Chapter thirteen: Near Drownings
Beta provided by Pipspebble, who was especially helpful with the bath scene. 

He was running. Running over moist grass through a misty night, barely illumined by the crescent moon sinking in the west. His hands were bound in front of him, making it hard to maintain his balance as he ran. His head hurt and he felt weak and tired but there were orcs all around, jeering at him and flogging him on every time he stumbled. They had gone no more than a mile, although it seemed much longer than that, when the land dipped down into a large hollow, where the grass was slick with moisture and the air nearly as damp. It became more difficult for him to stay on his feet as he slipped over the wet grass. He fell once and the sting and burn of the whip lashing against his legs hurried him to his feet.

A moment or an hour later, he didn’t know which, there came a shout to halt. Gasping in relief, he allowed himself to fall to the ground, ignoring the orcs all around him, pushing and snarling at each other. He jerked back to full awareness, however, when he heard a cry, quickly stifled but full of pain, that could only have come from Pippin. "Enough," a large orc shouted as he ran past, "he’s still got to run a long way yet. Make ‘em both run. Just use the whip as a reminder.*"

A helpless rage filled him. Someone was hurting Pippin and there was nothing he could do about it. The anger gave him the strength to find his feet before the whip-wielding orc could prompt him, and kept him on his feet as dizziness threatened to engulf him. As the company around him began running again, he settled into the fastest jog he could manage, castigating himself as he went. Not only had he failed Frodo by losing his head and running off, back at the river, he was failing utterly at protecting his young cousin. Now, when Pippin needed him most, he could barely stay on his feet and his mind remained stubbornly empty of any plan for escape. The strength born of anger lasted only a few short minutes and soon, he was running through a grey fog, barely aware of the whip blows that came more frequently as his pace slowed. Finally, the fog solidified to a wall of black that was impenetrable and he fell, knowing nothing more.

He came awake, gasping like a drowning person who has breathed in expecting suffocating water to fill his lungs, only to receive a lung full of fresh, clean air. He’d expected to wake up in the midst of the orcs, still running across the plains of Rohan. It took a moment to accept that he was in a quiet tent, amongst friends. He couldn’t tell which was dream and which was reality.

A hand touched his forehead and he jerked away instinctively before forcing himself to lie still. He recognized the touch. It was gentle and soothing, and with it came the barest glimpse of time stretching ahead and behind, bending and flexing in ways totally unfathomable to a hobbit. The hand stilled for an instant, and then resumed soothing away the fear and pain.

Merry reached up blindly and clasped the arm of the shadowy figure. "Legolas," he murmured hoarsely. "What...what are you doing here?" He flushed even as he said it, knowing how rude it must sound. "I’m sorry," he apologized, "I didn’t mean to...what I meant was..." he trailed off, sleep and nightmare befuddling his thoughts still.

Legolas laughed softly. "It is quite all right, my friend," he answered in a silvery whisper. "I told Aragorn I would check in on you and Pippin before taking my turn watching Frodo and Sam."

"Um..." Sleep was crowding in around Merry, but he was fighting it, not yet ready to face the orcs again.

"Shh, go to sleep, Merry," Legolas soothed. "It was just a dream, it will not bother you again."

Merry wanted to believe that, tried to believe that as his eyes refused to stay open any longer. He still feared, though, that he would find this was the dream and the orcs the waking reality. As sleep eroded his strength, he felt his grasp on the elf’s arm weaken. Gasping, he clutched at Legolas, afraid to let go. "I am here, Merry," his companion whispered, bringing his free hand up to clasp Merry’s as the hobbit’s grasp weakened again.

"Pippin," Merry whispered, trying desperately to stay awake, to stay in this safe, peaceful place.

"Pippin is safe and asleep. Now you must sleep as well." There was a note of command in the elf’s voice, and Merry was unable to resist any longer. Giving in to his weariness, he allowed his thoughts to slide away.

It was bright in the tent when Merry woke the next morning. Yawning and stretching, he sat up in time to see a young soldier, the same one as the other day, he thought, enter the tent with a laden tray. Appearing more comfortable without the presence of the King, the lad walked over to the table, set the tray down, nodded to Merry and Pippin, who looked on from the other bed, and left the tent without saying a word.

Merry turned to Pippin, sharing a smile with his cousin.

"Are you going to tell Aragorn?" Pippin asked, staring intently at Merry while waiting for an answer.

"Tell him what?" Merry asked, getting up and reaching for his clothing. "That his soldiers are in such awe of him it turns them into bumbling idiots?"

Pippin gave an exasperated sigh. "Sometimes I think you are the bumbling idiot," he retorted, scowling at his cousin. "Are you going to tell him about the nightmare you had last night?"

"Oh, that." Merry paused in the act of pulling his shirt over his head. He hadn’t actually remembered the nightmare until Pippin mentioned it. Even now the details were vague and blurry, with only the broad outlines remaining. "I thought you were asleep," he muttered as he resumed getting dressed.

"I heard you and Legolas talking." Pippin stared long at Merry, measuring his intent. "You are going to tell Aragorn, aren’t you? You promised him, after all."

"I know," Merry answered, trying to shrug off the effects of the dream, returning more strongly now that he had been reminded of it. He would just as soon forget it again. "But I think this was just a normal nightmare. It was more of a memory, really, not anything like the dreams I was having before."

"Merry, you know Aragorn wants to hear about any nightmares you have, whether you think they are significant or not."

