Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done.

Author’s Note: Some of the dialogue comes straight from “The Return of the King”. This is my first try at a hurt/comfort fic. I suppose that this is why these things are called Challenges!

Safe in My Arms

By Elendiari

       The Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The wounded had been brought to the Houses of Healing all that interminable day, hoping against hope for comfort and solace. It had been late in the afternoon when Captain Faramir, now the Steward of Gondor, was brought to the Houses, drenched in oil, lost deep in fever dreams.  Pippin had been standing guard outside the door to Faramir’s bedroom with Beregond of the Guard since he had been saved, and it would only take a great calamity to tear Pippin from his post. He would not abandon Faramir now, when he had no one left to care for him.

      He was thinking about the events of the past several hours, Denethor’s suicide and the charge of the Rohirrim, when a shout raised itself in the relative peace and quiet of the houses.

     “Make ready a bed and alert the healers! The Lady Eowyn is in dire need of a healer! Hurry!”

     The speaker was a young Rider of Rohan, wearing the colors of King Theoden’s knights. Pippin remembered seeing him at Isengard, and his heart leaped. Maybe this urgent Rider knew something of Merry.

      Beregond, as if sensing his friend’s thoughts, nodded at Pippin. “Go, see if he has tidings of your friend. I will guard Captain Faramir alone, for a time. Go!”

      “Thank you, Beregond,” Pippin said gratefully, and hurried after the escort of Rohirrim soldiers.

     He found them in a small room one floor above Faramir’s room. The men were all clustered in the hallway, and Pippin could see two of the healers laying the Lady Eowyn out on a bed inside the room before the door was shut for privacy. Taking a deep breath, Pippin went up to the Rider he had recognized and tugged on his cloak. The Rider turned to look at him, and recognition dawned in his eyes. It was quickly followed by fear and chagrin.

      “Were is the Holbytla?” he cried, turning to the others. “Has anyone seen him since we came into the City?”

    The Riders looked at each other and cursed softly, realizing that Merry was not among them.

     “He was with you, then?” Pippin cried urgently, as they did. “Where could he be?”

     “I don’t know, Master Holbytla,” the young Rider replied, frowning. “He wasn’t supposed to be here at all; nor was Lady Eowyn. Theoden King expressly told them to stay at Dunharrow. They rode into the battle in secret, and were grievously wounded slaying the Winged Shadow. We ought to have carried him here in as much honor as we did Theoden King and the lady, but he was walking, and we thought that he was all right.”

   The Rider was so profusely apologetic that Pippin gave him a reassuring smile, although he was shaking with fear. There was so much danger in the City right now, and one poor hobbit could so easily be harmed!

      “You will have to go find him, Pippin.”

      Pippin had not heard the wizard approach, and turned to him worriedly.

      “Yes, of course, I’ll leave right now!” he said.

       “I think you had better,” agreed Gandalf. “Hurry, now! If he has dared touch that evil thing, there is no time to be lost.”

        Pippin nodded and darted down the hallway, and out of the house. He was halfway across the street when a voice called out to him. Turning, he saw the young Rider striding towards him.

      “Mundburg is a large city, Master Holbytla,” he said. “It is my fault that Master Merry is missing. If we split up, we can both search for him, and mayhap he will be found quicker.”

      “Yes, yes, of course,” agreed Pippin, seeing the sense in this at once. “What is your name, please, sir?”

     The Rider smiled. “I am Caelin. Now hurry, we shall meet again here at dusk, if we have not found him before.” Pippin nodded, and they parted ways.

      It seemed that he searched for hours. Minas Tirith was a huge city, and the streets were still in shadows, although rays of sunlight pierced through the thick clouds. Pippin ran on and on, looking around him incessantly for a small soldier in the garb of Rohan. A refrain began to pulse in his mind. Merry Merry Merry. All about him were fallen rocks and dead soldiers. The sound of the battle was outside the city now, but the smell of it was all around him. Pippin gulped in a breath of the putrid air and ran on. The refrain chanted on and on, Merry Merry Merry.

     At last, Pippin saw whom he was seeking ahead of him. Merry was walking forward slowly, weaving as one in a dream. Pippin flew forward, but stopped before he touched Merry, remembering his mother’s warning about frightening sleepwalkers.

