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By: Dana
I. Merry has thought so much on what he'll find when the convoy arrives at Cormallen, he has decided to stop thinking about it at all; since hearing word of Frodo and Sam's return from Mount Doom, there has been hope, yes, but little more than that. It is a strange thing, to think so poorly of hope. Merry busies himself, instead, with brighter thoughts and memories of home. It is hard to think of Pippin, and Merry wonders if it would be so difficult, and if it would hurt so badly, if only he had received word of him, too.
II. After the convoy arrives at the great camp, Merry sees Legolas first, Gimli next. Though he listens, Merry finds that speech and sound are too complicated. He can't focus on the weight and the implications of first Gimli's, then Legolas's, words. But some leak through to him. He is alive, Meriadoc, and mostly whole, but the hurts of his body go deep. He is alive, though, alive, and that is what matters here, when all Merry's dreams have been dark with unspeakable, unthinkable despair. When Merry sees Pippin for the first time, his cousin sleeps: a deep but troubled sleep.
III. A day, Merry absently thinks, it has only been a day. Now the angle of the sun throws long shadows across the tent, deepening all the lines of Pippin's face until it is impossible to tell what is and what isn't bruised and battered flesh, what is whole. The bandage at his brow is stark white in contrast. When Merry glances at him again, Pippin's eyes are wide and clear, aware and bright; his fingers twitch in Merry's gentle clasp. "They said you were coming, Merry, but I almost didn't believe." He closes his eyes, abruptly, and once again sleeps.
IV. The cool air tastes of spring and the dark before dawn as Merry rouses from a restless sleep, sitting blearily forward from where he slept slumped in the chair beside Pippin's bed. Pippin, he thinks, reaching out; then, clearing his throat, "Pippin? Pippin, are you awake?" Pippin is, and Merry catches hold of a clammy, heavy hand. Pippin's voice bleeds into the night, and with a breathless rasp, he speaks: "Don't let them bury me too deep, Merry. If they do, then I won't be able to breathe." Pippin's hand tightens painfully around Merry's; in a panic, Merry cries out.
V. It has been a long day. Merry sits at Pippin's bedside as long as he can, and it is only at Legolas's urging that he goes for a walk. There are things left undone. Though he knows where they are, he has not seen Frodo or Sam. He goes to them now, and sits with them, watching as they sleep, worn lines graven on their weary faces. There is peace, though, glowing through, and it gives Merry hope. Perhaps they will wake soon. Merry holds Frodo's hand like a lifeline. He feels alone, despite the steady in-and-out of sleeping breath.
VI. " – he never did let you forget that, Frodo; you know how Tooks cling to their pride." It doesn't matter that his words fall on sleeping ears; he has told this story – this memory – more times than he can count. What matters is that Frodo and Sam sleep, and heal. " – you never let Frodo forget, either, though I'd not have expected anything less of you, Pip." Merry clears his throat; his voice is raw. Pippin cannot hear him, not now, but still he talks. At least in slumber the lines of hurt have softened; breathing brings no great pain.
VII. The day is still new, the sun hardly past the midday mark, but Merry feels old. Pippin is sleeping off the effects of a draught to deal with the fever that woke him before dawn; Merry cannot, however, remember the last time that he himself slept. "Drink this, Merry," Aragorn says, gently yet firmly pushing a warm mug into Merry's aching right hand. Merry bows his head, breathing in the scent of sweet but faintly medicinal herbs; he drinks, and hot, bitter liquid floods his throat. He sleeps on a cot beside Pippin – through the day and then the night.
VIII. When Merry wakes, Pippin is sitting propped up in his bed, pillows piled high at his back. He smiles, though his eyelids droop. "'Lo, Merry," he says, his head lolling. His bad hand, thickly bandaged, sits across his lap, and his good hand lies at his side as if waiting. Merry takes it, carefully wrapping his hand around thin fingers, bird-fine bones. "Did you sleep well, Pip?" "Well, I want to sleep more now, if that tells you anything." "Sleep then, you silly Took," Merry says, clutching at his hand. His voice cracks. "No," Pippin says stubbornly; then he does.
IX. Merry's hungry. He can't remember when he was last hungry, and Pippin looks well this morning, so Merry suggests that it is high time for first breakfast. Pippin agrees. He only eats half his watered-down meal, though, and it doesn't stay down for long. He is tended to, but when they are alone again, he weeps. "It isn't fair," Pippin cries. "My body doesn't work, Merry, and I don't know all that's going on – talk to me, please. Tell me what has happened. Tell me of Frodo and Sam." Merry's heart breaks, and he tells Pippin all that he can.
