Disclaimer - I, as ever, am not the owner of LotR or any of the characters or places mentioned in this piece of writing. I own my mind. Just. Don't sue me - I have lots to save up for!

A/N - Not a lot to say yet, this is only the first chapter. Well actually...

My hugest apologies go out to Shirebound - if this sounds in any way, shape or form like 'In the Keeping of the King', then I am SO sorry! It was not intentional. This story stems from an idea relating to symbolism that will feature in chapter 2 - I just realised that it would be necessary for me to work backwards from that, and so we come to this. (Don't hate me!)

Chapter 1 - Everything goes, everything stays.

The battle had ended. The Pelannor Fields, once a place of great happiness and beauty, lay stained with the blood of the wounded, and the dead and the live mingled. A stench filled the air: burning, dying, suffering. The pain that war brought did not know or regard sides: it just existed and spread, touching everyone from the noble to the peasant and round to the orc.

Merry was one of the many hurt. He stumbled almost blindly across what seemed like an endless sea of tragic soldiers - each with their own fatal flaw. The need to fight, the pride or ruthlessness that possessed them to partake in the terrible battle had taken their lives. Merry followed what remained of the victors into the white city, where evidence of war was to be seen everywhere. The white had been tarnished and a high price had been paid for life and existence. Not that this entered the young hobbit's consciousness. Nothing did. The entire energy of his being was focused on placing one foot in front of the other and moving himself to a place of safety.

He could not see where he was going any more. All that had become visible to him was the terrible image that he had struck down, the being that had led to the King's death. He saw nothing else. The blackness of evil encompassed him and he fell, unaware of his surroundings and the life that was approaching him.

~::~ ~::~

"Merry..." a low voice broke through the mists that had settled themselves in his mind.

"Merry..." the voice was calling to him, bidding him return from his wanderings, growing louder each time it repeated his name. It was moving closer now, and the fervent state of restlessness that he lay in had been penetrated.

"Merry..." the voice... so familiar. It kept drawing nearer and nearer, edging through the clouds. Suddenly it touched him.

Merry cracked open his eyes and blinked at the brightness that filled the room. He was surrounded by faces, faces that he had not seen for a long time. Faces that he thought he would never return to.

"I am hungry. What is the time?"

The lost hobbit had answered his call.

~::~ ~::~

War had come. Gondor was alive with preparation for the troops who would be marching to Mordor in a desperate last stand against the Dark Lord. Desperate because the real hope stood not in battle, but in two diminutive beings who were currently wandering in a land darker than any they had ever known.

Those in high positions maintained a grim but businesslike demeanour, making the final arrangements, but the civilian soldiers spent the last hours with loved ones or enjoying a final ale in the victorious but clearly traumatised city. It was not discussed with their families, but the general unspoken consensus among the soldiers was that this was the end. They did not expect to return.

A sense of guilt hung around those who would be remaining in Minas Tirith. Many were too old or too weak to be sent to war, and many were women or children, denied their chance at battle by fate. Merry was one of those who would be staying behind. It was not of his own choice: he had been deemed too unwell to join with the Rohirric soldiers in battle. The same hand had been dealt to Faramir and Éowyn - the hurt they had received was too grievous for them to fight. A feeling of discontent consequently stained the otherwise pure air in the Houses of feeling. The discontent that they would be forced to wait, in hiding from the final destruction of the world that would ultimately come unless the Ringbearer was successful. They would be watching as they sent their friends to die, watching as the shadow spread further. Guilt and grief taint even the noblest of hearts.

For Merry, the pain was intense. In the three days since his awakening at the hands of Aragorn he had learned much of the quests of his companions. The journey along the Paths of the Dead that had been taken by Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn, the role of Pippin during the siege of Minas Tirith, the part that Gandalf had played and, of course, the progress of Frodo and Sam that Faramir had relayed to them. That was the journey that was in all of their hearts constantly. All of these had brought great joy to Merry's heart and aided his healing, but the news that almost everyone he held dear to him was to be led to almost certain death had cut him deeply. Too deep. They were taking them away, taking Pippin away, taking the rest of his soul away. As the many soldiers marched away Merry crawled into a corner of the Houses of Healing and wept out of sight of the world. He did not want them to see him cry, but the bitter tears flowed onto the ground and washed away any hope he once had, and his sobs indicated to the city his hurts.

The shadow had taken hold. Only time would tell if there was hope left for Middle-earth and a new dawn would come.

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A/N - Well... that was Chapter 1!

Please review with any criticisms (constructive only!), ideas or just lovely compliments you have! Actually.... just review!

Rachel xxx

Disclaimer - I'm, sure that most of you have cottoned on to the fact that I don't own LotR by now, but for those who haven't.... it's not mine, it never has been mine and, as I'm not getting any money for this, I'd prefer it if you didn't sue me! OK?

A/N - Ooooh, I go away for a few days and return home to find lots of lovely reviews! Thank you *hugs*!

Chapter 2 - Stars will touch all hearts

A starless sky covered Middle-earth on the night of the soldier's departure. Black and velvety, shadows blended with night, giving little comfort to the travellers but the shelter and hiding places that only pitch black could bring. Not that this brought solace to those left behind. As the people of Minas Tirith shut up their dwellings and went to their beds the darkness seemed to close in. They could see nothing ahead of them, not even the candles they carried to light the way. The shadow smothered all and clouded even the wisest being's foresight. They could see no future for men, no future for the world.

