Chapter twelve: Putting the Pieces Together
Beta provided by Pipspebble

Merry passed the afternoon quietly, sitting tailor fashion on the ground near the entrance to the tent, patching his and Pippin’s clothing. Pippin had awoken briefly, shortly after noon, eaten a small lunch, drunk more of Aragorn’s tea, and immediately gone back to sleep. His fever had broken shortly thereafter, and he’d come awake once or twice but each time, he’d been groggy and soon fallen back to sleep. Aragorn assured Merry that this was perfectly normal, and that later in the evening, Pippin would be feeling much more alert.

The sun had long since passed overhead and disappeared behind the tent. Judging by the lengthening shadows, the afternoon was moving on apace when Merry folded up the last pair of breeches and put his sewing kit away. His stitches were not as neat as his mother’s, but they would hold the clothing together until he and Pippin could get new ones made. For that small mercy, he was glad his mother had insisted that even lads should know some basic sewing skills.

Standing, he stretched and dusted himself off before going to check on Pippin. As he moved to the back of the tent, he became aware of sounds of distress coming from his cousin’s bed. Hurrying to his side, Merry found Pippin caught in the grip of another nightmare, thrashing from side to side and calling out in fear.

Worried that the fever had returned, he felt Pippin’s forehead and was relieved to find that his cousin’s skin felt normal to the touch. It was just a nightmare then, such as could only be expected after all the experiences the young hobbit had endured. Settling himself on the edge of the bed, Merry carefully gathered his cousin in his arms and held his thrashing limbs still, all the while whispering words of reassurance.

After several minutes, Pippin ceased thrashing. His ragged breathing gradually slowed and became steady, and Merry thought the younger hobbit had fallen back into a deeper sleep. He was surprised when Pippin stirred, movements more deliberate this time, and opened his eyes, looking up blankly.

For just a moment, Merry feared that Pippin did not recognise him but then the younger hobbit blinked and brought his gaze into focus.

"What a terrible dream I had, Merry," he mumbled, still not entirely awake. "Evil things dragging us across an endless plain. You were so pale and I couldn’t get to you..." his voice trailed off, and his eyes closed. "So pale," he mumbled again.

"Shh," Merry soothed. He rocked his friend gently while running one hand comfortingly through matted curls. "Don’t fret, Pippin. Go back to sleep."

Yawning, Pippin muttered something inarticulate before giving in to Merry’s urgings. Soon his breathing was once again deep and even, and Merry gently eased him back on the bed, to sleep undisturbed.

"You handled that very well, Master Meriadoc." Gandalf’s voice came from behind, surprising Merry, who had not heard the old wizard’s approach.

The hobbit turned to face his old friend. "I hate this, Gandalf," he stated quietly but with passion. "It’s so hard to watch him experience all these things again. Can’t you do something to help him?" He looked imploringly at the wizard, who ruefully shook his head.

"I am sorry, Merry, but this is something that Peregrin needs to work through on his own. All any of us can do is give him our love and support, which you are already doing admirably." Gandalf offered Merry a reassuring smile but the hobbit turned away, looking back at Pippin, sleeping quietly now.

"He’s a mess," Merry muttered, running his fingers through Pippin’s lank curls. "There’s dried blood all through his hair." Merry turned to Gandalf, his eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. "Why has no one washed the blood out of his hair, at least?"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, we have all had rather more pressing things to think about than one injured hobbit’s hygiene, important as that may be," Gandalf retorted acerbically. "If you are so concerned with the state of Pippin’s hair, then wash it yourself."

"You are right, Gandalf." Oddly enough, the telling off helped Merry rally his spirits. "I do apologise. Legolas explained some of what happened to Pippin, this morning. His nightmares and then seeing the blood just now, seem to have brought home to me everything he’s suffered." Merry felt sober, but the tears that had come out of nowhere to threaten his composure had disappeared again.

"I apologise as well, my young friend," Gandalf said. "It is good that you are here to tend Pippin. We have all had far too many worries these past few days."

Impulsively, Merry grabbed the wizard’s hand. "You are far too good to us ‘rag-tag’ hobbits, Gandalf, and I know that Frodo and Sam, when they wake, will appreciate your efforts as much as Pippin and I do."

"There is nothing ‘rag-tag’ about any of you, my dear Merry. It is my pleasure to know you and to help you as I can." The wizard smiled. "But now, I fear, I must go tend to some of those other concerns that have been keeping me occupied these last few days." With a pat on Merry’s shoulder, Gandalf turned and ducked through the tent flap.

