Pippin quickly decided that he much preferred doing battle in the open spaces of the Pelennor fields over fighting in the twisty City streets with enemies popping unexpectedly out of alleys and from behind walls. The Orcs and other creatures seemed readier to run than fight but the dark Men in their barbaric trappings were another story. Yet at long last the moment came when there were no more enemies left, at least none standing.
"Is it over?" Pippin asked the Man beside him.
He grimaced. "It is indeed, Little Master."
Pippin looked at the dead Orcs and Men and horses scatted thickly over the ground, and at the huge grey bodies of the fallen Oliphants, and felt a little sick. "That's good." He swallowed and took another look around. "We did win didn't we?"
"Oh yes." the Man said grimly. He swept the field with experienced eyes, his expression no happier than Pippin's and continued quietly: "The only thing worse than a battle won is a battle lost. And sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference."
Pippin could well believe that. "Thank you for looking after me," he said politely.
That made the man grin. "Light duty!" he answered. "Captain Hurin and Mithrandir underestimated you sadly, Master Peregrin."
Pippin blinked, puzzled, then caught his drift and blushed. "Boromir taught us how to fight."
"You are a credit to him," The Man said warmly.
Walking slowly back towards the City they ran across Gandalf, afoot with Shadowfax following and talking earnestly to Lord Hurin, Prince Imrahil and Lord Eomer, also dismounted and leading their tired horses.
"Ah, there you are, Peregrin." the wizard greeted him quite casually.
The Man saluted the Captains and went off but Pippin fell in beside Gandalf. "Have you seen old Strider or any of the others yes?" he asked.
The wizard simply pointed ahead and sure enough there was Strider, with Gimli and Legolas and a number of tall, grey cloaked Men gathered around him all facing what looked alarmingly like a crowd of ghosts, green glowing and skeletal.
The tallest of them said; "Release us!"
"Bad idea," Gimli put in quickly. Strider and the ghost both looked at him. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead."
"You gave us your word!" the ghost cried to Strider.
"I hold your oath fulfilled," he answered gently. "Go, be at peace."
The phantom seemed to close his eyes and Pippin could have sworn there was look of almost blissful relief on his face as he and the whole army of dead, rippled and blew away.
Strider gave Gimli one of his dark looks. So did Legolas and all the Men in grey. The Dwarf shrugged, a little embarrassed. "All right, I'm sorry. But they surely did come in handy."
The Ranger sighed, shook his head, turned away and saw Gandalf, Pippin and the rest. The wizard bowed. For a moment Pippin just stared at him in astonishment then he remembered who Strider really was so he bowed too though he felt a little silly doing it.
He wasn't sure Strider liked it either. He looked at them, tired and a little sad then inclined his head slightly in return with a welcoming smile that warmed the Hobbit clear through. "Hello, Pippin, I'm glad to see you safe and whole." Strider's gaze moved past him to the Gondor Men. "Hurin?"
The Captain essayed a smile but there were tears in his eyes. "Late is better than never, Dunadan," he said in a choked voice, "but try not to cut it quite so fine next time!"
Strider laughed and moved to embrace him. "I hope there will not be a next time, Hurinya!" He released the Captain and turned to Imrahil. "Well met, Prince, it has been many years."
Pippin saw the Man swallow hard before he answered. "It has been too many long years, my Lord and King. You return to us in a dark hour. I would your City were in a state to welcome you as you deserve."
Strider shook his head. "The City and the realm has rested in the charge of the Stewards for many long years. I will not enter in nor make any claim, until it be seen whether we or Mordor shall prevail."
Hurin and Eomer both frowned but Imrahil nodded unhappy agreement. "It may be wiser so. I fear Denethor will not welcome you, my Lord."
Pippin bit his lip trying to push back the memory the pyre and that last terrible cry.
"Denethor is dead," Gandalf said heavily, "by his own hand, and the tomb of the Stewards lies in ashes."
The four Men stared at him in horror and dismay then Hurin, Imrahil and Eomer all looked at Aragorn. "With Faramir sore wounded Gondor is left leaderless," said the Prince, "your City needs you my King."
But Strider shook his head again. "I have no mind for strife with any but our common Enemy. For now I will remain but the Captain of the Rangers of Arnor. Hurin, you are next in line -"
"Not I!" the Captain said vehemently. "My house has stood between the true King and the throne long enough!"
Strider gave him one of his looks but Hurin stood firm and all but glared back. Finally the Ranger sighed, "Imrahil then." The other Man opened his mouth to protest and he continued; "The people need a leader, better one they know than a stranger."
"You are no stranger, my Lord," said the Prince, "but I will do as you wish."
"Thank you." Strider said, and seemed really relieved.
Gandalf and Hurin both looked less then pleased and Eomer was plainly bewildered. Pippin impatiently dismissed the whole confusing matter as a problem for the Great Folk to deal with and no concern of his. He took the chance to ask about something that was; "Where is Merry, Strider?"
