Warnings: Character death

The embrace between father and son was short lived. A spasm shot through Merry's abdomen and the hobbit hunched over in pain, grasping the throbbing side tightly. His face contorted in misery and he collapsed roughly to the dirt. The boy above him gave a shrill cry of terror and the other three hobbits rushed over to his side, attempting to haul his form off the ground.

"Merry! Merry can you hear me?!" Sam yelled, tapping Merry's check lightly. "Stay with us!"

"Oh, Sam, I don't....I don't feel...." Merry stuttered, clasping his hand over his mouth.

The hobbit shoved the others aside, falling to his knees, jerking his hand away as a stream of vomit flooded out of his mouth. It was red. The crimson color stained his pale hands, seeped into the ground, and streamed down the front of his shirt.

"Nad, fetch the doctor now!" Milo barked. "Something is terribly wrong!"

"I will get Dr. Brombleburr immediately!" Nad shot back, dashing down the trail.

Milo crouched next Merry, slamming the palm of his hand over the hobbit's back, helping the other clear the spew that was lodged in his throat. A gurgle rose in Merry's throat and he slumped against the ground, groaning in agony. Sam was next to him in a hurry, once again helping the other hobbit to his feet and trying to reach the doorway. Pippin ran ahead, stretching a shaky hand toward the knob, twisting it until the door swung open. Poppy emerged from the archway, a startled look forming on her face as she spotted the two hobbits towing Merry's form.

"Goodness, what is wrong?!" Poppy cried.

"Ms. Poppy my father has gone ill!" Pippin wailed. "We must get him inside to the bedchamber!"

"Yes, of course," Poppy muttered, motioning them inside. "Go down the hallway and turn right. You should find the bed there. Is there anything I can get in the mean time?"

"Bring cold water and rags," Sam ordered. "His body is burning up and we'll need the rags to cool him down. Also, bring a pitcher of cool water. I fear that he is dehydrating."

The two hobbits continued to ease Merry into the household until finally reaching the chamber. Merry was gently plopped onto the bed and the two began to remove his clothing, intent on placing a nightshirt over him for comfort. Instantly, the hobbit began to struggle against their grip. In his state of delirium, the images of Milo, Sam, and Pippin had turned to ones of orcs. They were leering over him, tearing at his clothing and flesh.

"No! You will not take me again you foul creatures!" Merry shrieked, thrashing madly in the bed. "Not again!"

"What is his problem?!" Milo snapped, attempting to keep his hold.

"He is hallucinating!" Sam shouted. "The poor hobbit thinks we're orcs! He is probably remembering the old days when.....he went through that terrible time.....Go gently, Milo! I do not want any more harm to come to him! Look at the stitches! They're coming undone!"

"I am doing the best that I can!" Milo growled, "but he is making things difficult! I won't be able to keep him under control for much longer!"

Pippin dashed to the side of the bed, rubbing his hand in a soothing motion over Merry's slick brow. "Please, father, they are only trying to help you. Please, stop fighting."

Merry's movements stilled, save the ragged breathing coming from his heaving chest. Glazed orbs glanced up at the young hobbit. A smile came over his features.

"Pippin, dearest Pippin," Merry murmured. "I thought you had died...."

"What is he talking about?" Pippin asked, eyes raising with confusion.

"Do you not know?" Sam inquired. "You were named after his cousin, Peregrin Took, the one who died at the hands of the robbers. That was a long time ago, though."

"Before, he was talking about orcs," Pippin began, "where did he get that notion?"

Sam sighed. "I suppose that portion of father's life was never explained to you. Only a select few know of it, for Merry was so greatly shamed by it. I'm not comfortable giving you the information, but I'm certain he would have told you some of the tales."

For some time, Sam told Pippin of the past and Merry's ordeal with the robbers and the orcs of the old days. The hobbit listened on with disbelief in his eyes.

"That poor hobbit," Milo murmured. "He didn't deserve to go through such a hell, one as kind and gentle as him. If only the world were a more peaceful place, perhaps he could have had a better life."

"Aye, there are a lot of things that shouldn't have happened in the old days," Sam muttered, "but what's done is done. These matters will always persist in the world, for the evil in it will never be destroyed. Merry has had a rough time, there's no denying it, but in a way a good life was presented to him. Many friends and companions have been at his side and he had a wonderful cousin, a breathtaking wife, and now a son. There have been times of darkness and despair for him, but also light and hope."

Merry became still and fell into another deep sleep. Sam and Milo were able to slip the nightshirt without further problems, careful to avoid touching the infected stitches. Poppy came with the drenched rags and pitcher, placing them near the edge of the bed. The hobbits then took turns placing the damp cloths over Merry's forehead, also clasping the cool hand in comfort. Within the hour, Merry was in and out of consciousness. He was no longer hallucinating, but found it difficult to speak through his sore throat. The vomiting was still persistent, and it turned a darker shade of red with each passing minute.

