Aragorn stood silently, listening to Éomer as Rohan’s captain explained what had transpired after Aragorn had left their company. Gandalf also listened, intrigued. Legolas stood by, as silent as the statues that lined the hall where the company stood. Gimli, placidly smoking his pipe, had taken up Denethor’s vacated black throne at the foot of the king’s own white throne. In a corner stood one lone Guard of the Citadel, the smallest of them all.

Pippin stood in his corner, green eyes wide and staring, yet unseeing. His small hand fretted at the hilt of the short sword hanging from his belt. He appeared to be resisting some deep urge to do something he would normally do instinctively. The hall grew quiet as one person, then another, and then another stopped discussing their problems and looked to the distraught hobbit in their midst. Pippin continued to stand guard, unaware he was the center of attention. His thoughts were directed elsewhere.

Aragorn looked at Gandalf and gave him a sad smile. The Ranger walked over to Pippin and knelt before the distracted hobbit. “Pippin,” he said, quietly. The halfling did not respond. His eyes only grew wider and seemed ready to burst with tears. “Pippin,” Aragorn said louder and more forcefully. Finally, the young hobbit shook his head and blinked quickly.

“Yes, Aragorn?” he asked. His voice was trembling, but he tried hard not to show any of his roiling emotions. Aragorn smiled sadly again and rested his hand on Pippin’s shoulder. The hobbit was tense with worry.

“Go tend to Merry,” he said.

“But, Aragorn…” Pippin said, voice still shaking.

“No, Pippin,” Aragorn interrupted. “I order you to tend to your cousin.” Pippin’s eyes were still wide, but he smiled a little. “All right, Strider,” he answered quietly. “Thank you.”

Aragorn stepped back as Pippin walked, trying hard not to run, to the door of the hall. He left, carefully closing the door behind him. Legolas smiled to himself as he alone heard the hobbit running full speed to the Houses of Healing.

Pippin soon skidded to a halt in front of one of many closed doors in the Houses of Healing. He opened it a crack and peered into the dark room, now feeling very uncertain. The shades were closed and a man-sized bed sat in the middle of the room. A friendly fire blazed in the hearth, casting a warm, red glow in the room. There was a small figure in the bed. Pippin opened the door a little further.

“Merry?” he asked quietly. There was no response. Pippin nudged the door open further and pushed himself halfway into the room. “Merry?” This time, the figure in the bed shifted a slightly. Feeling a little more at ease, Pippin entered the room, carefully and quietly shutting the door behind him. Very cautiously, so as not to jostle his cousin, Pippin climbed up on the bed and looked down on the sleeping face.

Even in the firelight, Merry was pale. Pippin bit his lower lip, trying desperately to hold back his tears. He reached out and brushed away a few of Merry’s stray curls. Pippin’s hand rested on Merry’s shoulder for a moment, then moved down to pat his hand comfortingly. At the touch of his hand on Merry’s, Pippin froze. Merry’s right hand was cold, nearly freezing, to the touch. The tears, which Pippin had been trying so hard to stay, broke their dam.

“Oh, Merry! My poor Merry,” he sobbed. He curled up at Merry’s side, still sobbing silently, and held the cold hand in his own, trying to warm it just a little. Pippin shivered, remembering how he’d found Merry, in the middle of a battlefield strewn with men and mounts, some friends, others enemies. Orcs, too, had littered the field. Pippin had stared in astonishment at the carnage about him. His eyes lit upon a dead orc, lying across something. His heart in his throat, Pippin had rushed over and with all his strength, shoved the disgusting creature away. He had turned back and cradled Merry’s head in his arms, while his cousin looked at him without recognition for a moment. How frightening it was to see his Merry, barely able to know it was Pippin holding him! The words they had spoken came echoing back to Pippin.

“Merry?” Pippin asked. “Merry, it’s me! It’s Pippin!” He started to cry then.

“Knew you’d find me,” Merry said, smiling weakly, almost cockily. His eyes were hardly able to focus. His face drew back a little in pain and fear. “Are you going to leave me?”

“No, Merry,” Pippin answered. “I’m going to look after you.”

Pippin hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but everything, the battle, Denethor, Faramir, finding Merry, just everything, had caught up with him. From the state of his puffy, scratchy eyes, it seemed obvious that Pippin had cried himself to sleep. He jolted slightly, realizing how careless it had been of him to fall asleep. Looking around the room, Pippin thought for a moment that it hadn’t changed, and that maybe he hadn’t slept as long as he thought. He noticed, though, that the fire had burned noticeably lower, despite the new pile of wood near the hearth that had not been there before. And Pippin had a blanket tucked snugly around him. He was still clutching Merry’s hand, though, and he was happy to find that it was a little warmer, but not much.