"We left him with King Theoden." the Ranger replied and looked at Eomer.
The Rohirrim prince knelt down before the Hobbit frightening Pippin with his somber face. "Theoden King commanded Master Meriadoc to remain behind in Edoras but one of my Riders found this lying near my uncle's body." He held out a blackened piece of metal which it took Pippin some moments to recognize as the
hilt of Merry's sword.
He took it with trembling hands. "But he wasn't there himself, so he must be all right, mustn't he?" Pippin pleaded.
Gandalf put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "We will look for him."
Eomer led them all back to the place where his uncle had fallen. Theoden's white horse lay there dead and near it a fell beast with its head hewn from its long neck. Beside the beast was a tangle of black robes and a few twisted bits of metal.
A search party consisting of two kings, a prince, a wizard, a Hobbit squire and a dozen or so Rangers fanned out in all directions. Pippin walked slowly, looking carefully at the many dead, feeling sick and scared.
'Merry's got to be all right.' He told himself desperately, 'Why wouldn't he be? You're all right and he's got twice your sense.' Then he saw a bare, hairy foot sticking out from beneath the voluminous black robes of a Southron warrior.
He rolled the Man's body aside as if it were a feather his heart pounding. There was blood on Merry's pale face, his eyes were closed and his hand cold to the touch. "Merry! Merry, it's me." he sobbed terrified. "It's Pippin."
His cousin's eyes opened and he tried to smile. "I knew you'd find me," he whispered.
Pippin sobbed again in relief. "Yes."
"Are you going to bury me?" Merry asked.
"No, Merry," he choked. "I'm going to look after you." he saw his cousin's grey cloak lying nearby and pulled it over him then raised his voice in a shout. "Gandalf! Strider! I've found him, come quick!"
They were there almost at once with the other Men crowding behind. Strider knelt down beside Merry and uncovered him searching for wounds.
"He's gone all cold, like Frodo after Weathertop," Pippin told him. "What does it mean?"
"That your cousin has done a deed beyond the power of the greatest warrior of Men." Gandalf answered grimly.
"It was Eowyn." Merry whispered. "She did it, I just helped a little." the name seemed to rouse him. "Eowyn! And the King, they need help, Strider -"
"They have been seen to." the Ranger assured him gently his face grave with concern. "Now it's your turn, Merry." he lifted the Hobbit in his arms. "We must get him to the City."
And so the King entered his ancient stronghold of Minas Tirith on foot with an injured Hobbit in his arms and passed unheralded and unrecognized up the six circles to the Houses of Healing.
Hurin, Eomer and Imrahil however were recognized at once and heartily cheered by the people crowding the ruined streets. They made their way through the tumult and mounted to the Citadel where they found only three Fountain guards on duty and the doors of the Hall standing open. The Men exchanged apprehensive looks, a little fearful of what they might find after all the evil fortunes of the day then bracing themselves for they knew not what passed within.
Two biers stood before the empty throne. The body of King Theoden lay in state upon that to the left, his bed draped with the green and white colors of Rohan and his body covered to the breast by a magnificent cloth of gold coverlet. His hands were folded on the hilt of his unsheathed sword and his shield was at his feet. Candles burned in many branched holders at the four corners of his bier, and an honor guard of knights of both Rohan and Gondor stood with bowed heads and spears reversed around it. The King's herald held his banner at his head and two Women, tall and darkly beautiful but no longer young, stood quietly at his feet gazing sadly at his peaceful face.
They turned as the Men entered and Eomer recognized them. "Aunt Elfflaed, Aunt Flaeda." He embraced Theoden's sisters fiercely glad there had been kinswomen at hand to do what was needful for him and that he had not been left to the ministrations of strangers, however kind.
Elfflaed, the elder sister, kissed her nephew then pushed him back to arms length and said solemnly; "Westu Eomer hal! Hail King of the Mark."
His eyes filled with tears. "It wasn't meant to be like this," he said almost rebelliously: "My uncle should have lived many more years and Theodred followed him. And I would have gladly served both all the days of my life!" But that was not how it had fallen out. Not only was he, Eomer, now King but the last of the House of Eorl. He looked at the other bier expecting to see his sister and saw instead that it held the body of a dark Dunedain lord, one of the kinsmen who had accompanied the Lady Arwen when she came to Aragorn at Dunharrow. "Where is Eowyn?" he demanded of his aunts."She should be lying here beside our uncle and in no less honor. What have they done with her?"
The Lord Aragorn's Elvish lady stood by the Dunadan's bier. "Eowyn isn't dead, Eomer." she told him gently. "She has been taken to the Houses of Healing." He could only stare at her choking on sudden hope and renewed fear. She held out her hand to him. "Come, we will go to her."