Several hours later Merry woke from a light doze, thinking he’d heard his name. Looking about the tent, blinking sleepily, he at first did not see anyone. He only slowly realised that Pippin was watching him from the other cot.

"I’m sorry, did I wake you?" Pippin asked, looking rather pleased with himself. Merry simply grunted in response. "Don’t be angry, Merry," the younger hobbit said, more seriously. "I wanted to talk with you, and one or the other of us has been sleeping nearly every minute since you arrived."

"I’m not angry, Pip," Merry replied, "just sleepy. Give your old cousin a moment to wake up and then we’ll talk all you like." He had been wanting to talk with Pippin as well, of course, and was pleased to see him looking so alert.

Getting up, he walked over to Pippin’s cot and helped his cousin sit up before making them both a cup of tea. When they were both settled to his satisfaction, he looked at Pippin. "What did you want to talk about, then?"

"I’ve been lying here, while you slept, trying to put all the bits and pieces I’ve remembered together into a whole, and they just don’t seem to fit, somehow. I want you to help me put everything together."

"All right. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve remembered, so far, and I’ll try to fill in the holes for you." Merry took a sip of his tea, waiting as his friend took a few minutes to put his thoughts in order.

"Well, I think I remember everything up to Bree; the Black Riders, Tom Bombadil, the Barrow Downs and all. I remember the Midgewater Marshes and all the ‘kneeker-breekers’ as Sam called them. They practically ate us alive and you had such a bad reaction to them. It would have been funny if those bites hadn’t been so painful.

"Then it gets pretty confused for a while. Frodo was sick, I think, or hurt; I’m not sure which, and there were Black Riders and an elf. Not Legolas, but I don’t remember his name. I know we must have been in Rivendell at some point but I don’t really remember it, except for an image of a great hall, and an old hobbit, Bilbo I think. There was a mountain and a fire and Black Riders again, and Gandalf setting the sky alight with his staff. It was cold on the mountain, and sometimes I remember snow and other times the ground was dry.

"Then there was Moria. I remember most of Moria, and Lorien. There were boats, weren’t there? I definitely remember boats. Poor Sam was scared nearly out of his wits. I remember all of the Fellowship; Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir. Boromir feathered with arrows as he tried to protect us from the Uruk-hai. Being taken by them." Pippin’s voice lowered to a husky whisper as he raised a hand and touched the scar on Merry’s forehead. "You were so pale, Merry, and you didn’t move at all. It scared me." Clearing his throat, Pippin took a sip of his tea before continuing.

"Of course, I already told you that I remembered the Ents. Dear old Treebeard, I wonder how he is getting on in Isengard?" His lips quirked in a smile as he thought of the old Ent. The smile was short lived, however. "I also remember the Palantir, and having to leave you behind when Gandalf took me with him. I don’t remember much of that ride, but I do remember arriving in Minas Tirith and meeting Denethor. I pledged myself to him. The rest is just snippets really, half-seen images and snatches of conversation that don’t mean anything by themselves.

"Something terrible happened in Minas Tirith, something right on the edge of memory. I should remember what happened." Pippin was becoming agitated and Merry was concerned, not knowing how best to help. "Something... Denethor... I don’t know, Denethor did something," Pippin was beginning to shake with the effort of trying to remember and Merry took his hand and squeezed reassuringly. "He, he thought... thought that someone was dead. Boromir?" he shook his head. "No, it couldn’t have been. He knew Boromir was dead, he told us so when Gandalf and I met him."

"It’s all right, Pippin. You don’t need to push. It will come back to you in time." Merry wondered if he should tell Pippin about Faramir, or wait for his friend to remember on his own. Oh, why wasn’t Gandalf or Aragorn here now? They would know what to do.

"No. I can’t... I have to remember." Pippin’s face was white with strain but there was a determined look in his eye which Merry knew all too well. His cousin would not give up this battle.

"Faramir!" Pippin shouted in sudden memory. "Denethor thought Faramir was dead and tried to burn him." The hobbit’s voice sank to a whisper. "There were flames in the first level and I had to find Gandalf because Denethor was going to kill Faramir. There was a, a Black Rider there and Gandalf was shouting at him and he went away. And Gandalf went with me to Rath Dinen and saved Faramir," the words flowed quickly now, as the memory returned to Pippin in force, "but Denethor threw himself on the pyre and would not be saved." He turned his head and hid his eyes in the pillows, the horror of the moment returning with the memory. "Faramir wasn’t dead, but he was burning, burning with fever and there was nothing we could do to help him."

