But I was dead once
And you raised me from the dead.
What else should I do but weep?
(Oscar Wilde – The duel of good)
***
Merry fell into the the memory of a conversation, held not long ago, yet it seemed like eternities had passed since then. "I was afraid that if I blinked, I'd lose you. That if I fell asleep, you'd be gone in the morning. That I would miss it when you needed my help most." Pippin's words rang in his mind like a drum. A drum, stirring his guilt, tearing down the walls around his heart. A drum, vibrating throughout his whole being . . .
Merry froze when the vibration reached his fingertips. The soft murmurs of the healers behind the white hangings died down and the tent grew deathly silent when he sharply sucked in a breath.
It couldn't be. Was his heart, consumed by guilt, playing tricks on him?
It couldn't be. Couldn't be.
'But it has to be . . . please! It has to be . . .'
But then he felt it again. A tiny, weak fluttering, like caged butterflies, trying to find their way out.
Merry's heart did a painful leap in his chest. Was it possible . . .? He raised his eyes, blinking away the tears and reached for Aragorn's hand. The callused fingers of the ranger were cold in his trembling hand. Softly, as though afraid the vibration might be gone if he was too rash, he led Aragorn's hand to Pippin's chest and placed his own next to the long, tanned fingers.
There it was again. Thump. Slowly growing steadier. Thump-thump.
Neither Merry nor Aragorn breathed. No one in the hall moved.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Music to his ears. Every vibration a thrill through Merry's fingertips. Emotions welling up, ready to choke him. His body suddenly seemed incapable of housing his heart.
A droplet, glistening like a precious crystal touched Aragorn's hand. The ranger's long finger's engulfed Merry's smaller hand and squeezed it gently. More droplets fell and touched the gleaming silver ring on Aragorn's hand, seeking a strange acquaintance with the gemstone. It took the Hobbit a moment to realise he was crying. Tears were coursing down his cheeks, hot and unstoppable. And, giving in to the overpowering emotions, the great darkness that had settled in his soul was washed away by those cleansing tears.
A miracle had happened. Merry didn't know how, and he didn't know why. But it had happened.
Maybe what Gandalf had told Frodo in Moria was right after all.
"There are other forces at work besides the will of evil."
There had to be. And they had shown all their mercy today.
Pippin was alive.
***
It was the third day since that night. The third day – and still Pippin hadn't opened his eyes. By now, Merry was walking around in a daze. During the day, he would help the healers and Aragorn, sometimes even Gandalf. After he had been told that Frodo and Sam had returned and were in a deep, healing sleep not far away from the tent in which Pippin rested, he would sit next to their bedsides, watching their faces lose the grey hue and harsh lines which had been edged into them. By night, though, and in every spare minute, he would be at Pippin's bedside, eagerly awaiting the younger one to wake up, waiting for the slightest movement, the merest sound from the tiny Hobbit.
He was torn inside – for every minute he spent outside the tent, he was with Pippin in his thoughts, but all the time he spent with Pippin, he remembered Eowyn's plea – do what good you may. Now, was he actually doing good here? He was just waiting – waiting for his cousins and Sam to wake up. But outside, there were people needing his help, too. It was a struggle as Merry had never faced one. How could he possibly be of any help when he was feeling so exceedingly helpless himself?
Pippin had lost some of his paleness, and the wounds were beginning to heal. Remnants of the dark bruises were beginning to change into brilliant colours, purple, green, yellow. They slowly eased away. The bruises didn't look quite as menacing anymore, and everytime Merry went to sit next to his cousin, he could see another thing which brightened his spirits – or at least he tried to convince himself of that.
But inside, he was impatient, frightened, worried and frustrated.
The third day – still nothing. Three days was a long time, and even though Pippin's heart was beating again, Merry was unsure if that really was enough. Would Pippin ever wake up again? It was a thought he quickly thrust back into the dark chamber from whence it had come.
TBC
All of you who gave me feedback:
Thank you. You can't begin to know how much that means to me
Can I give you all a hug? Yes?
*opens arms widely*
C'mere, you imps! *smiles broadly*
Oh, talk about smiling. Talk about deep, deep, DEEP emotions:
My dearest Padawan has written a new story.
All you Merry & Pippin lovers head over there NOW and read it.
It's so utterly beautiful, I'm still crying everytime I read it.
The new fic is called "Little bird" and can be found in Murron's corner of this site.
It's well worh reading - because it is simply beautiful and touching and shining like a little bright star . . .
And: Yes. I *am* proud of my Padawan. :o)