The Houses of Healing were a lighter place than most in the dark night. Some said that it was a sign that the king had returned, and some said that it signified the standing of the beings inside. Nobody really knew the answer - they could only guess. For Merry, the Houses of Healing seemed as dark as all else around him. The shadows of his injury haunted him, the images of all that he had seen played in his mind, concluding that there was nothing left. More than ever he wished that he had heeded the advice of Lord Elrond and returned to the Shire. But, he mused, would the pain be any less terrible? If the darkness took over it would not omit the Shire from its wrath. It would destroy it, before his eyes and he would have the knowledge that there was nothing to escape to. As black thoughts enclosed him and worry took precedence over all else in his head Merry crawled out of his bed and stumbled blindly across the cool stone floor to find his companions.

Unlike her halfling friend, Éowyn was not concerned with what may or may not have marred her homeland. She already knew that a great deal had been touched and destroyed by evil: she had witnessed that before the great battles had really begun. What consumed her mind was the thought of battle, that she should be denied her chance to die with her brother and kin, that she should face the end in a reprieve while all about her suffered in their last days. Tied with all of Middle-earth, the night and waters of sleep gave her no comfort. They left her alone with her thoughts and alone to live out the last days of the earth in peace. It was this that meant she failed to hear the gentle patter of hobbit feet that graced the room she resided in until they were by her side.

"Lady Éowyn?" Merry's hesitant voice whispered softly to her. The hobbit turned away. If she was not already awake then he did not wish to disturb her rest.

Éowyn rolled over in her bed. "What keeps you awake at this hour Master Meridaoc?" she questioned.

"Oh, I did not mean to wake you Lady, I just...."

"You did not wake me, Merry. The darkness is not kind enough to let us sleep when all about us is alive." Éowyn beckoned Merry to her bedside and bade that he sit with her. Seeing his shivers, she handed him the blanket that sat at the foot of the bed. He accepted it gratefully. "Now what brings you to see me on this night?"

"I could not sleep," the young hobbit explained, "I was wondering why I came on this quest. I haven't helped in any way, I have just played the part of a heavy bag - full of things that aren't really necessary. I should have gone home when I had the chance."

"And what would have happened had you gone home?"

"I would have lived in peace, knowing that the Fellowship would have been better off."

"Would they though?" said Éowyn, "If there is one thing I have learnt in the past few weeks it is that every action, no matter how small, has a consequence. We cannot predict what these consequences are - sometimes they are for the better, and sometimes we would not want to predict what they could possibly be. If you and Master Peregrin had not come on this quest then we would be very badly off."

"What do you mean," said Merry, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders to ward off the cool air.

"Well, for a start Isenguard would not have been brought down. Then there's Rohan - had the 'three hunters', as you so call them, gone to Mordor as their fate should have taken them then the late Théoden King would not have been freed. That would have been a terrible thing indeed."

Merry smiled, considering these things. Being a hobbit, one of the races of Middle-earth who held little concern for other peoples in the world, he had not considered the positive effect his actions may have had on others in the grand scheme of things. "And there was the Witch King. I aided in the defeat of him too!"

"That you did Master Merry." Éowyn replied, a faint smile lifting the chill and cold light that shrouded her delicate features.

"I have a question though, if you don't mind me asking you."

"Go ahead."

"Why did you, when you had so many options and opportunities to escape insist on fighting?"

"I wanted to be free." Éowyn answered carefully and truthfully.

"Free from what?"

"Free from what I was destined to do. Merry, when you chose to accompany Frodo you did so not out of a wish of honour, but of friendship. I grew up in a land constantly on the brink of war, and I was trained as a shieldmaiden. I was not like the other women of my age. They were content to play out their lives as dutiful wives and mothers. I wanted to fight, to have honour."

"Surely it would have been honourable to lead your people to safety."

"Like I said Merry, we cannot predict the consequences of our actions. My stowing away reaped great reward for the men who did not desire my company."

There was silence for a moment, as each being dwelled on these thoughts. After several minutes in the darkness, Éowyn looked to her companion to discover his silence brought on by slumber. Gently she lifted him and carried him through to his own bed, which lay illuminated by a pale shaft of candlelight that flickered softly from a room beyond the doorway.

~~::~~

Merry woke again on that black night to view the never ending shadow that blanketed Middle-earth. He wasn't sure what it was that had woken him from his sleep, but it drew him onto a balcony overlooking the White City and all it was surrounded by.

As Merry looked to the east he saw small weaknesses in the shadow, small chinks of light that broke through the darkness. And in that sky, above what he guessed must be the heart of the black land, Merry saw a star. A single orb of light shining dimly and form far away, but it was nonetheless a light that lifted the veil. He wondered if, at that precise moment, Pippin was looking at the same star, or Frodo or Sam - the lone stars in the dark sky of Middle-earth's immediate future. He hoped that the light would lift their spirits.

Merry returned to his bed in the Houses of Healing with a renewed sense of hope. Hope that the quest would succeed, and hope that his friends would return. They would be reunited soon and a new dawn would break.

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A/N - Yes, before you ask, I do have a thing about stars and symbolism! It's because of all the work I did in art last year...

Thanks for the reviews!

Yeah, as you can see - I don't like reviews much! But that's not to say I wouldn't appreciate some more!

Thanks!

Rachel xx

Disclaimer - Trust me when I say that I'm not making any money from this! If this was mine then I probably would be, so I'm sure you an figure the rest out for yourself...

A/N - Here's chapter 3! Reviewer thanks at the end! Oh yes - set during RotK!

