadoc Brandybuck! I had sent word for you to be brought to me upon your arrival, but it seems some men do not remember more than a little of their instructions, and I had to seek you myself.”
“Strider!” Merry’s relief was such that he could not help but throw himself upon Aragorn, even before Aragorn had fully dismounted from his horse. Merry wanted desperately to know everything but felt awkward inquiring about Pippin immediately. “I-I greatly feared for all our company…do you know…”
“Yes, all those of the Fellowship have survived, and so has your King Éomer. Most important to you, I know where you may find the brave Pippin. Gimli and Legolas remained with him while I searched for you.” Aragorn grasped the Merry’s shoulders gently. “But he is not well. I have done such as I am able, but he was gravely injured.”
This certainly was not the news Merry had wished to hear, while he supposed it could have been even worse. All the same Aragorn’s eyes betrayed his concern, and as for Merry, both his eyes and his voice betrayed him. “He will live though, Strider, he will, won’t he?”
Aragorn did not answer, but instead lifted Merry onto his horse. “We have done what we can, my friend. But we are not hopeful.”
Merry remembered very little of the journey back to the camp, as he spent much of it hiding his fear and distress for Pippin by burying his face in the horse’s long mane. Nor did he remember Aragorn lifting him down from the horse and half-carrying him into a tent. Indeed Merry was largely unaware of his circumstances until he was greeted warmly by Gimli and solemnly by Legolas.
“Merry!” Gimli bellowed. “Your fellows have proven themselves as much of warriors as you did for your King. Frodo and Sam are here being tended quite well. And a pity you were not here to witness Pippin’s might, as he felled a great troll-chief himself!”
“But he yet bears the cost of his bravery,” Legolas added. “Come, Merry, perhaps your presence may aid your friend.”
Merry gasped at his first sight of Pippin. However taller the two of them might now be compliments of the ent-draughts, Pippin still seemed far too tiny and fragile, bound up in bandages nearly from head to toe. “He slew a great troll-chief, but could not escape soon enough and was crushed to the ground,” Aragorn said softly. “He is broken, far more than any man could survive. But the hobbits are strong, and perhaps he is waiting for you.”
Aragorn’s words were not heard by the ears they were intended for; Merry had already thrown himself beside Pippin’s cot. One of Pippin’s arms was tightly bound and clearly broken, so Merry took the less injured hand into his own and peered into Pippin’s still and quiet face. “Pippin! Pippin! It’s Merry, I came as quickly as I could,” he called quietly at first, but receiving no answer and recalling how best to acquire Pippin’s attention, Merry raised his voice. “Peregrin Took, you cause me too much worry! Wake up, you have a long tale to tell and I shall hear it at once!” But he received no response at all. “Oh, Pippin,” Merry whispered, “you must wake. You must.”
Merry would not leave Pippin for so much as a moment, and no amount of reassurances could persuade him away. He refused to abandon Pippin, even to leave him in the care of others from the Fellowship; Gandalf and Aragorn reluctantly acquiesced to the stubborn hobbit and allowed him to remain, provided Merry was willing to assist with the care of not only Pippin but also of Frodo and Sam, who had been placed with Pippin. It was the hope of Gandalf and Aragorn that if the hobbits were together they would recover more quickly, and in Pippin’s case recover at all. Merry, for his part, was relieved that he could remain with Pippin, and that he could see to his other friends as he did feel somewhat guilty for worrying himself far more over Pippin than he had for either Frodo or Sam.
Gandalf had advised Merry that he would keep Frodo and Sam asleep for at least ten days, so exhausted were they, and this was a relief; but Pippin had not been made to sleep, and Gandalf’s magic could not make him wake. Gandalf and Aragorn made many suggestions, and Merry gladly accepted each, forcing whatever horrid concoctions they created into Pippin and then waiting by his side to witness any effect they might have. But no effect was seen, not even with athelas, and with each failure Merry felt his heart grow heavier and his own will falter with despair.
Several days passed, and still Pippin did not wake, and still Merry would not leave him. At the insistence of Gandalf, Merry slept at least a little, but would not leave Pippin even then; he pulled a chair close to Pippin’s bedside, and then would sleep slumped half upon the chair and half upon the edge of the bed, clutching Pippin’s uninjured hand. In the beginning Merry slept fitfully, waking at even the slightest of sounds in his wishes that the sound might have been made by Pippin, but as the days continued Merry was less hopeful, and he began to sleep longer and more deeply.
Thus it was late one night that Merry found himself dreaming, a horrid dream he could not escape. Nor could he nor Pippin escape inside of this dream, for they were once again on the plains east of Rohan, fleeing the orcs and Uruk-hais, and while they had managed to reach the forest, the orcs were close behind them and gaining ground. Furthermore, they had no idea where they were going.
