"We're leaving."

The words sounded like they were part of an ongoing conversation, but those words were the first things Merry heard, and he kept his eyes screwed shut against the bad dream trying to sneak in.

"When? Going where? I thought Minis Tirith was the end of it!" Pippin was beside him, sounding alarmed. Merry curled closer to him to ward off the words.

"We've got to make a last march. The war isn't over yet." That was Boromir again, moving around the room restlessly.

Then a new voice. Aragorn. "Youshould go with us, Pippin. Hobbits deserve to have a representative there. But we won't press you to come, we only offer you a place. This last fight is a foolish, dangerous endeavor."

"Then why go?" Pip asked just as Merry thought the words to himself.

"For Frodo," Gandalf spoke, and Merry wondered how many had come into his room without his hearing. How could he have missed all this and yet Boromir's words, we're going, had come through so clear. "We're making ourselves a diversion to give Frodo hope for success. It is very likely that we will be killed, Peregrin Took. Think seriously before you agree to this, but think quickly."

"Is all the fellowship going?"

"All that are left. We will ride in the front lines. You will ride with Gandalfif you choose to go. Legolas will carry Gimli. Aragorn and Boromir, and Eomer of Rohan, will be with us, leading the armies of Gondor and Rohan."

"Shouldn't one of you stay behind? Aragorn or Boromir? The city still needs a leader."

"My brother, Faramir, is injured but fit enough to act in my name."

Merry's eyes squeezed tighter shut and he buried his face in Pippin's shirt. The warm comfort of Pippin's hand moved through his curls, trying to soothe him as if he knew Merry was awake.

"What about Merry?" Pip asked over his head.

"In a day's time, or two, Merry will be fit to walk about the house. Surely you can see he is too weak to ride." That was Aragorn, always so quiet and sad and firm.

"But to leave him here. " Pip's hand never stopped its slow petting. "To leave him alone? To ride to our deaths?"

"Our deaths are far from certain. Likely, perhaps, but there is always hope. Now come, Pippin, tell us what you intend."

Merry's hand clutched at Pip's shirt.

"It's hard," Pippin said miserably above him. "To leave him behind. I don't think he should like to lose...to lose us again."

"Then stay with him," Aragorn answered gently. "None will think badly of you."

"But if this is to be a great showing at the gates of Mordor itself, maybe there ought to be a hobbit there to see it." Pippin spoke unsurely.

Merry screwed his eyes shut, and with an inaudible sob he loosened his grip on Pip. He let him go.

Pip spoke a moment later, sad. "I'll go. But must we leave so soon? Merry will need seeing to."

"An hour, Peregrin Took. No more. We've delayed in debate for too long already."

There were noises beyond him, and footsteps, and the door began to close. But it stopped and opened again, and a set of footsteps returned.

"I have no time," came the voice of Boromir. "Tell him I'll be back, if it's possible. Tell him..." He stopped, and a moment later the door closed.

I love you too, Merry thought to himself miserably.

"Merry. They're gone."

Unsurprised at Pip's perception, Merry raised wet eyes and clutched at his shirt again. "It isn't fair."

"Are you very angry with me?" Pip looked down at him, and all the time his hand petted.

Merry sniffled and shook his head. "Angry I can't come. Angry it has to be done at all. I just want time, that's all."

"I'm sorry. We'll be back. Boromir's right to promise it. We'll be back the moment we can get here."

"If you can get here at all." Merry's eyes shut and he dropped his head against Pippin and trembled.