Change is slowly coming

My eyes can scarcely see.

The rays of hope come streaming

Through the smoke of apathy.

(Loreena McKennit)

***

"Merry." The voice insinuated into his mind, gentle but firm. "Merry, you need to wake up."

Wake up? He couldn't recall having fallen asleep. But the gentle motion of the water moving the boat had stopped. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared up at the intruder with the same emotionless expression he had been carrying for days now.

Merry's eyes widened slightly when he recognised the person who had woken him.

Legolas.

His aura seemed even more ancient than before.

"I need you to come with me, Merry." The musical quality of the elf's voice was missing, replaced by a strange undertone that chilled him to the bones.

"He is dead, isn't he?" Merry asked, his voice hollow and almost lifeless.

Deliberately ignoring the Hobbit's question, Legolas urged: "Just come with me. We have need of haste."

He reached for the Hobbit's hand and coaxed him gently off his chair. There were cuts and calluses on the slim hand, Merry noted as he followed Legolas's long strides. How many enemies had he fought? Slain? Had he watched out for Pippin?

A sharp pain shot through his heart, almost making him double over. No. The Elf couldn't have watched out for Pippin, or he would still be here. His cousin was lost. He had had word from Eowyn. Theoden's sister-daughter, the woman he, Merry, had been fighting with would have told him if Pippin had been found, would she not?

So why did he even bother going with Legolas? What could possibly be important enough? He felt as though nothing would ever gain any level of importance to him again, now that Pippin was gone. Merry looked at Legolas a little closer, half-heartedly trying to find out the elf's reason for fetching him.

He scrutinised the tall elf with narrowed eyes. The expression on the noble face was unreadable. Was it fear? Worry? Hope?

Hope?

Merry's heart did a somersault when Legolas half smiled at him, as though reading his expression. Suddenly, dreams of hope he had not admitted even to himself seemed to take root in real life.

Could it be? Could it? Was it possible that the Foolish Took had survived somehow? The spark of hope fuelled a fire.

Merry felt energy tingling in his limbs. The pain in his arm lessened with the anticipation rushing through his veins, making him feel dizzy.

"Let us go. Now." Merry burst out, louder than he had meant to. If Legolas came to fetch him, it could mean but one thing. They had found Pippin.

Yet he bit his tongue, effectively stopping the torrent of questions ready to spill out. He mustn't ask. If he was wrong, at least, there would have been hope for a few precious hours. Merry strove to numb his mind against the questions.

The elf rested his ancient blue gaze on the Hobbit when he lifted Merry onto the raven-black horse that was waiting for them. Legolas's eyes seemed to touch his soul, the deep blue gave him an amount of calm he hadn't felt in days. He found comfort in those eyes, and compassion.

Compassion . . . Merry quickly looked away. He didn't want to think about what else he saw in those ancient eyes. He didn't want to doubt; he needed to cling to this new-found hope.

And yet he was afraid of it. More terrified than he had ever been, even when he had attacked the Nazgul, because Merry knew, with an utter certainty, that this newly kindled fire would devour him should his irrational hope that his cousin was among those that yet lived turn out to be wrong.

***

TBC

Llinos, s1ncer1ty – thank you for the beautiful feedback.

S1ncer1ty – to you, especially, for listening to my ramblings and for showing me my way to second breakfast. :o)