They ran desperately until they found a break in the path, and Merry ran to the right without hesitation, but soon realized Pippin was no longer behind him. ‘Pippin?’ he called softly, not wishing the orcs to hear him. ‘Pippin?’ But Pippin did not answer, and then an orc crashed through the brush before him, and Merry had to run again.
The bushes and branches ripped and tore at him as he ran; Merry dodged them as best he could, knowing any damage done by the trees would be truly small in comparison to his fate should the orcs capture him. At one moment an orc nearly did capture him; so close was it, that Merry could feel its hot breath upon him, and he could see its filthy claws and gnashing, bloody teeth – and then he saw caught in its teeth a piece of gray wool, flecked with purple and yellow and fresh blood, and Merry knew where Pippin had gone.
Merry stopped running, closed his eyes and turned back, expecting and perhaps even wishing the orc to rend him to pieces, ready to accept the fate that had already befallen Pippin. But there was no attack, only silence, and after a time, Merry slowly opened his eyes to face what he was certain would be his death. But the orc was gone, and no others were there; nothing was there at all except a dark shadow, and then Merry heard his name spoken, soft and whispering as if on the wind, and he was certain it was the shadow that had spoken. He dared not answer it, for it surely was a wraith, and he was equally sure he knew whom it had once been. Then he heard his name again, spoken a little louder and with more insistence, and he was about to back away from the wraith when something grasped his hand tightly and the nightmare finally ceased.
Merry awoke instantly with a squeal of fright, and immediately looked to his hand to see Pippin’s fingers closed tightly about his own. He leapt to his feet and turned to find Pippin watching him, scarcely awake and appearing very pained and discomfited but nonetheless regarding him with curiosity, puzzlement and more than a touch of impatience. Merry was so beside himself with joy and relief he could not think of a word to say, and in due time Pippin was no longer inclined to wait for a response.
“Merry,” he whispered again. “I’m hungry.”
“Pippin! You’re, you – you’re alive!” Merry flung himself atop of Pippin in his anxiousness and exhilaration, forgetting Pippin’s condition until Pippin reminded him with a yelp of pain and a surprisingly strong complaint.
“Why, yes, cousin, I do believe I am alive, but I shan’t be much longer if you insist on leaping upon me so. And I’m still hungry,” Pippin whimpered.
For what he supposed was the dozenth or so time in the short hours he had been awake, Pippin took his own inventory of his injuries and ills and compared them to the list conjured by consultation between Aragorn and Gandalf. Upon receiving word from Merry that Pippin was awake (and, Pippin noted, there was a general failure by all to act upon the additional notice that he was hungry) Gandalf and Aragorn had set upon poking, prodding and otherwise producing prodigious pain throughout him in the name of determining his health. As far as Pippin was concerned, he had been far healthier before this undertaking.
While he agreed his legs were not broken, he vehemently disagreed that they were merely bruised and had told them so, declaring he had never seen anything so black and blue as his legs presently were since Fatty Bolger slammed his hand in the door. And while he had no argument that his left arm was quite broken, he deemed it far more damaged and painful than Aragorn seemed to believe it was. It was about then that Gandalf had insisted upon having the young hobbit gagged before proceeding any further, and Merry, of all hobbits, had cheerfully complied with the order.
‘Pippin, even I no longer wish to listen to you, and if you wish to know the extent of that, there are quite a few here you could ask!’ Merry had announced even as he had stuffed a loaf of bread into his mouth. At least Merry had the proper sense to use food. After all, Pippin still felt himself insufficiently fed.
Pippin further agreed that he indeed had many more cracked and perhaps broken bones (and those that were not broken by the troll, he suspected might have been broken by Merry’s enthusiasm the night before and he made quite sure Merry was aware of his suspicions) but in the end he disagreed vehemently that he must spend at least two more weeks confined to his bed. He had been awake less than a day, and already he wished desperately to be somewhere else. It was of no comfort to him that he shared a space with Frodo and Sam; Gandalf had said that they would sleep for several days more, and it was extremely odd to share quarters with such inactive company.
At least Merry was there. Once the excitement had ceased (and he was truly amazed at how much excitement he caused merely by waking, he reminded himself he must inquire of Merry how long he had been sleeping) Merry had finally brought Pippin some food; not as much as Pippin might have liked, but certainly the foods that hobbits liked, and particularly the ones he most enjoyed, and he was sure Merry had played no small part in this. Indeed, Pippin could imagine Merry being quite insistent until he received precisely the right food. And despite Merry’s occasional declaration that Pippin was being quite impossible, he still barely left Pippin alone, and inquired frequently whether Pippin was warm enough, and as to his other needs. Pippin was rather enjoying the extra attention. Perhaps he ought to keep this in consideration for the future, that Merry was far more mindful of him when he was ill.