“Oh, Merry,” he whispered, rubbing the hand carefully. “Poor Merry. I’m so sorry,” he said and laid his head back down on the pillow, struggling to adjust the blankets a little more comfortably about him and Merry.

Merry shifted a little. “Why are you sorry, Pip?”

Blankets were forgotten and in an instant, Pippin was sitting up straight, eyes wide and full of fresh tears. “Merry! You’re awake!” he crowed.

Merry struggled a little to sit up. Pippin was immediately adjusting the pillows around Merry’s shoulders comfortably, and helping his cousin into a semi reclining position. All the activity, Pippin hoped, would hide his tear filled eyes and shaking limbs. Merry was soon sitting up, rubbing at his sleep filled eyes. He paused, looking up at his young cousin, who was intently studying Merry’s face as though he were trying memorize it. Despite Pippin’s attempts, the tears stood clearly in his eyes.

Merry smiled. “Oh, come here, Pip.” He held his arms open for Pippin and in no time, he was being hugged by a sobbing, shaking hobbit-lad. For a few moments they were just happy to hold each other, both crying and both so happy to see the other. Merry stroked Pip’s curls for a few minutes as much to calm Pippin as to calm himself and reassure himself that Pippin was, in fact, safe.

Finally, Pippin’s sobs had dissolved into little sniffles and he was hastily wiping his tears away. “Now, Pippin,” Merry said, wiping at his own tears. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you sorry?”

Pippin pulled back a little to look Merry in the face. “Oh, Merry, I was just so scared, even though I tried to be brave, and then I wasn’t there to help you and when I did find you, I was almost too late, and Merry… I’m sorry!”

Merry chuckled and pulled Pippin back into a hug. “Don’t be sorry, Pip. I was fine! Lonely, but just fine.”

“But Merry, the Witch King! Your hand is still cold!”

“It’s fine, Pip.” He had to admit that his hand was dreadfully cold, numb and a little stiff, but it would be back to normal in no time, he was sure. Pippin, he could feel, was still shivering. What he needed now was a bit of cheering up.

“But you, Pip! You, you’re all dressed up, in what, a guard’s uniform? You’re so short, how’d you find one to fit? And Pip! I just noticed! You’re in one piece!”

Pippin giggled a little and nodded, pulling away to wipe the tears from his face and study his cousin. “What about you, Merry? You were wearing Rohan armour,” Pippin said, still sniffling a little.

Merry grinned. “Éowyn found them for me.” His face paled suddenly. “Where is Éowyn?”

“She’s fine,” Pippin answered. “She’s got a broken arm and her hand is almost as cold as yours, but she’s awake.” Pippin giggled again. “I think she might be with Faramir.”

“Faramir? You mean Boromir’s brother?” Merry asked, surprised.

“Of course, Boromir’s brother. Who else…” Pippin’s playful, scornful face suddenly turned sad and amazed as he realized what he had said. “Oh! I’m sorry, Merry! I forgot that you weren’t here with me.” His brows drew together and he started to worry his lower lip.

Merry smiled at Pippin’s consternation. “That’s all right, Pip. I kept forgetting that, too.”

For a moment, they were both silent, thinking of what had happened to them, realizing that there was so much the other didn’t know, realizing there were suddenly memories the other didn’t share. The silence stretched on, each deep in his own memories. Pippin felt Merry shudder next to him and Pippin forced himself out of his memories.

“So where did Éowyn find armour to fit you?” Pippin asked, breaking the silence.

“They used to be Théodred’s, when he was a lad.”

“Surprised you aren’t too short for them,” Pippin teased, playfully poking Merry in the ribs. “Now me, for example,” he put on a proud air. “I could fit into them easily, being so much taller than you.”

“Now, Pip,” Merry said, grinning, “you know I’m taller than you.”

“Are not!” Pippin stuck out his lower lip and began pouting.

“I am so, Pip. I measured.”

“When?”

Merry’s grinned widened. “Back in Isengard. I’m still taller than you.”

“You’ve never been taller than me, Merry, and you know it!”

That of course was not true at all, but Merry chuckled and ruffled Pippin’s hair. Pippin swelled in pride. He had made Merry not only smile, but laugh, too!

“How did you end up with Éowyn?” he prodded, curious as to what befell his cousin in Rohan.