Chapter 3 - Theories of light

In childhood, and indeed for long after, night and the dawn are thought of as times of great healing and cleansing. A problem would be 'slept on', safe in the knowledge that everything would be all right in the morning. When Merry awoke at midday, there was no morning. The broken sleep, which had temporarily erased all dark thoughts, had failed to ward off the thick, stifling air that greeted him It appeared that dawn had forgotten to come and the sun had not risen: the hue of the shadow had simply shifted faintly. Everything seemed grey or monochrome and, as he raised his hand in front of his face to check that he had not died, Merry was alarmed to find that it looked gaunt and lifeless - as if all of the colour had been sucked out of it. He quickly lowered his hand, sank back into his pillows and shut his eyes, consequently failing to see that he had a visitor.

Ioreth bustled about the Houses of Healing that morning much as she had always done, paying little heed to the shadow. They were dark times, yes, but she had faith in the secret King. With the ancient power of the Kings he had healed three victims of a crueller ailment than any she had seen before, and with the ancient power of Kings he would attempt a battle greater than any that would ever come again. Her trust overcame fear.

She approached the room of the halfling with some care however, as he was of a race that she had no experience or indeed knowledge of, yet he seemed to be a powerful being. Balancing the bowl of kingsfoil and a lit candle carefully in one arm, Ioreth pushed open the door of the room. She had not expected the shadow to have lifted at all, yet she was surprised at the intensity of the air in the room where her young charge resided. Was there a reason for the special attention the shadow seemed to pay to the halfling? Perhaps it knew something about this remarkable race that she didn't. Keeping the candle's dim flame close to her, she walked across the cool stone floor and found the pitcher that was set down by the bed. Athelas would surely lift the gloom.

As the wholesome fragrance filled the space, Merry opened his eyes. It seemed that the shadow had been forced out of the confines of the Houses of Healing and a small amount of light had been revealed. Merry blinked, clearing his vision, and looked into the smiling face of the healer. Maybe things always did improve in the morning, for Merry felt a sudden life fill his being.

"You should be able to walk about the city today, Master Meriadoc," Ioreth informed him, the smile not leaving her face. Oh for the wonders of the King, she thought, thanking him silently for the knowledge of Athelas.

"Thank you Mistress," replied Merry, wording his phrases with care as not to seem uncouth or childlike to this woman of noble men, "I should like that very much."

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The denseness of the shadow seemed to have decreased further as Merry left the central circles of the white city. It was still present, certainly, but was less noticeable to the hobbit's eyes. Perhaps, he mused, the shadow as he saw it moved in empathy with the journey of the Ringbearer and his companion. It deepened when they were in peril and lessened when their journey advanced. Merry smiled. A nice thought, but most probably not true. Perhaps then it reflected the mood of the Dark Lord. In this case should all be worried as, if the shadow had conceded, the Dark Lord may be closing in on victory? Merry dismissed this thought with a shake of his head as he arrived at his destination. Unknowingly, he had arrived at one of the places Pippin had sat and contemplated at during his time in the city. Comfort was brought to Merry because of this, but he could not place its reason.

A shaft of sunlight escaped from behind the storm clouds that had settled themselves above the shadow and illuminated the city. Merry glanced up and turned his head to seek the view. Light seemed to bounce from the roofs of the white buildings and then catch itself on the many discarded weapons. The battlefield, where many had so bravely fought, was revealed and Merry caught sight of the grass that was growing there already. Life was still continuing.

A single pinpoint figure was what next attracted the attention of the hobbit. It moved slowly and erratically at first, but soon sped up - the sight of its destination an inspiration to continue. As it neared the gates of the city, Merry was able to identify the armour it bore as that of Gondor: something that brought a sudden feeling of panic to his heart. Was this the lone survivor of a great and terrible battle? The herald of death. Merry shuddered - such a terrible task to have to be the informant of a loved one's death. Then he came to a realisation. The only one to have escaped with his life. Pippin was in the battle. And Aragorn, and Legolas, and Gimli......

A jolt in his stomach forced Merry to open his eyes and confront the swirling mass of colours that faced his nauseous form. Then the colours ceased and the light went out.

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The peaceful sleep Merry had lain in was interrupted with the feeling that there was something he had forgotten. The sight of tarnished armour in his line of vision acted as a reminder. The lone soldier. The death of his friends.

"I think he's stirring." The armoured form spoke softly to an invisible companion who evidently was stood nearby.

"Should we just leave him there, or try and find his parents and return him to them?"

"Return me to my parents?" said Merry, sitting up abruptly and addressed the men indignantly. "Pardon me, but I am no child. I am a hobbit of the Shire."

The two men laughed and rested themselves awkwardly against the wall.

"Ah, so you are the other of the irrepressible hobbits our city has been burdened with!" It was not a question. Merry stared confusedly up at the younger of the two men.

"We fought with a young being also of your kind. Peregrin, I believe his name is."

"Then you have not heard the news?" Merry questioned the men, not wanting to believe what he was about to say. "The soldiers - they are all dead. A lone survivor arrived here to bring the tale." A single tear escaped from Merry's eyes, and he quickly lowered his head to mask his grief.

There was silence for a moment, and nothing to convince Merry that time hadn't stopped other than the slight metallic 'clink' of the armour as one of the men shifted to talk to him. Much to Merry's surprise, the noble man, who Merry deemed to be no older than him, put his hand on the hobbit's shoulder and began to laugh softly.

