Disclaimer: i own nothing, surprise, surprise. those with no possesions have nothing to lose, so i guess i'm better off.
Authors note: this is mostly just a drabble, and can you blame me, i wrote it on holiday in tasmania with no connection with my era, or music, dvds, movies, books and whatnot, and i was bored sometimes there, like when i didn't want to read, or when knitting was boring, and i suffered from lotr separation anxiety. okay, just read (please) and review (with a cherry on top).
Pippin wakes in the night, heart thumping.
"It was only a dream." He whispers to himself, but nevertheless, he slips out of bed and makes his way to Merry's room. Feet pattering along the corridor, at once a small child and the grown hobbit he is now. Grown hobbit, with memories, grown hobbit with scars so wild.
He proceeds down the corridor, to the guest room, which has been occupied by Merry since he came to stay, after Estella passed away. It has been a long time since Pippin scurried down the hallway in the middle of the night, but he still knows the way, his vivaciousness has not dimmed in the years since he last took the journey in a thunderous lightning storm or a devilish nightmare sprint.
The door is slightly open, as always, allowing the cool draft to drift into the room, and the fire to diminish. Merry was always one to complain of being too hot. Even more so now, even in winter, and Pippin knows it is when Merry is hot, his arm, which drove the sword into, the witch king feels the coldest.
Pippin slides past through the door and makes his way over to the bed, nearly tripping over the clothes Merry has haphazardly thrown there.
"Merry?" Pippin whispers, voice cracking as tears well in his eyes, Merry is unresponsive. He lies stiffly in the bed, seeming only asleep, but his hands are so cold, and his face is deathly white.
Pippin shakes his shoulders, willing his to come back, to live another day, but even fervent hoping cannot resurrect the dead.
Pippin slumps into the chair situated by the side of the bed, and lays his head on the bed, hands holding Merry's.
"You can't leave me." He croaks as salty tears roll into his mouth. He stays like that for a long time, praying it might seem, for Merry. Only when this seems to be unresponsive does Pippin climb onto the bed, curling himself into the hollow between Merry's arms and body. He rests his cheek on Merry's chest and cries. He cries so hard, as though he is trying to loose his soul from the confines of his body to soar through the sky like a falcon, to fly away. He cries himself to sleep for the first time with no one rubbing his back, soothingly speaking to him or holding him, no one protecting him anymore.
In the morning, the sun streams through the open curtains, the cool breeze floats through the open window and the open door rattles open and shut with the wind's push and pull. There is no sound of movement.
Upon entering the house, Faramir is hit with a sad sense that no one lives here anymore. He knocks gently on his father's door, but gets no answer. Entering, he finds the unmade ruffled bed, so quickly makes his way to Merry's room.
As though by a sixth sense, he already knows, so when he opens the door to see the two closest friends lying peacefully beside each other, he is not surprised. Of course, he is sad, but as he traces the scar on Merry's forehead, and touches his father's ever-young fair brown hair, he knows they no longer have to suffer the many nightmares they once endured. The same nightmares, which woke him throughout his childhood and the chilling noises, which sent him straight to their rooms, where they would be tossing and turning, or already been wakened, crying softly.
Faramir's wife enters the room and rushes over to her husband, brushing a tear he didn't know he's shed from his cheek, and slipping into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, hugging him to her, as he also hugs her back and leads her out of the room. The youngest of the fellowship are now released.