“Well, Théoden wasn’t going let me come. He said that ‘little hobbits do not belong in war,’ and that none of his riders could bear me as a burden. They started to leave. I was swung up on a horse. It was Éowyn…” Merry stopped, his face closing as he thought hard about what had transpired. Pippin waited. He could be patient while his friend thought.

“There were so many orcs, Pip. So many… and I was so frightened.”

“It’s all right, Merry,” Pippin said. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his cousin’s shoulders. “I was frightened, too.”

Merry shuddered, but continued. “The orcs were all over the field. You probably saw that. It was like this sea of black against gold. Éowyn had me take the reins of the horse and guide it, so she could use two swords… and I remember we were thrown from the horse.” Merry shuddered.

Pippin, sensing his fear, scooted closer to his cousin. Merry put his arm around Pippin’s shoulders.

“I remember the Witch King… and Éowyn. I remember stabbing at him…”

There was a silence. Both hobbits were staring ahead at nothing. Pippin shivered in horror. He knew what had happened after that.

“It’s all right, Merry. Isn’t it? It’s over, right?”

Merry smiled down at Pippin and hugged him close. “Yes, Pippin. I think it is over now. But what happened with you, Pip? How did you get the armour?”

“Oh!” Pippin suddenly looked a little embarrassed. He sat up, pulling out of Merry’s arms and faced his cousin. “I saw Denethor, Boromir’s father? He knew that Boromir was dead, and he was so sad, Merry. I said that I would offer him my assistance. I got Gandalf piqued at me, and he herded me out of the hall, but Denethor accepted my services and he made me a Guard of the Citadel.

“But Denethor got so angry! Merry, he was insulting Strider… and he said that Gandalf only wanted to take Gondor from Denethor and give it to Aragorn. That’s not what Gandalf wanted at all, Merry, but that’s what Denethor said. And Gandalf told him to call for aid from Rohan, but he wouldn’t. It was awful, Merry. Denethor was yelling and Gandalf was yelling, and I wasn’t understanding much of it at all.”

The cousins sat in silence for a moment, but Pippin continued before Merry could voice a sudden discrepancy he had found in Pippin’s tale.

“Then Faramir rode back out to Osgiliath. Oh, and he saw Frodo and Sam. He said they were fine when he saw them, but that they were following that Gollum and going to the Morgul Vale, whatever that is.

“Anyway, he went back out to Osgiliath, even though it was taken by the orcs. And his horse brought him back and he was hurt so badly. Denethor thought he was dead and wouldn’t listen to reason. That’s when the Mordor host was just about to attack the City. Gandalf led the army of Gondor against the Mordor forces and I got an orc that was about to get Gandalf. Then Gandalf told me to get back to the Citadel and guard Denethor and Faramir. Denethor was building a pyre, Merry! A pyre for him and Faramir, even though Faramir wasn’t dead. I tried to stop him, but he threw me out, so I went and I found Gandalf. We were almost too late, Merry!”

Pippin started to shake, and his voice was breaking with sobs. Merry held his arms open for him and Pippin was curled up next to Merry once again. His shivering died down.

“Denethor lit the pyre. I somehow jumped on the pyre and rolled Faramir off, but Denethor burned. He burned, Merry. He ran out of the room, burning and screaming.” Pippin shuddered in his cousin’s arms. Merry, horrified beyond speech, just held Pippin tighter.

“And then the battle came up to the upper levels of the City where Gandalf and I were. I thought it was almost over. But Gandalf was saying that death wasn’t the end, that it was just another journey, another path. He said that everything turned to silver glass and then you see white shores. But then, the battle was over and there weren’t any more orcs or trolls. See, Aragorn found this ghost army. It was truly amazing, Merry, but I think you might have missed it. Aragorn let them go, because they fulfilled some oath they had taken. And then I found you, and…”

“I remember that part, Pip,” Merry interrupted, not wanting to relive that scene at the moment.

“Oh,” was all Pippin said. They were silent for a while again. Merry’s brows drew together when he thought back to the part of Pippin’s story that didn’t fit.

“Pippin.”

“Yes, Merry?”

“You said Denethor wouldn’t call for aid from Rohan.”

“Mmm. Yes?”

Merry continued, confused. “Then how did Gondor call for aid, when Denethor wouldn’t light the beacons?”

“Oh!” Pippin had forgotten that little detail. “I lit them.”

“What?!” Merry was shocked. How could Pippin have lit the beacons?

“Pippin, you didn’t get curious again, did you?”

“No, Merry,” Pippin said, sighing in exasperation at his cousin’s lack of confidence in him. “Gandalf told me to climb up and light the beacon, so I did.”

Pippin’s brows drew together as he thought. “It was very interesting, though, climbing up there. I wonder if I could do it again?”