"Forgive me, young halfling, but I believe - while this is indeed no laughing matter - that you are mistaken. There was no lone survivor. About three days into the journey, we were given the opportunity to continue or to turn back."

"Sadly for us," continued the other man, "Our names will not be the ones that are remembered if any battle should so come to that, for we are the ones who turned back. If you had managed to stay awake, master hobylta, then you would have learnt that the lone survivor you saw was merely a herald - sent ahead to warn the city of our coming. There are many of us."

Merry smiled weakly, willing himself to believe this seemingly honest member of the 'big folk'. There was still hope for his friends then: they had not yet perished with the day. It was a lot for an ailing being to comprehend - his world had been turned upside down and then back up again in the course of an hour. Thanking the men quietly and bidding them visit him during their time in the city, he turned and returned to his reprieve in the Houses of Healing. He had much to discuss with his companions there.

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A/N - Thank you to everyone! Please continue to read and review! 

Rachel xxx

Disclaimer - You know the score - I own nothing. Don't sue me.

A/N - I apologise for the blatant allegory that appears in part of this chapter. I wrote some of this a couple of minutes after the Prime Minister addressed the UK and told us we were officially at war. I was scared and decided to make use of it.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review - this is for you!

Chapter 4 - Loneliness is Emptiness

As dawn broke, Merry walked slowly across a great field, assessing the damage of the battle. He was attired in the armour of Rohan, and the heavy mail hampered his movements. He surveyed the field, and it became clear, even from the limited vision that all shadow permitted, that there was no life there. Charred and maimed corpses lay scattered: orcs, men, elves, nothing remained alive. And a hobbit. One solitary halfling lay cold on the ground. He had fought bravely, but had never really stood a chance against the evils of the world that stood against him. Pippin. Merry's cousin and best friend. Dead. The darkness had taken him. Collapsing on the floor, energised by his anger and grief, Merry screamed and wept in denial.

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Once he had resumed his sleep, Merry was not disturbed by thought that night. Dreamless, but not blissful, was his slumber.

His waking early the next morning, however, was quite different. The shadow that continued to reside failed to move him, but an ache, difficult to place, filled his innards. Loneliness. The chill of the sparsely decorated chamber, the tiled floor and covered windows. It was not a friendly place of residence to begin with, it's purpose was primarily to heal, but the clinical feel of the minimalist room made it seem lonelier than it was designed to be.

Merry was all alone, in a place foreign to his kind. A place he was never supposed to go.

Loneliness is emptiness. A fissure, gaping and growing, had taken to accommodating itself inside the hobbit. He had no knowledge of his friend's whereabouts. He had no conformation or knowledge of their existence. He would never know unless the Ringbearer was successful in his quest and the shadow and great evil were brought down. Then they would return. And if they would not return then their bodies would be brought back and they would be buried as kings.

For the first time, Merry began to understand the true reason that Lord Elrond had desired for him and Pippin to return to the Shire. There was a certain essence about the young hobbits that was similar to naiveté and was almost innocence: that the mere existence of the Shirefolk depended on them upholding their own rituals and ways of life, and their own beliefs. Although it was often in fact the Rangers on the borders who protected the hobbit's way of life, they held the belief that, if they continued as they had always done, and did not provoke interference or bad feeling from those beyond their reach, they were in direct control of the future of their peaceful existence. It was not that Elrond felt Merry and Pippin to be incompetent in their contributions to the fate of the Ring, but that they would suffer too much personal damage. Their life was now dependent entirely on someone else, and they had no way of knowing what would happen and indeed when it would happen. It was a terrible thing for ones so young to experience - that everything they were doing might be in vain because of some greater being that could take everything away so easily. They were involved in something greater than they could comprehend, let alone deal with.

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Merry continued with this train of thought as the day passed. As he was walking in the gardens with Éowyn and Ioreth, as he was discussing his journeys with Faramir and as he ate his food in silence. It was all he could think about: they were not coming back and there was nothing he could do to make anything better. Merry may never know if they continued to exist.

Picking up the metal fork, Merry pushed his potatoes around his plate for the fourth time. His appetite had left him. The food was growing cold now and, while the Healers had tried their best to provide Shire-like meals for him, he was not tempted to eat. The food was not home like. His habitation was not home like, and there was no one remotely similar to him in the whole of the great city. He was alone.

"You should eat, Master Merry," said Faramir, breaking the silence of the meal, "The Healers will have your head on a plate if they see that all you have done is create miniature hobbit holes with their carefully prepared potatoes. For I assume that is what they are."

Merry nodded and put his fork back down, careful to avoid disturbing his food.

"I sense that you are troubled, young hobbit."

"I saw some soldiers yesterday, whilst I was out looking round the city. I thought they were come to tell me that all my friends had died, but I was wrong. I can't stop thinking about it, Faramir. What if they are dead - and we never know? I wish we had taken Lord Elrond's advice and gone home. We are in matters that are too big for us."

"I cannot tell you anything on that matter that will make you feel better: we are all in matters that are too big for us." The man of Gondor looked grieved for a moment, but then shook his head and smiled at Merry, "But I do have some news that will not perhaps comfort you, but may relieve you of the pain."

"What is that, Faramir?"

"While your friend Peregrin was here, I believe he became acquainted with Bergil, son of the guard Beregond, and his companions. Unlike the majority of citizens, it seems that these young boys did not flee the city, and now they have come to the Houses of Healing asking for you," he paused, studying Merry's face, "But I suppose you are too sick to see them."

"No. I mean I'm not too sick. I would like that." said Merry.