"Where is Nad with that doctor?!" Milo screeched.

"I'm sure he is doing the best that he can," Sam replied. "There are other hobbits in need of a doctor too."

Milo grumbled and slumped in a nearby chair. Footsteps thudded across the wooden floor, growing louder as it approached the door. Brombleburr burst through the doorway and immediately strode to the side of the bed where Merry lay. He drew back a portion of the nightshirt, gazing over the swollen belly and stitching. Yellow pus was leaking out the sides and dribbling down to the mattress. The doctor solemnly shook his head.

"I fear there is nothing that I can do for him," Brombleburr sighed. "The infection and fever are too great. Also, it seems there is eternal bleeding from the amount of blood he is spewing. No type of medicine or surgery can cure that."

"Come now, there must be something!" Sam wailed. Deep within his heart, Sam knew the impending fate of the other hobbit, but a part of him wanted to believe there was hope. Frodo, Pippin, two of his companions, were already lost to him for the time being and he was not prepared to lose another. The weight of sorrow and guilt were overpowering. "Please, do something for him!"

"The only thing that can be done is to make him comfortable as possible," Brombleburr muttered. "He is dying; it appears he has been for a while. I am sorry, but Merry will not make it through the night." He squeezed the unconscious hobbit's hand. "I must leave. There is an urgent matter else where I must attend to. Merry was a great friend. I will miss him deeply. Forgive me, but I must go."

Stifling a sob, the hobbit spun around and walked out the door, leaving behind stunned faces. Milo slid further down his seat, head twitching and slowly lowering to his lap. Tears slid down Sam's cheeks and he sat at the edge of the bed, taking the cold hand in his, fighting back the sobs growing in his throat. He massaged the frail hand gently. Nad and Poppy were in the doorway, holding each other in a tight embrace while Pippin inched once more toward the bed.

"Father?" Pippin choked, kneeling near the edge. The boy trailed a finger across a flushed, sweaty cheek. "Please, wake up."

At the sound of the boy's voice, Merry's ears perched. His head slumped to the side and his eyes gradually opened. A warm smile formed on the hobbit's face.

"Pippin, my boy," Merry murmured. Extending a shaky hand, he cupped his palm around the boy's cheek, using a finger to wipe away a single tear sliding down. "Don't cry my son. This is a joyous occasion."

Pippin shook his head. "How is this blissful?! You are dying!"

"That may be," Merry began, "but I couldn't be more happy. I was able to see you one last time. I couldn't believe my eyes when I first spotted you. So much about you had changed since I saw you last as a wee baby. You have grown into the perfect hobbit, my son. Handsome, strong, intelligent, I couldn't ask for anything more in son. You have managed to thrive for twenty years knowing that your father abandoned you."

"Father, you did not abandon me!" Pippin snapped. "You did what was best and I am grateful for that."

Merry smiled. "I am proud of you, my son." His eyelids drooped, and he gave off a yawn. "I am so weary. Perhaps it is time for me to find rest."

Pippin jerked, and clenched his hands tight around Merry's. "No father! It's too soon! We've barely spent any time together! It's not fair!"

Merry chuckled bitterly. "Life isn't fair, my son. I, of all hobbits, know that well." He choked. "But at least I was able to see you, even for a little while. I love you son." He spun his head, facing Sam. "Thank you Sam, for everything. I would have never made it without your aid. Thank you too, Milo. The both of you have proven to be wonderful friends."

"It was nothing," Sam sniffled. "I would do anything to help you, Merry."

Milo nodded, unable to speak.

"I....."

His voice went hoarse and no more words could pass his lips. Tears seeped down his chin and his vision became blurry. He could sense Sam crouching over to him, trying to shake him awake. Merry reached out, trying to latch on to something, but couldn't maintain his hold. There were sobs and screams everywhere and they could hardly be told apart.

"Father! Father, do not leave me!" Pippin called out.

Merry wanted to assure him, to hold him, but in this final state nothing could be done. His vision worsened and everything seemed to vanish. The sensation in his body was starting to disappear and his limbs went ridged. Panic was settling into him at the lack of movement.

In the background the distant shout of Milo and the wailing of his son could be heard. The pain, once so overwhelming, quickly ebbed away. He felt his body becoming light and a tingling sensation spread down his spine. Fear came to mind, then. He wanted to stay. There so much that had been left unsaid and so much that needed to be done, but it was over. No longer could he make out the sounds in the room and a bright white enveloped his vision, blinding him. Nothing could be made out at first, but in the distance he spotted something.

His body moved upward, gently soaring away from the world he had known for so long. He was entering a new plain of existence now. The uncertainty left his mind and he continued on to the figures, crying in joy when two sets of familiar arms wrapped around him. Peace, happiness, things he thought he would never find again, were at last his.

"Welcome home, dear cousin."

"Glad to have you with us, my husband."

Epilogue may follow.