Merry’s first reaction was to wrinkle his nose up at the thought of heights. “No, you can’t do it again, Pippin. Once is quite enough.”

Merry was quiet again. Pippin could tell he was thinking, so he sat up to study Merry’s face again. Merry’s face showed nothing less than utter bewilderment, but it slowly changed into cocky happiness.

“You lit them, Pip?”

“Yes.” Pippin wasn’t sure what Merry was thinking.

Merry held his arms out for Pippin again. Pippin threw himself into Merry’s embrace grinning. “I’m glad it was you who lit the beacons, Pip,” Merry muttered into Pippin’s curls.

“Why, Merry? It wasn’t all that special.”

“Yes it was, Pippin. You made it so we could be together again.” Merry squeezed his younger cousin tighter. Merry could feel the realization dawning in Pippin’s mind.

“I did, didn’t I? Well, I’m glad you came, Merry.”

“Me, too.” They were quiet, just sitting and hardly thinking at all. Merry grinned, though.

“Besides, Pip. If you hadn’t have lit the beacons, I wouldn’t have ridden with Éowyn. And if I hadn’t have ridden with Éowyn, I wouldn’t have had a hand in defeating the Witch King, and getting all that glory that you won’t get.”

Pippin sat up and playfully slapped at the back of Merry’s head. “Merry! That’s not nice!”

“And is it nice to be hitting your older cousin, especially when he is recovering from a terrible experience, Peregrin Took?” a severe voice from the doorway asked. The morning light was shining in around Gandalf. Next to him stood Aragorn.

“Oh, Gandalf. It wasn’t that bad! Besides, I didn’t even hit you, did I, Merry?”

Merry put his left hand to his head, schooling his face into a mask of mock pain. “Oh, yes, Pippin! I think I will have this headache for the rest of my days, thanks to you!”

Pippin giggled and swatted at Merry’s left hand, while, in the same movement, he reached for Merry’s cold right hand, almost subconsciously moving to warm it. Aragorn, before moving to examine his patient, leaned towards Gandalf and whispered: “I fear for the cooks. I don’t believe they know what a terrible invasion it is they are about to face.”

Gandalf chuckled, shaking his head. Pippin had ignored the little exchange between the High King and the White Wizard.

“Gandalf,” he demanded, all but bouncing on the bed. “Gandalf, do you know it is nearly time for elevenses? And I’m sure Merry’s awfully hungry. He’s missed nearly eight whole meals, Gandalf!”

Merry was having a hard time repressing a grin at Gandalf, while trying to look near starving.

“That we must remedy, Pippin,” Aragorn said, moving towards the bed. He sat down. “May I examine your hand, Merry?”

Merry silently let Aragorn study his right hand. It was still terribly cold, but not so much now. He grinned lopsidedly at Aragorn. “It’s better, isn’t it, Strider?”

“Yes, Merry, it is. I still want to check it over.” Without looking up, he addressed the wizard who was standing patiently in the doorway.

“Gandalf, will you warn the kitchens about the impending invasion? It would not do to have them completely unprepared.”

Pippin’s face grew white. “But… I thought it was over, the battle!” he squeaked. “Isn’t it? For now?”

“Oh, Pippin,” Aragorn said, having trouble keeping a straight face, while winking at Merry, who smiled, understanding the joke. “It is no invasion of orcs I am referring to! The invasion will be one of two hobbits, wanting their elevenses.”

The look of consternation mixed with insult and hope that dawned on Pippin’s face made everyone watching laugh. With a final pat to Merry’s warming hand, Aragorn rose. “You have my permission to be up and about, Meriadoc.”

“Thank you, Strider!” Merry said, beaming and laughing at Pippin’s still amazed face.

“Take it slowly, though, Merry, you may get dizzy,” Aragorn warned. Merry nodded, understanding. From the doorway, Gandalf watched, a smile twitching at his beard. Pippin had regained his composure and was berating Aragorn for his cheek. Merry was slowly sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Pippin, in a flash was at Merry’s side, ready to help him.

They both hopped down from the bed and Merry took a few steps alone, while Pippin laughed, cheering his cousin on with Aragorn. It pained Gandalf to know that these two young hobbits would face yet another battle. Yet, there was some hope. They were now together and the outcome did not look nearly so bleak as it did before. Shaking himself from his reverie, Gandalf turned to the situation at hand. There was little time. He would have to hurry, or the kitchens would have no warning when these two hungry hobbit-lads burst in, demanding a full meal. Gandalf left for the kitchens, chuckling softly to himself.