The night had fallen. Aragorn had gone to sleep as he had kept vigil. The fire burned fierce in both Merry and in the fireplace. Things seemed peaceful – serene. But something was not right. It was too still. Aragorn sat up suddenly. He looked at Merry who was so ashen pale and his lips were blue tinted. The hobbit barely moved. A different sound echoed from his chest and lips and he tried to get any air in. The hobbit would be dead soon, Aragorn knew. The king knew he must try everything to keep him alive and Aragorn. Nothing worked – no salve, no enchantment, no tea, nothing. Slowly, the King stood and went to the door. He looked back at Merry and then left the room. The king went to where Pippin was staying and softly knocked.
Pippin sat up; he had only just begun to doze off, after much worrying. He'd had half-dreams of waking up to find his cousin well saying, "Surprise, I was just joking!". But the soft knock brought with it sharp reality, and Pippin feared and hoped for an answer to his cousin's ailment. When he opened the door and saw Aragorn's face, Pippin's first instinct was to slam the door shut again, hide under the blankets and cover his head with the pillow until everything became right again. He fought his childish feelings and looked up into the eyes of the King, and asked, "What happened?"
The hobbit dreaded what would be said next, and knew that something had happened to his cousin. His heart leapt into his throat, and the throbbing sound was worse than ever.
"Peregrin," Aragorn began weakly. He blinked a few times. "Merry is not going to make it through the night. He is going to leave this world and enter a new one. I have tried everything. The hobbit is too weak and his fever too high. Nothing will break it. His lungs are filling. You need to go say good-bye and to let him know that it is all right to leave."
Pansy had run all the way from Bagend. She rushed through the door and ran to the living room. She found Merry lying there, cold and pale and barely breathing. Something was terribly wrong with him. As realization dawned, she stepped back and tripped over a blanket, her head landing hard on the floor. She sat up quickly and held her head with both hands, but ran back to the guest room, ignoring the ringing in her ears and the growing bump on her head. When she reached the hall, she saw Aragorn explaining something to Pippin.
Pippin clenched his fists. "I will not lose him! I won't, I can't! Merry will be fine, you'll see!" he screamed at Aragorn, filling up with rage and tears. "Merry always pulls through. He always makes it, no matter what. I'll not say goodbye, I don't have to! I won't let him go." The hobbit swung out wildly Aragorn, connecting with the man's stomach. He punched again, softer this time as truth overtook his emotions and he visibly sagged. He looked up at Elessar with tears streaming down his face. "Oh Aragorn, I am so sorry. I just can't," He whispers as Pippin fell to his knees, weeping. Sobs wracked his tired body, but he didn't feel anything anymore, just despair.
"Peregrin Took," Aragorn began. He got no further for a short time as the hobbit yelled at him. When Pippin paused, Aragorn spoke. "Peregrin, sometimes things are bigger than the being and the war cannot be won. The Winter Sickness is just that. It is too big for him to fight anymore. He has fought, Mellon Nin, longer and harder than most, but the enemy is too great…too vast. Once in awhile the warrior falls, even if every time before he survives." The king looked down at Pippin as he spoke. The words were soft and kind and not cruel – like they could have been. Opening his mouth, Elessar started to speak, but no sound came out as the distraught hobbit punched him. It did not hurt and so the king just let Pippin punch until he was exhausted. As Pippin sank to his knees, Aragorn lifted him up and held the hobbit close to him and let Pippin weep. "Do not apologize – I have had worse reactions before," Aragorn said, stroking the mass of curls, "you must, Peregrin, even if it seems as if doing so will break you into a million pieces. Meriadoc is suffering so badly. He is being tortured."
The king paused. "In his delirium, Merry has whispered words. Many of them wereof you. He speaks mostly of when you were ill and all most died. Merry had to say good-bye, even though it tore him up and he was terrified. He did not want to loose you, but Pippin, he his wish for you not to suffer was greater. It takes a lot of love – love that is deep and unconditional – to do that. To be able to say good-bye even though you want the person there takes that." The words were in a gentle and logical voice. They were not cruel sounding. In fact, it was sadness that dripped from the words.
Pansy had been watching Pippin and Aragorn, and she knew that Merry was dying, with no way to bring him back. It seemed as though time had stopped, that the air had become water. Pansy gasped for air and collapsed sliding down the curved walls of the hall, catching the attention of the King and the hobbit. "No, not Merry!" she said, voice choked as she sat against the wall. "He can't die; it weren't supposed to be like this. Not when he could grow old and live a good life!" Anger tinged Pansy's world with crimson, sorrow made parts of the world blue. A livid purple slashed through everything as she tried to make sense of everything.
The king looked at Pansy as she cried out. Letting Pippin go, Aragorn went towards her and crouched. "Sometimes things happen naught the way they were supposed to," he whispered his voice slurred from exhaustion and sadness.
Pippin knelt down by the hobbit lass, weeping alongside her for a moment. Then he took her by the hand and lifted her off of the floor. "Come, Pansy we need to go say farewell to Merry." It pained him to say those words, but he couldn't bear to see another suffering so, and Pansy seemed more in need of comfort, as though she cared for Merry more than he, which was beyond his understanding. He cared infinitely more for his cousin than anyone in Middle Earth, Eru knew; but when he saw Pansy he saw something more.
Aragorn leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. After a moment of resting them, the king opened his eyes. "Perhaps it would be best if you said your good-byes separately. Peregrin, I shall come get you in a few minutes, after Pansy has said what she wished," he suggested, standing. Gently taking Pansy by the hand, he led her to the living room. "Legolas, túla. Láva i periannath a' namaarie a Meriadoc ereb," Aragorn said to his elven friend. He turned to Pansy. "If you need anything or something happens, cry out, I shall not be far," he said to her.
