A few changes to the version before, sorry for any inconvenience that may cause.

As I walk there, there before me a shadow

from another world, where no other can follow

carry me to my own, to where I can cross over...

close to home - I cannot say

close to home feeling so far away.

(Roma Ryan)

***

He had fled the dreadful, lonesome sight of Pippin's empty cot, but how he had managed to reach the open space once more, Merry could not tell. He had known only that he could not be in there for another instant, alone now in that place where he had been jesting together with his little cousin less than an hour past. The empty cot and snuffed candle were all that had remained, mocking Merry for having allowed himself to believe that all was now well. Rain, it's force abating slowly, still poured down on him, soaking his already wet clothes further.

The sky had lost its colour. Everything had lost its colour for Merry and seemed grey, distant, lifeless, because Pippin was no longer there to make things real. To make even Merry feel that he himself was real.

His body and mind were beginning to fail him, the emptiness and weariness at last overcoming him. There was no more strength in him. No thought consoled him - he could not even bear to think. To be thrown into despair and pulled back, again and again, now back into despair, was tearing him asunder. Despite his foolish hope, he was alone in the ever increasing Shadow. His right arm grew cold again and he felt what little was left of himself withdrawing deeper into the darkness.

Cold raindrops created dirty bubbles in the mud. Grey. Like his mind. Like his soul -- if he still possessed one. Grey. Like the dull pain which was all that remained of Meriadoc Brandybuck.

Whoever was standing there in the rain, Merry realised with an odd detachment, it wasn't him. Merry defined himself through Pippin, and without him, it wasn't only that he was incomplete, but knew he had ceased to exist as Meriadoc Brandybuck. Since Pippin's birth they had been inseparable. Brothers in all but their parentage. Any other loss he could have borne. But not this. Not this. Not the loss of half of his soul.

If only darkness would hurry. It was coming for him, he could sense it, and he prayed it would come quickly, so he could be with Pippin again.

Merry lowered his eyes. Raindrops clung to his lashes and pounded dully onto the tents with a drumming noise that made Merry remember his joy at the moment he had felt the fluttering thrum of Pippin's renewed heartbeat beneath his fingertips. At least he remembered he had known joy, but he could not remember what it had felt like, though he tried. He did try. A part of himself knew that Pippin would be disappointed in Merry for giving in so easily . . . another part knew that Pip would have been just as lost if he, Merry, were to leave the world without him. In the far distance, thunder rumbled - the storm beginning to pass away . . . as everything important to Merry had passed away.

Everything was grey.

Everything.

Except . . . something caught his eye and pulled him a little way out of the darkness . . . something . . . but even that something didn't seem to matter to him now.

Gandalf's white robes gleamed immaculate in the rain, as though neither rain nor mud could ever stain them. Unwillingly, his inbred Brandybuck inquisitiveness piqued his interest the tiniest bit and he couldn't help raising his eyes a little.

Still a good distance away, Gandalf was talking to Legolas. The elf was striding through the rain next to Gandalf, almost gliding over the puddles of water. He seemed unaffected by the weather, as much as Gandalf did and an open smile, which seemed like cruel mockery to Merry, played on his lips. Yet, for a moment, Merry held his breath. It seemed as though the elf was appearing in his true form, in a way that Merry had not been able to see him before, a white light surrounding him. He was shining, spreading light into the dreary day, offering illumination and hope where there had been none. It occurred to Merry, in a flash of understanding, that the Shadow had finally shrouded him. He was being drawn into the shadow-world, much like Frodo had been after he had been stabbed by the Morgul blade. Was this how his cousin had felt? Was this what he had seen? He had told them that Glorfindel had shone like a white, pure torch. But Legolas was no Firstborn, so how was it possible . . . ?

Again, weariness and grief assaulted him as he was thinking about his cousins, and the memories brought new comprehension.

This had to be the way Legolas appeared in the Shadow-world, since it was known elves had the ability to walk in both worlds at once. But if Merry could see the elf thus, that meant he was slipping to the other side. Merry could still feel the pull of the elf's purity, and for a moment his spiral into darkness slowed. A blinding caressing light, chasing away the fear the shadows brought, pouring confidence into the tortured soul. Purity and hope.

Was this how Frodo had seen Glorfindel?

Then the light vanished, and there was only Legolas, still royal and tall and . . . elvish, but Legolas, after all. There was nothing supernatural about him anymore.

Merry felt as though he was watching now from somewhere else, like he was being drawn inside himself, and things began to grow dimmer. The icy cold spread to his side, and he could almost hear voices, voices that were calling him to the Shadows. He made one last attempt to do what Pippin would want him to do, and tried to force the whispering from his mind. He had given up almost to the point of no return. How could he have done that? Pippin would not have wanted Merry to give in this way, however much he would have understood.

It had become so hard to think clearly since his encounter with the Wraith King, and even harder since the battle...since Pippin's battle...and he was so tired. But a part of his spirit did still burn, deep down, and he reached for that warmth, not because he wanted to for himself, but because he needed to, for Pippin.

He had to at least try.

Merry's eyes were drawn again to the shining figure of Gandalf, seeking an anchor to reality until he could find himself again. There was something about Gandalf that called to Merry, and he felt the darkness lessen and the shadow voices fade away. His side grew less cold, though his arm was still like ice.

Gandalf's hood was drawn up, and his still pristine white cloak was swaddled warmly about his shoulders. There was something about the way he was carrying himself that made Merry catch his breath though he did not know why.

Suddenly he felt himself filled with . . something he could not put a finger on. If it was hope he would not acknowledge it as such and risk yet another crushing blow. But he felt lighter somehow, even though it seemed almost blasphemic to feel that way. There was something about that cloak.

And Gandalf smiled. One of those rare, full-blown smiles, he had barely shown during the last weeks. The smile was not directed at Merry, for Gandalf's eyes were following the elf who returned some cheeky comment over his shoulder as he left the wizards side and walked toward the cluster of tents on the other side of the grounds. Quiet laughter followed.

Merry stood, rooted to the spot, his breath coming a little quicker as Gandalf, who had not yet noticed the small drenched figure in the shadow of the tent, strode closer.

Wisps of conversation drifted to him over the sound of the rain.

"No, indeed. I cannot tell you more." Gandalf's deep, cultivated voice reached Merry's ears as he walked steadily closer.

"But Gandalf, you said you would . . ."

Merry held his breath and closed his eyes. It wasn't possible. He couldn't hear what he was hearing. Or could he? This voice was as familiar as the scent of the sun warming the meadows in the Shire, as familiar almost as his own heartbeat. Yet ­ dare he believe? He barely comprehended what the voices were saying, just let the words wash over him as Gandalf approached. He still wasn't sure if what he heard wasn't the shadows playing cruel games on him, luring him closer.

***

TBC

A/N: Sorry this took so long – but this wee story really has been far more challenging than I thought. For a long, long time I was none the wiser than you were, so I hope that I'll be forgiven. :o\

Never-ending thanks go out to Leslie, Baylor, sincerity and Kati-Wan, without whom I would have given up.