::Checks:: No, they're still not mine. Please read and review.
Night was creeping through the trees as Merry rode down the lane outside of Buckland. Thunder was rolling in the distance and a hot wind was rustling, hissing through the leaves. He turned the cart into the path outside the cottage at Crickhollow. The windows were dark like lidded eyes in the twilight, and the hedge loomed menacingly behind him. He hurried to the large round door, fitting the key to the lock as quickly as he could. He had left Pongo the pony champing in the lane, ready to depart at a moment's notice. He could not explain the growing sense of panic that he was feeling, only that it seemed like a great hand closing in around him, seeking to snatch and crush him in its grip. He had not felt fear in the darkness of Buckland before. Shoving the door open, he dropped his pack on the entryway floor and knelt to kindle a fire on the hearth. As the wood flared to crackling flame he sighed and turned to the door again. He did not relish venturing back into the night, but he berated himself for being foolish and stepped back onto the stoop.
Ignoring the twinges of pain in his back, Merry set to unloading the pony cart, lugging Frodo's trunks into the house and cursing himself for not forcing Pippin to come along and lend a hand. After a few trips back and forth between the house and the cart he sat down on the front step and drew his arm across his brow. As he looked at the horizon a chill crept up his neck, making his hair shiver and stand on end. The storm was drawing near, a huge black shadow creeping across the sky. A shudder wracked through him and foreboding rose in his heart. He looked toward the garden, and terror washed over him like a flood. He could see a dark, crouching shape beyond the tall willow tree. He squinted against the darkness, trying to talk himself out of fleeing like a hobbit lass. The shadowy figure shuffled forward, moving around the garden stakes at the rear of the house. Merry rose slowly to his feet, creeping toward the pony cart, never taking his eyes off the stranger. Running his hand along Pongo's neck, he gathered the reins in his hands. He felt as though time had slowed, crawling along second by second. The night seemed clear and sharp, and he could hear the far off clock tower bells in Buckland. He clicked his tongue at Pongo, who shied nervously, ears pinned back. Merry felt slightly better that the pony was frightened as well. Silently he led Pongo toward the lane, willing him to be calm and quiet. A crate in the rear of the cart settled slightly, rattling, and Merry's heart leapt into his throat. He whipped his head around, expecting the dark shadow to leap at him from the garden. But there was only moonlight upon the grass.
Merry led Pongo into the lane and looped the reins loosely around the fencepost. Drawing a deep breath to steel himself, he crept back through the gate. He could see the firelight flickering in the house, a warm orangey glow in the window. A splash of warm rain plopped on his head, dripping through his hair and running down his forehead. He ignored it, though it tickled the bridge of his nose, and stalked silently along the hedge toward the rear of the house. The desire to flee as fast as his feet would take him was overwhelmed by the need to make sure that his friends were not riding into a trap. He pressed himself against the wall of the house and peeked around the corner into the rear garden. A sudden flash of lightning, followed closely by a violent roll of thunder, lit the yard in stark relief to the darkness of the surrounding woods. There, stooping beside the wooden bench amid tall bushes of holly, was a great figure veiled in black cloaks. It spotted Merry and rose quickly with a whispery hiss. Merry froze, blood running cold, and could do nothing but stare as the shadow stalked toward him, arm outstretched.
In two strides it was upon him, and it snatched him roughly by the throat. Merry tried to choke out a scream for help but couldn't even muster a whisper. He struggled against the shadowy grasp, but to no avail. his chest burned with the need for air and he lashed out with his hands, trying to force himself free. His fingers raked at empty air, flailing uselessly. Slowly, a veil of darkness began to close from the corners of his vision, his sight tunneling until all he could see was the blackness of the one who was strangling the life from him. As his struggles waned to an occasional twitch and death pulled its cloak over his eyes, Merry heard a cold whisper. "Die now..."
Pippin stretched mightily as he padded through the courtyard and into the houses of healing. The place was filling rapidly, with the less seriously wounded bedded on cots in the corridors. He smiled at Beregond, who was kneeling at the side of one of his soldiers. Pippin laid a hand lightly upon the captain's shoulder in greeting. He paused briefly at Merry's door, taking one last look up and down the hallway at all the battered and bloodied forms, lying silently, sightlessly. With a weary sigh, he pushed the door to and stepped inside.
Merry was laying sprawled upon the bed, the sheets and blankets twisted crazily around his legs, his hair wild upon the pillows. He was twitching a bit in his sleep, his fingers flexing and curling. Pippin stooped to stoke the fire, taking a moment to straighten the pile of freshly laundered linens upon the chair. Suddenly Merry made a terrible sound in his chest, a gurgling, choked strangle. Pippin whirled and darted to Merry's side. He shook his shoulder violently, calling "Merry!" He placed his hand upon Merry's forehead, but there was no heat of fever, nor cold sweat.
Merry tossed away from Pippin's touch, squeaking out a strangled, "No!" Pippin gripped Merry's nightshirt and yanked him into a sitting position. Merry's eyes flew open and he grabbed Pippin in a crushing embrace, his body heaving with residual terror at his nightmare. Pippin held him close, his cheek pillowed upon the top of Merry's head, and shushed his cousin gently. "It was him! The Witch King! He killed me..." Merry gasped against Pippin's chest.
"It was only a dream, Merry, it's over now," he whispered, stroking Merry's hair softly. Slowly, Merry's terrified pants waned to the occasional hiccup. Pippin gently unwrapped himself from Merry's arms and pushed him back into the pillows. "You are safe, Merry lad. I'm here, I'll keep you safe." Merry laid a trembling hand over his eyes and sighed deeply.
"I'm all right, Pippin...a bad dream." Merry took a deep breath and dropped his head back against the headboard with a dull thump. "Just a dream," he repeated to himself. Pippin watched with concern for a moment, plucking absently at the coverlet. Merry shook his head slightly and smiled. "Honestly Pip, I'm fine. I was just startled out of sleep."
Pippin frowned his disbelief but said nothing more of it. He instead busied himself with flinging open the heavy draperies to let the sun stream in. His heart was twisting within him, conflict raging. Finally he steeled himself and turned back to his cousin. "I'm leaving today Merry," he announced. Merry's eyebrows rose, then knitted together in confusion. "The army is leaving today for the black gates. We are taking the war to Sauron. We're giving Frodo and Sam more time." He could not hide the pride in his voice, or the fear.
Merry's eyes flickered over Pippin, taking in his armor and the sword dangling at his hip. He chewed at a corner of his lip, then blurted, "Why do you have to go? What possible use is there for a hobbit in such a battle?" Merry blanched a little at the look of hurt that crossed Pippin's face.
"The same use there was for a hobbit in the battle at Pelennor." Pippin hoisted himself to sit on the edge of the bed and ducked his head to look into Merry's eyes. "You promised that we would go home together, and we will. But I pledged my loyalty to Gondor, as you did to Rohan. I have to do my duty." He paused. "I'll be back Merry. I promise."
Merry looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, his mouth twisting with an effort not to cry. "Go do your duty, soldier of Gondor."