X. "It's lonely when I sleep," Pippin says, his eyes half-lidded and sagging lower. He has run a low fever throughout the day – my fourth day at Cormallen, Merry realizes, with a shock that seems to linger. Four days, and only now does he knows the full extent of Pippin's injuries – a broken leg, a shattered hand, some ribs shattered, others cracked; a gash on his forehead that is far longer than it is deep. Hardly whole, but healing – his Pippin is healing, his Pippin will live. "I'll keep you company, Pip," Merry says, crawling right up into the Man-sized bed.
XI. All Merry seems to do is eat and sleep and panic and sleep. Legolas is there, and Gimli, too (Gandalf and Strider come and go), and Merry thinks distantly there must be more to life than this, as he only half pays attention to Legolas's voice. Pippin is resting, mostly content: lucid and healing. Right now he lies with his head on a pillow in Merry's lap, and Merry strokes his left hand back and forth through Pippin's tumbled curls. The three companions tell Pippin stories, and Pippin sleeps. But it is harder to make Pippin wake in the morning.
XII. A fever rages; Pippin's skin burns. "Make it stop," he pleads, hot tears in his eyes – tears that burn away before they fall. "Please, Merry, make it stop." "Strider knows what he's doing, Pip," Merry whispers back, once again soothing his hand through damp curls. "Just let him help you, please. You'll be all right." It is a sickness in Pippin's hand, Aragorn says, a rot that festers in his blood. When Pippin screams in pain, Merry, struggling, is taken from the tent. He weeps, and Legolas, stricken, embraces him. They listen as Pippin shouts, cries. The stars overhead dim.
XIII. It is not right, it is not fair. Pippin was recovering, and now.... Merry sleeps. It does not seem right that he can sleep, either, but he does, exhausted, pushed to the very edge of what he can take. Pippin sleeps more, as the pain is too much for him to bear, awake. When he does wake, he is surly and ill-tempered and almost impossible to bear in his own right. "What must we do for him, Aragorn?" Aragorn's eyes are sad, but his words, of bleeding wounds and resetting bones and just-one-more-chances, give Merry hope. He must have hope.
XIV. "What must they do to me, Merry?" Pippin asks, mostly lucid. Merry touches his cheek, and kisses the pale skin just under the white fabric binding his brow. Pippin's eyes widen as Merry speaks – first, he will do this, and then he will do that, and the poison in your blood will all bleed out, and he will, at last, be able to properly set the bones. "Aragorn says that it will hurt, but – " "I'm no child," Pippin says, softly. "I am a soldier, you know." Merry blinks back all of his tears. Pippin closes his eyes and sleeps.
XV. Aragorn waits for dawn to set to his work. Merry knows he cannot watch, cannot bear his Pippin being in such pain. "Please stop worrying so," Pippin says, drowsy, though not from any drug just yet. His breathing is harsh and his face pale, but for two fever-bright spots on his cheeks. Never has Merry seen Pippin like this: so terribly beautiful, and brave. "I haven't seen Frodo and Sam. Go visit them for me, please." Merry does, grateful, relieved. Though they still sleep, Merry tells Frodo and Sam of all Pippin's brave deeds, just as he told Pippin theirs.
XVI. Gimli finds Merry sitting by the sluggish river in the faded light of a setting sun. Settling his bulk beside Merry, the Dwarf then speaks, unbidden: "He is a strong one, Meriadoc." He pauses. "I would tell you – " – of walking amidst the wounded, the dying, despairing for hope. I had all but given up, Merry, for surely by then, he was dead. When I found him, I thought him so – oh, my friend... He did not breathe, and his body was all but crushed. Yet he lived through that – " – and he will live through all this, as well."
XVII. It is not until the next morning, after a night spent sleeping and dreaming and despairing in the tent that Legolas and Gimli have taken to sharing, that Merry sees Pippin again. "It seems you have a visitor," Gandalf says into the dim tent, and kindly bids Merry enter, from where he stands, silent, at the open flap. "Is it breakfast?" Pippin's drowsy voice, questioning. Merry smiles, and tears spring to his eyes. "No, Pippin, it is only me." Pippin sits up smiling, hair tousled, cheeks warm with new, unfevered color. "Merry? Why, you are almost as good as breakfast."