By the following day Pippin was absolutely certain he would not survive unless he spent at least a little time outside, and queried Gandalf regarding any possible excursion so often and with such enthusiasm that in the end the Gandalf finally granted him permission for a short trip with Merry, and then Gandalf had stormed off in a fit of pique which Pippin really thought extravagant. “Merry,” he asked, “Am I truly such as Gandalf says? And what did he mean by that remark about hobbits?”
Merry shrugged in response, wearing an expression of puzzlement and innocence so genuine Pippin knew perfectly well it was not. “Come on then, what’s he about?” Pippin persisted.
“Well, it’s not so much Gandalf then, as it is that I was much the same in Minas Tirith with the Warden. I suppose I may have been rather insistent about leaving my room…and I might have left on a few occasions…without permission, but really, he was being quite unreasonable!” Merry flushed slightly red at his admission.
“I don’t know why you would be embarrassed, cousin, after all, we hobbits aren’t really meant to stay in bed all day, unless of course, we want to!” Pippin declared, and Merry had to agree, and he helped Pippin prepare for his venture.
Pippin was nearly ready to depart when he realized he wasn’t wearing his favorite scarf; he asked Merry to wait a moment and went and fetched it, attempting and failing to wrap it about with only one hand and then quite forgetting the entire complicated procedure when he saw that Merry had flinched noticeably at each sight of the scarf.
“Merry, is something the matter?” Pippin inquired, genuinely confused at Merry’s reaction.
“No!” Merry answered quickly, too quickly by Pippin’s judgment. “I meant, no, nothing’s the matter, why do you think so?” Merry continued nervously.
“It’s not so important,” Pippin answered, thinking above all else to preserve his trip, and abandoning for now his efforts to put on the scarf, although he did decide to bring it with him. “Come on then, it won’t be light for so much longer, and I must be somewhere besides here!”
Ithilien held no comparison to the elven-lands, or even to Sam’s gardens in the Shire, and Pippin surely could not have managed to go far without Merry’s assistance, but all the same Pippin found the walk an immense improvement to remaining in bed. In time though, Pippin felt himself chilled and decided one hand or no, he needed the scarf, and as he brought it out and tried once again to put it about his neck he again caught Merry in a flinch. “Here now, Merry, there must be something not right, you can’t fool a Took, you know, and you are behaving most oddly.”
Merry folded his arms across his chest, bit his lip and refused to answer.
“Really, Meriadoc Brandybuck, one would think you were stubborn,” Pippin persisted, “but already I know there is much you haven’t told me, and I don’t know why you won’t. Certainly, I’ve told you everything I remember, and it would be fair of you.”
Merry remained silent for the better part of a minute, and Pippin was about to continue his plea when Merry turned to him and deftly wrapped the scarf about Pippin’s neck, doing so swiftly but not so quickly that Pippin did not see the beginnings of tears in Merry’s eyes. “There now, Pippin, you should be warmer. Will this do?”
“No, it certainly shan’t,” Pippin answered softly.
Merry turned away again, then spoke so quietly Pippin could barely hear him. “I dreamt of the orcs, on the plains. I dreamt when we ran away, that they caught you, and did most horrible things to you. And when I knew they had, I let them catch me, too. Do you believe what the old aunts always told us, that our dreams may mean something?”
Pippin was nearly frozen in surprise by Merry’s admission, but he remembered the tales, indeed. “Yes, Merry, I believe.”
“I think the dream meant that if you died, so would I, because I wouldn’t care about living anymore. I have been very frightened these last days, that we would never speak together again.” Merry’s voice shook so that he could say no more.
Pippin put his better hand atop one of Merry’s. “Do you know what I thought, as I thought I would die?” he asked. “Mostly I thought of how if only one would search for me, it would be you. And I was very sorry I would not see you again. But I was also very wrong, and we should both be much happier for it.”
“I suppose we should be,” Merry whispered. “Promise me though, that you shall never go off without me again. I don’t believe I could survive this again, and I certainly would wish not to.”
“I promise,” Pippin answered without hesitation. “We hobbits must stay together, and we shall. I think we should begin with dinner.”
At this Merry couldn’t help but chuckle, and he helped Pippin back to the camp, holding Pippin’s hand tightly.
THE END
©copyright 2000 Gonzai