"Then I shall send for them." Faramir looked seriously at Merry and, to his surprise, took his hand. "I realise they will not make up for the fact that Pippin is not here, nor can they make you feel anything other than a great loneliness. But they have many tales to tell, and humour to share, that may lift the burden you carry for a while. Now, I suggest you eat some of that rather delightfully arranged food, for you shall need your strength."

Merry reluctantly picked his fork up again and smiled. His first real smile of the day, and it would have continued had he not chosen to swallow the extremely cold potato mixture at that moment. As it was, it soon turned to a grimace.

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The sun had continued to shine weakly through the shadow for the rest of the day, and it was a good thing too, for Bergil and his friends had taken Merry on a walking tour of the whole city. No important building had gone unexplored, no street unwalked and no stair left unclimbed. Merry felt truly exhausted when he returned to the Houses of Healing for his rest that evening, and felt that sleep would come easily to him.

Despite, perhaps, his initial reservations, Merry had found that Faramir had in fact been right: the company had been good for him. He had been able to interact with beings of a less serious kind, beings that were able to retain a degree of innocence and carefree happiness despite the troubled times. They had by no means replaced the company of his friends, but they had helped to fill some of the aching void in his heart. Life did continue as it always had done for some, even when the ones they loved were in grave peril. Several of the boy's fathers had gone with the soldiers to Mordor, and so they were shared in their grief, but they did not let it rule them. They had an inextinguishable faith that their loved ones would be returned to them and Merry took some comfort from that. He no longer felt alone.

Before he slept, Merry walked the length of the tranquil gardens with Éowyn and Faramir and looked out at the black night. They discussed the possible progress of their friends and the future of Middle-earth, little knowing that they were not alone in their activities for, where ever they were in their journeys at that moment, the remainder of the Fellowship were doing the exact same thing.

Loneliness is emptiness.

Peaceful sleep arrived quickly that night.

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A/N - *Bows down to readers* I am so so sorry for my lack of updating for ages! I have been incredibly busy with my school work and have only managed to write fragments of chapters. The next one to be updated will be 'A whole lotta hobbity goodness', and then I promise I will attempt to write the second half of the chapter for the Olympics! But knowing the way inspiration strikes when I least expect it, this one'll probably end up being updated soon anyway!

HUGE thanks to my wonderful reviewers! Please continue to review - it really is incredibly encouraging!

*Hugs*

Rachel xx

ps. I have a Mini-Balrog (from OFUM) named Gamagee. He is hungry. He doesn't like it when people read but don't review. Don't make me feed you to him!

Disclaimer - I don't own any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. They are the property of the Tolkien estate, as are the texts from which they came. Got that? I'm just playing with them - don't sue, I'm saving up!

This contains Return of the Jing spoilers, but I'm sure you know that already!

A/N - *Cheers* I got 20 reviews!!! In only 4 chapters! Wow....

Chapter 5 - Distractions before the darkness

"Shhhh.... shhhh... you'll wake him..."

Whispers and hushed laughter roused Merry from his dreams on the tenth day since his awakening in the Houses of Healing. They had not been pleasant dreams that the hobbit had experienced , yet Merry could not remember them as being entirely unpleasant. Not that he could remember them as anything other than that, which he suspected had something to do with a tonic that Ioreth had slipped him after Faramir had told her of his nightmares.

The ongoing mutterings and utterances from the doorway brought the drowsy halfling fully round from his slumber. He groaned softly as he rolled to face the intruders; the almost healed hurt to his arm aching dully. Although the pain had subsided significantly as to not bother him often, the arm which smote the Witch King had not fully recovered from its grievances and, as to mock him, ached more now that the mental hurts had lessened. Merry squinted and attempted to see through the thick air that resulted from an odd combination of the shadow and a bright shaft of sunlight.

Bergil and the two young boys, Beven and Arron, that accompanied him took this as their cue to shuffle forward into the half-lit chamber and greet Merry.

"Master Perian, I see you have finally awoken," said Bergil, advancing to Merry's bedside and clambering onto the side of the bed, "What took you so long - it is past the tenth hour already and the sun is risen!"

Merry laughed softly, thinking that better companions for him could not have been chosen: they reminded him of many young halflings he had encountered, with a sense of mischief that could not be rivalled. Indeed, they reminded him of himself. And Pippin. Why was it that these happier times could not be regained? He feigned a groaning sound and twisted back onto his front, snoring into the pillow.

"Merrryyyyy... I know you're awake!" Bergil shook Merry's shoulders almost violently. "Come on! I was going to take you to the orchards on the southern side of the city today, and then we were going to eat luncheon there with a picnic my mother helped me prepare long before you woke!"

Merry remained on his front, beginning to feel nauseous from the rocking motion Bergil was submitting him to. It did not help that Bergil and his companions had begun to jump on the bed in a further attempt to get the stubborn halfling to give up his game and get out of bed. A loud rumble from Merry's stomach caused him to sit up and stretch, as if he had just awoken. He faked a wide yawn.

"I am hungry, what is the time...... why are you all on my bed? Can a tired hobbit not sleep in peace anymore or are the days darker than I thought?"

"Merrryyyy....." Bergil whined again, "You've been awake for agggeeesss - we were watching you!"

"All right, Master Bergil! See..." he pushed the boys off of the bed and onto the cool stone floor, "... I'm getting up! Now, what do you want to do today? I was planning on visiting the Lady Éowyn and then exploring the wondrous great library your city is possessed with...."

Bergil and his companions sighed. "You're hopeless!" Bergil commented.