Merry gathered Pippin to him and held his now sobbing friend close. "Shh, Pip. It’s all over. Faramir is safe, thanks to you. And he is also well, thanks to Aragorn." He didn’t know what else to say and so contented himself with crooning gently and rocking Pippin back and forth until his cousin calmed down a bit.

"You were sick, too, weren’t you, Merry?" Pippin pulled back to look into Merry’s face. "I remember seeing you in the Houses of Healing. You were all grey and I thought you were dying, but Aragorn said he had called you back, and that you were simply weary and grieved. You...you had done something. Something great, I think, that no one else could do, but I can’t remember what." He laid his head back against Merry’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

"It was stupid, really, more than great." Merry told Pippin about his ride with the Rohirrim, culminating in the fight with the Lord of the Nazgul and Theoden King’s death. "I was left behind when they took Theoden and Eowyn up into the city. My arm had gone numb and my head was full of fog. I was wandering blindly when you found me. I thought... I don’t know. I thought I was dead, maybe. You tried to lead me to the Houses of Healing but I couldn’t walk any further. I don’t really remember any more until I woke up to find Aragorn bending over me, and you standing by, looking so worried I had to say something foolish to ease your fear."

"You asked me if I was going to bury you," Pippin replied soberly, much calmer by this time. "Your arm was cold to the touch, like Frodo’s, when he was sick. I was so afraid that I was going to lose you." He shuddered, and Merry tightened his grip.

"I won’t be got rid of that easily." He thought back to those days when he had thought Pippin dead, and Sam and Frodo as well. His will to live had been much lower than he’d realised, in the grip of the Shadow as he’d been and there had been moments when he resented Aragorn for calling him back. He said nothing of this to Pippin, however, not wanting to upset the younger hobbit more than he already was.

"When I woke up, here," Pippin continued, "the first person I saw was Gimli and I didn’t know who he was. He tried to talk with me, but I was rather frightened, I must admit, as well as in a great deal of pain, and he soon left me alone. He was hurt, I think, that I wouldn’t speak with him, but I was too scared and confused to understand what he was trying to say."

There was silence for a time as the two hobbits tried to absorb all that had been said in the past half hour. They began to speak more lightly then, Merry filling in some of the holes and straightening out the crumpled pathways of Pippin’s memories.

It was quite dark in the tent when they were brought back to the present by the arrival of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Between the three of them they were carrying a large tray of food, several flasks of wine, and plenty of water for tea.

"I thought that we might take our evening meal together, tonight," Aragorn explained as he moved about the tent lighting the lamps, "as you are both awake at the same time for a change."

No one said anything about the traces of tears on the faces of both hobbits, and Merry quickly slipped off the bed and settled Pippin back against the pillows, making sure his cousin was comfortable before straightening his clothes and wiping surreptitiously at his face.

The evening passed pleasantly, with the five friends sharing stories about their lives before the Quest began. Merry was pleased to note that the weight of care seemed to have lifted slightly from Aragorn’s shoulders and the King seemed less weary this night. The small party broke up when Pippin’s attention began to drift and his head lolled to one side. Aragorn gave the injured hobbit a cup of medicated tea and helped him lie down before preparing to leave for his own tent and some much needed rest.

"Aragorn?" Merry asked, following him to the entrance.

"Yes, Merry?" Aragorn paused in the act of ducking through the flap, pulling his head back into the tent and straightening up.

"I wanted to wash Pippin’s hair tomorrow morning, but I thought I should check with you first, and make sure it’s safe, with his wounds and all," Merry explained. "I know he hasn’t complained, but I know Pippin, and I know that he would be more comfortable if he were cleaned up a bit."

Aragorn smiled. "That should be fine, Merry. I will speak with you more about it after I examine him in the morning, but I don’t foresee any problems."

Merry returned to the others, bidding the elf and the dwarf good-night as they, too, returned to their own tents. He put out most of the lamps, leaving only one lit by his cot. He sat down and contented himself with simply watching Pippin sleep, until his own eyes grew heavy. Then he put out the light, changed into his nightshirt and crawled into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.