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Rating: PG-13 (mild violence and hobbit strife in later chapters)
Summary: In the middle of a celebration after the destruction of the Ring, Merry is melancholy. While Pippin is with him, the Lady Galadriel happens upon them. Her words to them provide little comfort at first, but eventually the two hobbits find succor in them.
Feedback: Constructive criticism is welcome. I attempt to keep as close to book canon as possible. Ideas on how to improve in this area are particularly welcome.
Disclaimer: The places, situations and characters of The Lord of the Rings belong to the Tolkien Estate. This work contains no original characters. No money is being made from this work.

Author's Note: This story is inspired by discussions in the Merry's Mob and Pippin's Playgroup threads formerly of Imladris.net and currently of khazaddum.com.


"The Vision of Galadriel"
Chapter Four: Orodruin

Pippin smiled at Merry in those first waking moments, and any desire that Merry had for the Ring left him for a time. However, the events repeated themselves, and every night Merry would brood while Pippin slept, brood on the situation that he and his cousin were in. What he had once considered an opinion, that it would have been better for him to go off alone with the Ring and do this deed, was now a hard and fast fact in his mind. This was out of character for Merry. The hobbit did not truly fear many things, but being alone was one of them. He had never sought solitude for any extended period of time, and even as his wish that he had been sent alone grew stronger, he realized that this was a mutation in his nature. While keeping watch over Pippin, he would wonder aloud to the black night of Mordor whether or not the Ring was the cause of the change.

They had not gone far up the roots when Pippin very suddenly began to deteriorate. He coughed up something awful. Merry did not know what it was, except that it was bad.

Merry stared at the Ring and thought: It should have been appointed to me!

Pippin convulsed.

Me and me alone!

Pippin loosed his grip on the stick that the two of them had carried into Mordor from the outside and that Merry had used for support when it had come time for him to shoulder the burden of two and not merely one. It bounced off a rock and settled on the ground.

Save him! Save him now or he will die!

Pippin collapsed.

If you value your cousin's life, act NOW!

Summoning all his nerve, so that he would appear calm, Merry said, "Pip, please give me the Ring."

Pippin, unable to converse, looked up weakly. His expression indicated that he had both heard and understood his cousin, but that he was unsure about his request.

"Pippin," said Merry, somehow appearing calm, "listen to me. Gandalf sent two in case the one who carried the Ring—you—died and could not finish the task. This Ring is killing you. If you keep it on, you will die, and I will have to leave you here, because I do not think I have it in me to carry you all the way up this mountain. If you die, I must take the Ring and go on to destroy it. I promised Gandalf and promised you that I would do that. If I wait for you to die before I take the Ring, we will incur a delay that may spell doom for that which we love, and I will lose you, body and soul, to a preventable death. I do not know if I could bear for that to happen."

Merry could have spoken complete nonsense; it would not have mattered to the fading Pippin. The young Took looked up at Merry, the smartest hobbit he had ever known. Truthfully, he had not heard all of what Merry had said, but he knew Merry would not steer him wrong. He motioned at the Ring with his hand and nodded his head. Merry grasped the cord that bore the Ring and placed it around his neck. The burden had been transferred. A few minutes later, Pippin was still, and his eyes were closed. There was a trace of a smile upon his face. Merry was moved deeply; he paused for some time and wept softly as his cousin slept.

Merry found that the Ring made his senses keener and his judgement sharper. Yet, even as he fought it, he could feel it taking a hold of him. He wanted to move quickly, to get to the Cracks and cast the thing off, for he could sense that something foul and unnatural was happening to him. He would have strange thoughts of turning around and going back to rouse the Shire to victory over the Dark Forces, and turning Brandy Hall into the most glorified house in all of Eriador.

'Eriador?' thought Merry to himself. 'I barely know what Eriador is.'

For the moment, he pushed these thoughts back, and urged Pippin on. Pippin's recovery had been remarkable, but he still could not move with any great speed. He would follow slightly behind Merry, using their stick for support. Merry wished that Pippin could walk alongside him—somehow he felt this would all be easier if he could laugh and jest with Pippin. Merry now spent most of the day's hours awake, ready to push away the seductive images of power and glory that now tried to fill his head. It was a great trial.

Eventually, the pair reached the great chamber of Mount Doom, Sammath Naur to the learned. It was here that the Ring seized Merry, wholly and completely. It was the stuff of nightmares. In one moment, Merry was himself—a tired, hungry version of himself, but himself nonetheless. In the next, he was consumed. He grasped the Ring in his hand, and never has a hobbit been more fair or terrible, as he shouted, "For the Shire and the glory of Buckland! On against the Shadow!"

Pippin gasped and froze. Thankfully for all of Middle-Earth, he had just enough wits about him to strike at Merry's hands with the stick. Had he been but a second slower, Merry would have put the Ring on, and all would have been lost. A second blow from the stick knocked Merry to the ground, seemingly unconscious, with the Ring still on its cord and visible. Looking at the Ring, a dark thought flew through Pippin's mind. He leaned down toward Merry, who leapt up, and a brief struggle ensued. Pippin was not as strong as his cousin, but kept his stick, and used it to get free. Pippin kept hitting at Merry's hands, for he knew that he must keep the Ring off Merry's finger. Merry did not wince at the blows, and though Pippin was able to move him to the edge of the cracks, once Merry took his position, Pippin could not budge him in any direction, regardless of how much force he put into each blow.

With each blow, Pippin would make a cry. These cries were not of battle, but of sorrow.

They became wailing: "I don't want to! I don't want to! Don't make me! Don't make me! I don't want to, please don't make me! I won't! Oh, don't make me do it! Don't! Merry!"

With each successive cry, he struck harder and harder, but his strength was waning, and he knew that Merry would soon overcome him.

Pippin continued to delay by using the stick, probably for too long. At last, he realized that all the choices he could think of were exhausted. He hoped that he was not overlooking any options in the matter, but he also realized that time was against him. "I promised Gandalf that as long as I was alive, I would try to destroy It," he said softly, trying to somehow steel himself, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do. He dropped the stick, and looked to Merry with equal parts love, sorrow and duty etched upon his face. He said nothing, for there were no words that could be said, and ran straight at and into Merry, pushing him over the edge and into the fire.