Merry smiled to himself. "Not hopeless," he muttered, "Maybe playful and slightly irritating and irresponsible. But definitely not hopeless."

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The young boy looked up into the great boughs of the apple tree that hung over his head, blocking out the sun. "Just a little bit higher," he called to the seemingly small figure in the branches. A rustle of leaves and a cry of delight confirmed that the figure had reached its goal. The boy stepped back as a downfall of apples hurtled towards his sandy head.

Merry looked from his place on the long grass of the orchard to where his friends were playing. Perhaps in happier times he would have joined them. But that seems inappropriate now, he thought. Playing whilst many of the ones he loved most were facing unknown peril. Yet that was exactly what the boys were doing. Merry sighed quietly. Yes, he reasoned, they were indeed playing and enjoying their lives whilst their fathers and friends were away, but they were not of an age to understand what it was they faced. They lived in blissful and happy ignorance, with the only fear being that they would not find glory. Did they even understand what was at stake?

A loud crash followed by a hail of falling apples diverted Merry's attention. He glanced over to the tree, where Bergil and Arron were stood, white faced, in front of the heap of fruit that appeared to house their friend. He got up quickly and rushed to their aid.

"What happened?" he asked Bergil, whilst bending down and beginning to remove the ripe apples from their resting place on top of the small boy.

"We... we were just playing around, and we told him to climb higher... and I think he must have slipped or something, because the next thing we knew he was here...." said Bergil shakily, looking down at where Bevenlay.

Arron knelt down beside Merry and looked at him worriedly. "Is he dead?" he asked.

"No," said Merry, having finally unearthed his friend and taken his pulse, "But I'm not sure what may, if anything, be wrong with him, so be careful not to move him."

A sudden twitch of his leg illustrated Beven's conscious state, and Merry looked at the young boy's pale face - watching for signs that he was awake or unhurt.

"Merry...." said Bergil, nervously.

Merry stood up next to his companion.

"Yes?"

"Boo!" Beven jumped up from under the pile of apples he had been buried in.

Merry jumped with the shock of seeing the boy, so still and quiet a moment ago become so full of life, and he stepped back, slipping on the fruit and falling in a heap. The boys started laughing uncontrollably with relief.

"I thought you were hurt!" Merry exclaimed indignantly, sitting up and wiping the mashed up apple from the back of his waistcoat.

"Just a handful of bruises and scrapes," said Beven, "I've fallen before and hurt myself a lot more." he shrugged his shoulders and dismissed the pain, "My sisters and I lend our hands here in the summer. I just thought you looked in need of a distraction. I didn't mean to slip....." he trailed off, mumbling something incoherent.

"What was that?" said Merry, a smile playing on his lips now that he knew he wouldn't have to return to the Houses of Healing with another charge.

"I only meant to make all of the apples fall down and make a lot of noise and mess..."

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The picnic in the orchard continued without much further incident. Many stories were shared of mischief and mayhem, with Merry contributing many of his own tales of his childhood in Brandy Hall and his best friend's and cousin's adventures.

"...And then we ran, both of us, panting like the dogs that were chasing us... with armfuls, pocketfuls and packfuls of carrots, 'taters, cabbages and, most of all, mushrooms.... hobbits have a special affinity to mushrooms..." he paused, appearing to be a long way from Gondor for a moment before continuing with the story of one his and Pippin's adventures, "Anyway, we're running as fast as our legs could take us, between all of these great tall crops, to get out of the field... and we reached the far fence and were climbing over it, with the dogs at our heels, when Pip announces that he's got his best shirt caught on the intruder wire that Farmer Maggot winds round his fence...."

"And what did you and Mr Peregrin do?" asked Arron, eager to hear more of Merry's tale.

"We pulled as hard as we could and then ran away, of course!"

"Merry..." said Bergil, "You miss Pippin a lot, don't you?"

The smile was erased from the hobbit's face and replaced with a look of sadness. He nodded. "More than you could ever know."

The four companions sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about what they were all missing. Their contemplation was interrupted only by the arrival of several large droplets of rain. A storm had come. They gathered their property quickly and made their way back to the shelter of the city walls.

As they approached the Houses of Healing Bergil turned to look out upon Minas Tirith. The buildings appeared stark white in contrast to the black sky. The rain was falling freely and, rather than washing clean the shadow that remained, it seemed to have deepened the darkness. He turned back to Merry and they entered the building together.

"It won't be long now."

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A/N- Alas, for we are drawing to a close now. This story was never intended to be particularly long and I feel that there is only so much more I can write before I begin to overlap with what has already been written about in RotK. So chapter 6 will be the final chapter!

you leave! Flame if you like, but I expect you to leave an email address!

Rachel xx

Disclaimer - I own the young Gondorians, Beven and Arron, but everyone and everything else belongs to the Tolkien estate. I have just borrowed them for my own evil purposes, will give them back relatively unharmed and am making no money from this! So don't sue me!

A/N - This is the final chapter, for the simple reason that I believe Tolkien told the rest of the story himself. Thank you so much for the amazing feedback I have received!

Chapter 6 - "It won't be long now."