XVIII. The food comes shortly after Gandalf leaves, and Merry joins Pippin in bed once they've eaten. "Are you tired? How do you feel? I have not spoken with Strider, so – " Pippin laughs, offering Merry his hand. "He says that he bled out the poison, and the fever helped, as well as the water they had me consume; together, it burned the rest of the poison right out of my blood." Merry squeezes Pippin's hand. "Then, you are well." "As well as ever," Pippin smiles. "Though, I do rather have to relieve myself, cousin." Merry laughs, helping Pippin from bed.
XIX. At Gandalf's bidding and Pippin's insistence, Pippin is let from his bed, with Merry there to guide him. His leg is tired and sore, and he has gone too long without walking. Still, the bone is well set, and is healing already, good and straight. Pippin wants everything, it seems – to see the river, to count the stars, to walk, to talk, and even to sing. It is different now, with Pippin at the river. They sit, and he touches Merry's right hand, holds it with both his own. "Are you well?" Pippin asks. Now – he's not alone. "I am."
XX. It isn't difficult for Pippin to talk Merry into taking him to see Frodo and Sam the next day. "The walking is good for my leg, you know," he says, with a guileless smile. Seeing them, though, he frowns, and sorrow touches his eyes. "They don't even look like themselves. But - perhaps they will soon wake," Pippin says, and he sighs, then smiles slightly. "I'm tired now, Merry. Might I sleep with them, please?" Merry helps him up, then sits, watching, as Pippin quickly falls asleep, his bandaged hand almost touching the similar stark bandages upon Frodo's right hand.
XXI. "I feel that I could run," Pippin says, proper in his bed, a tray with the remains of his second breakfast across his lap. "Well, at least I feel that I could go for a very brisk walk." "Now, Pippin – " Merry says censoriously, and Pippin smiles sweetly back at him, endless Tookish charm in his tousled curls and knowing green eyes. "Now, Merry," Pippin echoes, "you heard Aragorn, yourself – Pippin, you'll do your leg no good, if you stay put in bed. Don't drive yourself too hard, he said, and I have no plans of overexerting my poor leg."
XXII. The next day, Pippin walks on his own – well, Merry is with him, of course – all the way to the tent where Frodo and Sam still dream. "I thought I'd not see them again, Merry," Pippin says. "Well, I thought I'd not see you, either, and we would only be reunited in death. But seeing them, here - " and Pippin is now gazing at the two hobbits as they rest, this endless healing sleep - "well, seeing them here, I have no doubt that they'll wake, too." Merry nods, stricken; he cannot speak for the tightness in his throat.
XXIII. "So: How does it feel?" "Honestly?" Aragorn's hand moves up the length of Pippin's leg, touching carefully. Pippin doesn't even wince. "Yes, Pippin," Aragorn smiles, long fingers now pressing firmly at Pippin's knee. "Honestly, please." "Honestly, it doesn't hurt as much as it could. That is, it only seems sore." Aragorn nods. "It is healing well. As it should," and Aragorn makes a thoughtful sound down in his throat. "I wouldn't want my smallest knight anything less than whole." Pippin's smile is more a grin. "Is that so?" "Oh, it is." (Merry's eyes close, his mind fading back into sleep.)
XXIV. Together they go walking through the camp, fully clad as esquires, the scent of Ithilien hanging in cool March air: Merry wearing white and green, Pippin all in silver and black. Pippin's steps are guarded, and he favors his left leg; Merry is as careful, his right arm held tight against his chest. They are greeted as though they were lords. "Look at us," Pippin says. "Knights, the both of us, of the City and the Mark." "Do you think that Frodo could ever believe?" "Would, you mean, dear Merry, and yes," Pippin says, "don't you worry - he will."
XXV. "Today," Gandalf had said with solemn joy, "Frodo and Sam awaken. I am certain you will both look your best – not only for the Shire, but for the kingdoms you now serve." Now Pippin fidgets with his fine garments. "How do I look?" "Perfectly presentable." "Well, I'd not want to look so awful as to send them right back to sleep." It's been so long; so much has changed. "They'll have other things to worry about," Merry says. "I wonder how dear old Sam will react, being honored by the king, and Frodo, too." "We'll see soon enough," Pippin says.
XXVI. The Sun seeks her bed and Merry finds that he is able to sit comfortably, to listen and to talk; that the celebrations and the ceremonies are all through. Merry and Pippin have little trouble as they tell their tales, and Frodo and Sam listen intently (as does Gandalf, content to sit and not speak), ever ready with another question that needs answering. Even as the night deepens and their company grows, there still is always more of the story needing to be told. Four hobbits, all together, all alive. Merry realises gratefully that he'll not be going home alone.
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