Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear maybe
Ever so near
(Turner/Parsons)
***
The tray was loaded to the point where it looked in danger of breaking under the weight of the food. There was bread and cheese, soup and vegetables, meat and fish, cake and pies, pastries and most importantly Pippin's favourite food – custard. Balanced on a corner, swaying dangerously, was a steaming cup of tea. Of course, Merry was aware of the fact that Pippin would probably not be allowed to eat half of what he had brought, but Merry had been so caught up in collecting that he hadn't been able to stop. Besides, seeing what he was missing out on would only make Pippin rise from the bed faster.
Merry placed one foot in front of the other with studied deliberation, careful not to drop anything. Looking over the various shapes on the covered tray, he wondered if he had overdone it. But thinking about the young Took's unbridled appetite, he decided that he had done the right thing. Pippin hadn't eaten in almost five days, he simply had to be hungry. Even if he was not allowed to eat everything, at least the soup, the bread and the custard would surely make this meal a feast for the young Took.
Rain was pouring down in heavy curtains, cold and unwelcoming. The soil was soaked and the mud crept between his toes, making them uncomfortably wet and chilly. He hurried on, at the same time trying to stay as dry as possible and not to drop anything.
The Healer's had told him in private to wait one more day before letting his hopes get too high that Pippin would recover completely. How he lived at all was an amazement to many. Pippin had only just woken up today for the first time in nearly a week, and his injuries had been grave indeed.
Merry needed no reminding of that. He would never, ever forget that day when he had lost Pippin, then had his little cousin so miraculously restored to him. But he would not dwell on the past. Pippin had come back, and now he had finally awakened, all would be well, and Merry refused to think of any other outcome.
The Healer's may have said that this one day would decide everything, for good or ill, but Merry didn't waste a single thought on the ill. All of Merry's thought was bent on getting his cousin well again. He had seen Pippin's smile again, and had seen the twinkle in his cousin's eyes. He knew that the lad would be perfectly all right soon.
And Merry would make sure that Pippin regained his strength as soon as possible – hence the food. Good old hobbit-remedy for everything.
Of course, Pippin had nagged him long enough about it. It was incredible how much this small hobbit was willing to do for food. He had requested some ale, and when that didn't work tried wheedling and teasing, even his infamous pleading glance but Aragorn had strictly refused, and Pippin had re-learned, not for the first time, that it was better not to get into an argument with one's High King.
How Aragorn had managed, though, Merry couldn't tell. He surely hadn't been able to refuse any of Pippin's wishes and so Merry had left his cousin about half an hour ago promising to fetch him a meal worthy of Bilbo Baggins. How the future Master of Buckland had managed to find all the things he had on his tray, he decided to make an elaborate tale worthy of cheering Pippin, a small but necessary reminiscence of their forays and tricks in the Shire. Not only for Pippin, but for him, Merry Brandybuck, too.
All of a sudden, Merry shivered, but it wasn't from the cold rain. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the Healer's walking through the rain, their figures upright and seemingly oblivious to the rain. Their steps were gravely slow, and all of a sudden, when Merry beheld a stretcher, covered with a large, white sheet, he recognised the shiver running up and down his spine. He had seen this a lot during the past days. One more soldier had fallen into shadow. It seemed unfair to Merry that even now, after the war had been won, so many good men were still losing their battle against the irresistible song of death.
The rain was starting to thoroughly soak his cloak and weskit, so Merry shook his head and continued. There had been enough sadness. He couldn't stand any more of it.
At least Pippin was well. He tried to erase the picture he had just seen from his mind and walked on, bending his mind to more pleasant things.
More pleasant things . . . Pippin trying to persuade Aragorn to fetch him a pint of ale, for example. A broad grin spread over Merry's features.
He reached the entrance of the tent, whistling cheerfully and greeting the soldiers who were walking by. They smiled at the newly kindled bright spirits of the halfling.
"You seem to be in a good mood, Master Perian. It's nice to see someone smiling in this foul weather. Everyone else seems to be downcast because of it," one of them remarked when Merry passed him by. Rain dripped from the man's hair and coursed down his face, but his eyes sparkled warmly. Seeing the halfling and his loaded tray, he rushed forward and opened the tent flap for Merry.
Over his shoulder, Merry replied: "Indeed I am. And I don't see why this weather is unpleasant. I quite like it." He grinned at the soldier, nodded his gratefulness and resumed walking, whistling again.
He stooped low to open the white hangings which separated Pippin's side of the tent from the others.
"Alright, dear Pippin, we have cheese and bread and tea and some fr . . ."
Merry stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened. The tray slowly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers. He barely noticed the plates breaking on the floor. The heat of the spilled tea touched his feet. He didn't feel the pain.
Merry stared at the bed, unbelieving. He rubbed his eyes. But the picture he saw didn't change.
The bed Pippin had been resting in was empty. Fresh, white linens gleamed dully in the murky twilight. The candle wasn't burning.
Merry had seen this often enough during these past days when he had worked alongside the Healers. He had often been the one to do it. He knew what it meant to see a vacated bed, freshly made.
But that couldn't be right. He had left only about half an hour ago, and back then, Pippin had been all right. Naturally, he had looked pale and tired, but that couldn't mean . . .
"Today . . . for good or ill." The healer's words rang in his mind. He stared at the freshly made bed with unseeing eyes.
The covered stretcher . . .
No.
Pippin had only just woken up, he had talked to Merry, had squeezed his hand . . . most of all, Pip had been hungry . . . it was impossible that he . . .
No. Oh please, no.
The candle wasn't burning.
Merry felt the darkness touching him. It fell on him like a thick fog that made it hard to breathe or move.
The bed was empty.
Pippin was gone.
***
TBC
NOW: What do you think happened? Speculations?
Need to give thanks. Hopefully I won't forget anyone:
Mindel: Thank you, your reviews are very sweet, always manage to make me smile
Baylor: Woman, you're such an excellent author, and you're giving *me* feedback? *shakes head in disbelief*
Trilliah: How comes I always have to give a hearty shout of laughter when I read your feedback? No reviews on nindaiwe - not a single one. So . . . maybe you're going insane after all? *cheeky grin*
Llinos: Love your cheering, woman. Can't say "thank you" often enough.
MarigoldG: Woman, you're amazing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. (Beta-reader mine, does deserve a more enthusiastic reaction, does she not? *g*)
Brachan90: Sorry I haven't gotten back to you about posting on your site. Let me finish this first, 'kay?
Sharpe's Girl: Thank you for the enthusiastic review. It is amazing to see that people are actually so moved by the story. It's something I never expect while writing. So - thank you for telling me! Still, Please, hold Tolkien in higher regard than me. He's the real Master of words and atmosphere and beauty.
To all of you I surely have forgotten: Please know that your feedback is what keeps me writing. The warm, tingly feeling that rises when you see that people are actually *liking* what you're writing can only be surpassed by a trip to Scotland. *g*.
By the way, just in case you should be interested: There are certain pieces of music which have inspired this story or have simply been great to listen to, to get in the mood:
"Sons of Somerled" - Steve McDonald
"Marching Mystery" - Dougie MacLean
"A German Requiem" By Johannes Brahms
"Who can you trust" - Morcheeba
"Parallel dreams" and "Mask and Mirror" - Loreena McKennit
"Songs of sanctuary" - Adiemus
"Magnificat" - Claudio Monteverdi
"Concierto de Aranjuez" - Joaquin Rodrigo
And pretty much everything by Enya. :o)