Merry's eyes opened to dense, heavy blackness, pressing down on him; the world was moving, and he was the still centre, but he was falling backwards and the ceiling was caving in. His throat was sore and his mouth tasted vile, and the air was cold on his teeth as he sucked it in. It was so dark, and he was going to be sick; he needed to get outside. He fumbled for the matches he knew were on the nightstand, but his hands were difficult to control and landed in the wrong place; there was a loud thump and the crash of breaking glass, and he realised that he had knocked the entire nightstand over.
Merry flung himself sideways and was on the floor; he braced himself with both hands, trying to pull himself to his feet, then cried out loudly as he felt a sharp pain and realised that he'd put his palm right on the broken glass. Sobbing, he crawled a few feet before pitching forward; the hard wood of the floor came up to meet him, jarring his teeth. He forced himself up onto his knees, crying out again as the pressure on his cut hand stabbed heat and pain through him; he tried to stand, but it was as if his limbs were made of soft dough and oozed out of shape when he tried to move them. Suddenly bile filled his mouth and he was vomiting onto the floor, bracing himself on his bloodied and throbbing palm, feeling more wretched than he had ever felt before.
He felt Pippin's presence in the room before he was that the door had opened; he became aware of the steady flicker of candlelight and felt the footsteps on the floor. Then Pippin was kneeling at his side, holding his hair back from his face while he gasped and heaved and choked on the vile taste and sour smell. Firm hands rubbed his shoulders, supported him and helped him to sit back on his heels.
"There, now," Pippin said softly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a Brandybuck can't hold his drink."
Merry tried to protest, but he was sobbing and gasping and the words wouldn't form; then he felt Pippin's warm arms around him, and he was being lifted gently to his feet. The arms stayed about him as he stumbled, feeling as if he were moving through honey, and guided him to step around the mess on the floor.
"Come along now. Foot by foot." Pippin's voice was low and thick with emotion, and the words tugged at something buried deep in Merry's mind, but he couldn't pull the memory clear. Soon he was being eased down onto a bed, not his own, the sheets still warm. Pippin's warm face pressed into his hair for a moment, then pulled away. Too sick and ashamed and weary to lift his head, Merry sat and listened to the sounds of water trickling into a basin, of drawers being opened, a match being struck. Then Pippin knelt on the floor before him and gently took Merry's injured hand in one of his own, holding a lamp close to examine the injury; Merry watched the golden light flicker over Pippin's bent head, picking out coppery glints in his curls.
"I don't think there's any glass left in here," said Pippin, putting the lamp down and picking up a basin; he dipped Merry's hand into the basin, moving it back and forth to wash off the blood, and then bent to examine it by lamplight again. His hands were steady and kind, moving deftly to pat the hand dry and wrap it firmly with a strip of clean cloth. He wiped Merry's face and lips with a damp cloth, and then was holding a cup of cool water to his lips; Merry drank thirstily and then Pippin guided him to lie down into the bed, and pulled the covers over him.
Feeling dizzy and sick, Merry lay still for a few moments before he realised that the noises of Pippin moving around the room had ceased. He opened his eyes and saw the flicker of a single candle, but no other movement; the room was empty. Pippin had gone. Merry closed his eyes again and let the hot tears trickle out from under his eyelids. What had he done now? He'd made things worse. He'd drunk too much, and been sick, and broken things. He'd probably scared Pippin half to death with the noises and the blood and the sight of Merry, the strong one, the responsible protector, reduced to a whimpering puking mess on the bedroom floor. Pippin must be thinking, now, that he could no longer rely on Merry to counsel and guide him and answer his questions - that he had lost two of his cousins within a day. If Pippin no longer felt he had anyone to rely on, what would become of him? Where had he gone now, grieving for Frodo, without Merry to help and comfort him? Merry rolled onto his side and sobbed, letting the tears wet the pillow, feeling his sore hand begin to throb again dully.
How long he cried, he did not know; but after a time the door opened and Pippin was swiftly at the bedside, dropping to his knees so that his face was level with Merry's. "Merry, oh Merry. What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again?"
"Don't leave me," Merry sobbed.
"Leave you?"
"Don't leave me, Pippin, please, I'll die if you leave me. Don't leave me."
"Oh, Merry," Pippin's hand reached out and stroked his head gently, slim fingers sifting through his hair. "What makes you think I would ever leave you? We're family."