Black, choking, the air was thick with dust.... Why was everything so dark? Surly morning, even in these darkened times, held more light than this. Merry blinked several times and noticed no change in his vision. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed away the residue of sleep that had gathered in the corners of his eyes and on his lashes. Nothing had changed and so Merry wondered if he had in fact died, and this was what was came after life. At the very least, he wondered if he had slept through until the middle of the next night, and no one had thought to wake him. The room he resided in was pitch dark, and the view from the wide window the same. There was no wind: the stillness of the linen drapes at the window told that much, and the air was stifling. Merry could not remember it ever being as black and oblivion like since the time he and Pippin had become locked in the wine cellar of one of the great smials in Tuckborough. It had been several hours before anyone had noticed that they were missing. At least then he had not been alone in the dark. Merry shuddered and drew his bedclothes further around himself, not knowing which was causing him to shiver: the cold of night or the fright he suddenly felt himself to be feeling.

The silence of the night in the room felt loud to Merry's ears. So loud, that it was screaming at him, laughing at him for being afraid. It was only the dark, Merry thought nervously. Why was he so scared? Everyone else would be in their beds, sleeping peacefully as on any other night - as he would have been on any other night. Why was this night different?

As he shifted in his bed and tried to get back into some kind of slumber, Merry knew the answer. The cold fingers of the dark groped at him, forbidding him to rest, and he felt an icy breath that was not the breeze brush his face. This was not night.

The shadow had taken hold. The quest must have failed.

Some small part of Merry's being denied him this thought though. If the quest had failed then why was he still here? Why had not the world ended, with the living shadow smothering all life and strangling it mercilessly? There must still be hope for the quest, thought Merry. But then why else would there have been this sudden change from the dim occupancy of the shadow to which Minas Tirith had become accustomed, to this?

Bergil knew. 'It won't be long now.' The child's words echoed round Merry's head, swirling and repeating themselves over and over like an endless cycle. It won't be long now. How many days had it been since the soldiers had departed? Ten, eleven... maybe more. They must have reached the Black Gate. This was the final debate. The shadow had deepened because the soldiers had reached Mordor. Was it in desperation or because the Dark Lord had triumphed? Perhaps the smallest and most important of all people were getting closer.

Pippin. This was it; this was his time - perhaps his last waking moments.

Seeming like a sudden influx of water, the damn inside Merry burst and his hot tears, restrained since finding some companionship, flowed forth. The pressure of grief, of the shadow and of not having any answers had grown too great. Why was it that he had to be the one to live through this? Why, when neither he nor his friends had never done anything worse than steal a few carrots did they have to end like this: killing to survive and having no uncertainty from one day to the next. He had never killed anyone before and never had a violent thought in his head beyond playfully pushing a young hobbit. Yet here he was: snatched cruelly from his element, ending the lives of others and now waiting for he himself to end. A million small explosions that destroyed those around him. Each life that had been lost, each hurt he had endured and everything that had been destroyed brought more tears to his eyes.

He cried for Pippin, he cried for the Shire, he cried for his friends that had surely been lost, and he wept that despite his efforts nothing beautiful would ever exist again. The end would come soon. As the cold fingers of shadow retreated slowly, Merry cried himself into a restless sleep.

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When he woke again, Merry was surprised at the difference in the light since the morning. Judging as always using his plain hobbit sense, something also known as his stomach, Merry guessed that it was mid afternoon - possibly just after luncheon. Hazy, watered down sunshine filtered through the window and a light breeze moved the bedclothes. The shadow remained, much as it had done since before Merry had arrived in the White City, but there was once again life to be seen beneath it. Merry no longer felt the intense weight of it crushing him and clawing at him and he wondered if all was ended or whether this was a slight reprieve before a greater onslaught began.

Deciding to enjoy this time of relative normality, Merry clambered out of the tangled sheets, damp from sweat, and went to wash and dress. His tears seemed to have changed something inside of him. The fate of his friends was out of his hands for the moment: he accepted that now. They were away, doing all they could to stay alive and draw the eye of the Dark Lord away from his own lands long enough for the Ringbearer to fulfil his quest. They were now working to save his fate and the fate of all Middle-earth.

~~::~~

On his way to the kitchens, where he hoped to come across a cook sympathetic to his incessant need for food and acquire some afternoon tea, Merry came across Faramir and Éowyn, wandering about one of the evergreen courtyards. Their hands were entwined tightly together, illustrating their growing closeness and admiration for one another, yet their faces were pale and drawn: the lack of bright sunlight showing itself clear. They both seemed to be waiting for something; something that Merry sensed would come soon, although he was not entirely sure what it was.

Upon reaching the kitchens, Merry expected to be greeted and then turned away smiling by the sometimes harsh cook who would then call him back and present him with a selection of as hobbit like food as the kitchen staff could muster. He prepared his best imploring smile and crossed the threshold into the steaming, almost alive, room. The cooks paid little attention to him as he approached the large wooden table. In fact they seemed to have been expecting him. Everybody seemed to be expecting something. Now that the shadow had lifted slightly it was an air of apprehension and foreboding that hung over the Houses of Healing and indeed all of Minas Tirith.

Something was coming. Whether it was the bitter air and destruction of defeat or the sweet presence of victory, Merry did not know, but he knew that it was imminent and significant. The whole of the White City, and indeed Middle-earth, was poised, whether they knew it or not, for the final battle. It was not about minor conflicts between races of beings anymore, it was about preserving a way of life. And everyone involved was completely powerless to improve or even alter the situation.

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Bergil, Beven and Arron came for Merry not long after he had returned to his bed chamber feeling comfortably full. All three looked forlorn, especially Beven, whose fall the previous day appeared to have affected him more than he had admitted. He definitely was limping slightly on his right foot, and Merry suspected that, by the way he was breathing very carefully and walking slowly, if he was to lift the child's jacket and glance at the exposed skin, he would see some impressive bruising. Arron and Bergil's moods seemed to be affected for a different reason, however, and one which thought he knew: both children had fathers or brothers involved in the final battle. Further to a conversation with Beven on the day that they had first been introduced, Merry was aware that his father had been killed in a battle with orcs across the river not longer after he had been born. It was thus that he was the calmest of the group.