    “Well, Merry!” he said instead. “Thank goodness I have found you!”

     Merry started and looked up. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and he looked quickly around the narrow lane, seeming surprised. He rubbed his eyes, frowning and weaving a little.

    “Where is the King?” he said. “And Eowyn?” Then he stumbled and sank down in a doorway, and began to weep.

    Pippin knelt down in front of his cousin and gently put his hands on Merry’s shoulders. He tried to explain as best he could, for Merry was obviously dazed and confused, and was having trouble focusing. There was one thing that he had to know, though, that was absolutely vital.

    “Are you hurt, or wounded?” he asked anxiously.

   Merry shook his head, paused, than nodded. “No. Well, no, I don’t think so. But I can’t use my right arm, Pippin, no since I stabbed him. And my sword burned all away like a piece of wood.”

      Cold fear seized Pippin’s heart. Something was wrong. Had Merry stabbed a Ringwraith? Caelin, he remembered, had said something to that effect. ‘Grievously wounded, slaying the Winged Shadow.’ Those had been his words. Merry had helped Eowyn slay the Witch King.

     Murmuring comforting nonsense, Pippin pulled Merry to his feet and started walking back towards the Citadel, and the Houses. Merry swayed and murmured, lost in some nightmare, and Pippin had a hard time supporting him. He held Merry’s left arm over his shoulders, and had him own arm around Merry’s waist, holding tightly so that the wounded hobbit would not fall down. He was almost glad that Merry did not seem to see the wreckage and death that was around him, but he was so afraid. Merry had always been the responsible one, the one who was invincible, and yet here he was, hurt worse than he had ever been. They were such a long way from the Citadel, and Merry was stumbling more than ever.

    “I’ll never get him there,” Pippin realized. “Is there no one to help me? I can’t leave him here.”

     Two steps, three steps. Four. Then, to his utter amazement, he heard the sound of footsteps, light and urgent, running up behind him. He looked quickly around, and saw Bergil, Beregond’s son, running up the road towards them.

    “Hullo, Bergil!” he called out urgently. “Where are you going? Glad to see you again, and still alive!”

     Bergil slowed and stopped, taking in the sight of the two hobbits with curious eyes. “I am running errands fort he healers,” he said. “I cannot stay.”

     “Don’t!” said Pippin, hope and gratitude warming his heart. “But tell them that I have a sick hobbit, a perian, mind you, come from the battle-field. I don’t think that he can walk so far. If Mithrandir is there, he will be glad of the message.”

      Bergil nodded and ran on. Pippin watched him go for a few moments, before letting Merry sink down onto the pavement in a patch of weak sunlight. It was best that they stay here, if anyone came looking for them. He sat down and put Merry’s head in his lap, running his hands lightly over his friend’s body to feel for any hidden injuries. Merry seemed uninjured, but for his right arm and hand. They were as limp as wet reeds, and Merry’s hand was as cold as ice.

    “Merry,” Pippin said softly, taking the frozen hand between his own and kissing it. Tears started in his eyes, of fear and grief for Merry. “Merry. Can you hear me? Everything is going to be all right now, Merry, you’ll see. Someone will come for us from the Houses of Healing, and they will help you to get better. You can have a bath. Just think of it, Merry! A real bath, like you haven’t had since Rivendell! And you will rest and get better, and when this war is over, we will go home and tell the entire Shire about our adventures, and all of the lasses will love us for it! Just think of that, Merry. Please don’t die!” Pippin whispered. The refrain came back, but it was different now. Don’t die, it whispered. Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die.

     It was only a short time before Gandalf himself came searching for them. Pippin heard the click of his staff on the pavement and looked up to see the White Wizard striding down the street towards them, a deeply worried look upon his face.

     “Is he still alive, Peregrin?” Gandalf demanded. “Is he breathing?”

      “Yes, he is,” Pippin replied. “But he acts like he’s walking in a dream, and he said that he can’t feel his arm, since he stabbed something. Someone. I think he killed a Ringwraith.”

   “Yes, yes,” Gandalf murmured, bending over and laying his hand on Merry’s brow. “He helped the Lady Eowyn slay the Witch King of Angmar. That was a grievous blow.  He should have been borne in honor into this city.”

    So saying, he lifted Merry up, and strode back towards the Houses of Healing.

TBC