"So was Frodo - " choked Merry, and he reached out with a shaking hand that would not find its target, so blinded by tears was he. Then Pippin's hands caught his, and it was pressed to Pippin's cheek, and he could feel that Pippin's face was wet.
"Merry, my Merry - " Pippin's voice caught. "I could never leave you. Dearest Merry. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."
***
TBC...
Merry flung himself sideways and was on the floor; he braced himself with both hands, trying to pull himself to his feet, then cried out loudly as he felt a sharp pain and realised that he'd put his palm right on the broken glass. Sobbing, he crawled a few feet before pitching forward; the hard wood of the floor came up to meet him, jarring his teeth. He forced himself up onto his knees, crying out again as the pressure on his cut hand stabbed heat and pain through him; he tried to stand, but it was as if his limbs were made of soft dough and oozed out of shape when he tried to move them. Suddenly bile filled his mouth and he was vomiting onto the floor, bracing himself on his bloodied and throbbing palm, feeling more wretched than he had ever felt before.
He felt Pippin's presence in the room before he was that the door had opened; he became aware of the steady flicker of candlelight and felt the footsteps on the floor. Then Pippin was kneeling at his side, holding his hair back from his face while he gasped and heaved and choked on the vile taste and sour smell. Firm hands rubbed his shoulders, supported him and helped him to sit back on his heels.
"There, now," Pippin said softly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a Brandybuck can't hold his drink."
Merry tried to protest, but he was sobbing and gasping and the words wouldn't form; then he felt Pippin's warm arms around him, and he was being lifted gently to his feet. The arms stayed about him as he stumbled, feeling as if he were moving through honey, and guided him to step around the mess on the floor.
"Come along now. Foot by foot." Pippin's voice was low and thick with emotion, and the words tugged at something buried deep in Merry's mind, but he couldn't pull the memory clear. Soon he was being eased down onto a bed, not his own, the sheets still warm. Pippin's warm face pressed into his hair for a moment, then pulled away. Too sick and ashamed and weary to lift his head, Merry sat and listened to the sounds of water trickling into a basin, of drawers being opened, a match being struck. Then Pippin knelt on the floor before him and gently took Merry's injured hand in one of his own, holding a lamp close to examine the injury; Merry watched the golden light flicker over Pippin's bent head, picking out coppery glints in his curls.
"I don't think there's any glass left in here," said Pippin, putting the lamp down and picking up a basin; he dipped Merry's hand into the basin, moving it back and forth to wash off the blood, and then bent to examine it by lamplight again. His hands were steady and kind, moving deftly to pat the hand dry and wrap it firmly with a strip of clean cloth. He wiped Merry's face and lips with a damp cloth, and then was holding a cup of cool water to his lips; Merry drank thirstily and then Pippin guided him to lie down into the bed, and pulled the covers over him.
Feeling dizzy and sick, Merry lay still for a few moments before he realised that the noises of Pippin moving around the room had ceased. He opened his eyes and saw the flicker of a single candle, but no other movement; the room was empty. Pippin had gone. Merry closed his eyes again and let the hot tears trickle out from under his eyelids. What had he done now? He'd made things worse. He'd drunk too much, and been sick, and broken things. He'd probably scared Pippin half to death with the noises and the blood and the sight of Merry, the strong one, the responsible protector, reduced to a whimpering puking mess on the bedroom floor. Pippin must be thinking, now, that he could no longer rely on Merry to counsel and guide him and answer his questions - that he had lost two of his cousins within a day. If Pippin no longer felt he had anyone to rely on, what would become of him? Where had he gone now, grieving for Frodo, without Merry to help and comfort him? Merry rolled onto his side and sobbed, letting the tears wet the pillow, feeling his sore hand begin to throb again dully.
How long he cried, he did not know; but after a time the door opened and Pippin was swiftly at the bedside, dropping to his knees so that his face was level with Merry's. "Merry, oh Merry. What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again?"
"Don't leave me," Merry sobbed.
"Leave you?"
"Don't leave me, Pippin, please, I'll die if you leave me. Don't leave me."
"Oh, Merry," Pippin's hand reached out and stroked his head gently, slim fingers sifting through his hair. "What makes you think I would ever leave you? We're family."
"So was Frodo - " choked Merry, and he reached out with a shaking hand that would not find its target, so blinded by tears was he. Then Pippin's hands caught his, and it was pressed to Pippin's cheek, and he could feel that Pippin's face was wet.
"Merry, my Merry - " Pippin's voice caught. "I could never leave you. Dearest Merry. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."
***
TBC...