For the day's walk, the group planned to explore the upper levels of the city, taking in every spectacular view and back street that they could come across. The storm of the previous evening had cleared the stuffiness of the air caused by the shadow, and so the temperature was cool: perfect for running and enjoying the weak sunshine that the previous blackness had allowed to penetrate. The mood was sombre, but not without it's lighter, carefree moments, and the group was soon laughing once again at a tale of Bergil's.

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It was when Merry was walking about the balustrades of the White City with his young friends when the second great darkness came. It was as though a force had suddenly extinguished the sun, the blackness was that consuming and quick to arrive. It lasted possibly only a minute at the most, yet the deep emptiness of nothing was so complete that it seemed complete that it seemed that time had stopped. Or seemed to last forever. One or the other: Merry could not tell.

Almost as soon as it had started, the black oblivion ended. Bergil raised his face to the sky, rejoicing in the reappearance of light and saw that the sky was clear. The crashing, strangling, tortured sound that had occurred during the period of dark had also subsided somewhat.

Merry and Bergil looked at each other, unsure of what this fluctuation of light had meant. It wasn't just that the sky was now clear, Merry noted, it was blue, with whipped, fluffy white clouds. The same clouds that Merry had looked for cows, sheep and hobbits in when he was younger and enjoying freedom with his cousins.

"I said it wouldn't be long." Bergil's voice broke through the hobbit's memory.

"Is this the end then?" said Merry, "I hoped the clouds signified otherwise. After all they are the first of the kind we have seen since the shadow descended those many weeks ago."

Bergil paused with this thought. He did not want to believe that good had won. He had to accept that this change meant it was the end, otherwise he would be disappointed if his hopes were dashed.

"Listen!" cried Bergil. A deep rumbling came from the East and, as the four friends looked to the noise, they saw that the horizon was alight with flames. A great cloud of dust appeared to be the cause of the rumbling. A great cloud of dust that was headed towards Minas Tirith and indeed all of Middle-earth - as if it was an oversized blanket being laid down.

"It's coming," muttered Arron. Fear was wild in his eyes. How did you face the end?

As if sensing the question they all were asking, Merry grabbed the hands of Arron and Bergil. Beven latched onto the hand of Arron. Merry motioned for them to lie down, unaware that, moments before, the very same action had been undertaken by the two most important beings in Middle-earth at that time.

"We will face this together," he said, "And we stand more of a chance if we are flat against the ground."

The four companions cast a confirming glance at each other and lay on the white stone of the ground. Together.

Before he shut his eyes to face the end two things swirled around inside Merry's mind: the face of Pippin. Was he still alive? Had he faced this great peril already?

The second? "It won't be long now."

The cloud of choking dust passed over the White City and the sound of eagles flying far overhead was heard.

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Merry, Bergil, Beven and Arron surged forward to catch up with Éowyn and Faramir. The cloud of dust had taken almost an hour to pass over the White City, and it had taken Merry almost as long to wash the residue of evil from his skin.

It was over.

The Ring had been destroyed.

The eagles had been heralds sent out to tell of this great victory. Now those in Minas Tirith who had had friends or relatives sent to fight were travelling to Ithilien to meet them, not knowing who had survived. The halflings had lived, they had been told, but word had not been sent as to which halflings. This brought some comfort to the extremely apprehensive Merry, as it signalled the survival of Frodo and Sam, yet it brought dread to his heart as he had heard no word of Pippin.

~~::~~

For two days they travelled, amid much celebration, towards Ithilien where the Ringbearer was resting with the soldiers who had fought in the final battle. Merry's mood flickered between despair, gloom and joyfulness, as he attempted to repress his feelings of sadness at the loss of his friends. The party travelled waving many standards and battles and, had any enemy remained, it would have been no challenge to seek the group out.

At moonlight on the second day they arrived, entering the great spread of marquees with care, for they knew that many were injured and so would be sleeping. The standards of the King waved brightly into the dusk and the party broke to find their respective beings, leaving Merry alone and unsure as to where to go. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked into the smiling face of Aragorn.

Without allowing Merry to ask questions or even say a word, Aragorn led Merry to the far corner of the camp.

"This is where Frodo and Sam are residing. There's something you ought to see."

A shadow moved silently towards the entrance of the unmarked tent, having to prevent himself from rushing forward. His injuries were grievous, yet he knew what he must do. He walked into the torchlight.

Aragorn motioned for Merry to follow his gaze. A lone figure, only a child to the untrained eye, was stood waiting, a single tear running down his cheek.

"Pippin," Merry cried, before running to greet his friend. They embraced, the embrace of those who had regained everything they thought they had lost.

The Fellowship had been reunited.

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A/N - Call me pathetic, but I'm welling up....

I hope you enjoyed my fic - this has been my favourite one to write so far :)

A shorter companion piece, following Pippin during the same time, will be posted soon - I would appreciate your comments on that when it's up!

Special thanks to Nats, for coming up with the term "deep emptiness of nothing" in the common room yesterday!

Well... I guess this is it for now! But you know I can't resist posting a new chapter of my other fics for long! Please continue to r and r - you wouldn't want to upset the children! Would you?

Rachel xxx