Merry lay on the couch. He was propped up so that his last breaths might be taken in easier; however the act of breathing was torture. With each breath it felt as if someone had poured fire down his throat and had sat a large boulder atop his chest – restricting the muscles until he could scarcely move. And he could hardly move. Barely his chest rose. When it did, there was a rattle in his chest. With each pitiful breath, the sound of death came out. The hobbits ashen face was drawn, his lips… pinched and his brow…furrowed. Sweat drenched his face and body. His mass of curls stuck to his head and Merry's hair was soaked, as were his bedclothes and the bedding. Instead of looking like the strong, sure hobbit that he normally did, Merry looked small and weak. He looked tired, fearful and in great distress. There was no awareness or recognition of where or who he was in his face.
Pansy slowly walked to the ailing hobbit's side, sitting down on the edge of the cushion on the couch. She reached out to touch Merry's hand, and felt the warmth leave her own fingers as she gently held it. Tears welled up in her eyes and she trembled as she leaned down by his pale face.
"Merry," she whispered softly, her voice quavering. "Merry, it's Pansy. I'm so… so very sorry. I've been ignoring ye all these years while ye lived alone. I looked to Frodo, the town hero, instead of ye. Ye are my true hero. Of all the hobbits of the Shire, ye were the kindest, gentlest… the funniest, too. Ye saved me, more than once. I owe my life to the other hobbits as well, but ye… I, I…" Pansy sobbed silently as she continued to look at the hobbit. Why didn't she tell him sooner? Why did he have to leave now?
"Merry, why can't ye stay? Stay here, please, stay with me." She leaned closer still, tears falling on Merry's pallid cheeks. She embraced him softly and gently kissed him. It seemed as though time had slowed down, that all the warmth in her body had left her. When she broke away, everything seemed go silent. With her head bowed, she whispered quietly in the darkness, "I love you…"
Weakly, Meriadoc opened his brown eyes. He was all puffed up and could scarcely see. Sweat dripped down his face and neck. The hobbit licked his blue lips. His chest rose raggedly. "I-I am sorry," he whispered. His throat was tight and the words Merry said were dripping with the sounds of failing lungs. The hobbit tried to focus on Pansy however, it was hard. Merry heard her talking and he tried to understand what she said. The hobbit closed his eyes wearily. "I can't. I'm so tired. I'm sorry," he breathed in a soft voice. His energy, the small amount he had, was failing.
Pansy looked down at the hobbit, his breaths ragged and weak. His lips moved, just barely enough to let the words, "I'm sorry", slip through. She nearly missed them, they were so hushed. When she heard those words, Pansy gasped. "What do ye mean, Merry? Why are ye sorry?"
Merry looked up at Pansy. His breathing was so shallow. "So tired…" he whispered, "Can't fight it much longer. So sorry..." As Merry spoke, the words irritated his throat. It made him cough. They wracked his body and shook him from head to foot. He felt as if his weak body would just fall into pieces if the coughing did not stop. They eventually did and he lay in his bed, weak and depleted of energy.
Pansy's eyes filled up with tears, and she took his hand again, stroking it gently, hoping this would ease the torture, at least a little bit. "Shh... I know ye are tired, I know. Don't trouble yourself now, just relax." As she set his hand down, the hobbit lass bit her lip to keep from crying out. She gently placed her other hand on his hot forehead, brushing his disheveled bangs from his eyes. "I must be dreaming. This can't be real. You'll be better in the morning, you'll see." She then got up and walked dazedly toward the room where the others were waiting. As soon as she was out of Merry's hearing, she slumped against the wall and sobbed into her skirts. The only hobbit she loved was slowly dying, and there was nothing she or anyone could do.
Aragorn stood from the couch he had been sitting on. He went over to Pansy and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. The ranger drew her close to him and stroked her hair gently. He looked wearily up at Pippin and nodded towards him. "Go," he whispered. Aragorn then led Pansy to the couch and sat her down upon it. The king then rose and got a pot of water boiling over the fire. He thought some tea might sooth her.
Merry felt himself fading away or maybe it was falling. He did not know. It was so confusing. Everything was, but he could not find the energy to care about that. His eyes wearily close and Merry just lay there as the energy slowly leaked out of him.
As Pansy continued to cry in the king's arms, Pippin made his way toward where his dear cousin lay. He shook with cold, or possibly chills, trying not to cry in front of Merry.
"Merry, it's Pippin. Do you remember? I took care of you in Minas Tirith," his whispered. A small smile crossed his face at the memory of his cousin's reply. His control over his emotions was slipping, and it was all he could do to keep quiet. He held Merry's hand gently as he spoke, the fear of losing him forever becoming more real with each wheezing breath his cousin took. They seemed to be getting shallower by the second, alarming Peregrin greatly.
Merry opened his eyes slightly when Pippin took hold of his hand. "It seems so distant – like a dream," Merry rasped out. He stared at Pippin with vacant and dull eyes. The life was slipping away from him with haste. He could feel it. "I'm sorry," he rasped out. His body quivered and Merry was still. His hand slipped from Pippin's and lay limp on the wrinkled bedcovers. The hobbit's eyes involuntarily closed and everything was still.
Pippin looked down at Merry. He gently shook his hand, trying to wake him. "Merry?"
There was no reply. Pippin shook his shoulders, this time a little harder. "Merry! Merry! Wake up, it's Pippin," Peregrin cried unknowingly and frantically. But it soon dawned on Pippin that he was shouting. He quieted himself and clutched Merry's lifeless body to his chest. Tears streamed down from his face. He could no longer hold back them back. "Merry, why did you leave me? Come back, I can't do this, not by myself. Merry, please come back," Pippin sobbed. There was no reply and never would be. Merry had died.