"Don’t worry, Pip. I’ll tell him," Merry assured his cousin, more to appease him than because he really wanted to have that conversation with Aragorn. Seemingly satisfied, Pippin let the matter go, allowing his attention to shift to the food awaiting them.

The next few minutes were quiet as the two hobbits ate their breakfast. Pippin’s appetite was much improved over the previous day, and he looked much better in general. The bruises had begun to fade from the vivid blues and purples of a few days ago, the cuts were healing, and he seemed stronger and less dizzy as he sat up by himself to eat.

They were just finishing their meal when Aragorn entered the tent, followed by several heavily burdened young Men. Merry grinned and Pippin looked on in confusion as the King directed the placement of a copper tub near the injured hobbit’s bed. Bucket after bucket of hot water was poured into the tub and several full buckets were placed to one side.

"Ah, good, Merry. You are awake." Aragorn smiled. "I did not want to wake you earlier. Legolas said you had a rough night." He raised a hand to forestall Merry’s protest. "We will talk about that later, after Pippin’s had his bath."

Pippin was looking from one to the other, with confusion and slight traces of alarm evident on his face. "Merry, what’s going on?"

"It’s all right, Pip," Merry soothed. "I mentioned to Aragorn that you might appreciate a bit of a wash. I hadn’t really thought he would go for a full bath, but I daresay you’ll feel the better for it."

"And who’s going to give me this bath, then?" Pippin asked, seemingly unconvinced that this was an acceptable plan.

"Merry is," Aragorn replied. "I will help you get moved into the tub, but I trust Merry to be careful with your injuries and I think you’ll feel more comfortable with him."

Pippin still looked sceptical. "Are you sure that’s wise? He nearly drowned me the last time he tried something like this."

Merry shot a quelling look in Pippin’s direction as Aragorn raised an inquiring brow.

"I did not ‘nearly drown’ him, Aragorn," Merry defended himself. "I only wanted to."

Seeing that further explanation was necessary, he continued before Pippin could give his side of the story. "Last winter, Pippin broke his leg. I was visiting the Smials at the time and stayed on a bit to help keep him entertained while he was stuck in bed. Not an easy task, I might add. Usually, Uncle Pad or Aunt Teenie took care of baths and such, but after a week or so, they declared they were tired of being soaked by his incessant splashing and they left the job to me.

"Honestly, Aragorn," Merry added with a touch of exasperation, "you saw what he’s like, when we were in Rivendell. You put him in water and he splashes. I don’t think he has any control over it." At the King’s amused nod, he continued. "Well, after he had thrown water all over me, I finally got a wee bit frustrated and splashed him back. Apparently he wasn’t expecting it and a good bit went in his mouth. He thought he was drowning and put up quite a fuss." Merry laughed at the memory, still finding it funny. "He made so much noise that Aunt Teenie came running to see what was happening. When she finally understood the situation, she nearly fell over, she was laughing so hard."

"I see," Aragorn commented, a smile lurking in his eyes, although he kept his face straight. "Well, I think we can do without the splashing, this time. Pippin, if you endeavour to keep all the water in the tub, I think that Merry might manage not to drown you."

Pippin, trying without much success to pout, nodded. "I’ll do my best," he answered in a rather unconvincing tone. Merry had a feeling he was going to be very wet, indeed, by the time this bath was finished.

While Aragorn removed the bandages from around Pippin’s head and leg, and prepared the patient for his bath, Merry fussed at the tub, placing a well-folded cloak over the rim at one spot, for Pippin to rest his head against. He checked the temperature of the water and made a point of placing the towels well away from the splash zone.

When all was ready, Aragorn gently lifted Pippin and carried him the few feet to the tub, easing him carefully into the warm water. The injured hobbit sighed as the water surrounded him, letting his head fall back to rest on the cloak.

"Send Marek," Aragorn gestured to the young soldier standing just outside the entrance, "when you are done. I’ll return to help you get Pippin back to bed. And then, Meriadoc, I will want to sit down with you for a few moments. Legolas told me about last night."

Merry nodded, biting back a rather snide comment about elves poking their finely shaped noses into other peoples’ business. He knew Legolas was merely concerned for him, as was Pippin, and he appreciated it, even when it seemed a bit unnecessary.

After a few further instructions, Aragorn left Merry alone with Pippin, who looked drowsy and contented in the warm water. Merry allowed him to soak for several minutes, the two friends speaking lightly, in hobbit fashion, of things large and small. When nearly a quarter of an hour had passed and the water was beginning to cool slightly, Merry handed a flannel and a small bit of soap to Pippin, who reluctantly sat up to take the items.

"Here you go, then, Pip. I think you are recovered sufficiently to wash yourself." Merry stepped back and sat on the edge of Pippin’s cot, far away from the tub.

"Coward," the younger hobbit growled cheerfully as he wet the flannel and soap and began washing away the grime and dirt. Despite Merry’s dire predictions, Pippin barely splashed as he scrubbed at himself, only a small amount of water surging over the edge of the tub onto the ground. Soon all of him was clean except his hair and he lay back, resting his head, clearly tired out by the simple activity.

Merry, worried that the bath was proving a bit much for his still-recovering friend, moved over to check on him. Pippin gave a vigorous splash, pushing the water out with both hands just as Merry reached the edge of the tub, soaking him thoroughly.

"That was for telling that ridiculous story to Aragorn." The younger hobbit smirked in spite of obvious weariness as Merry shook the water out of his hair.

"It seems to me you are in a rather precarious position for one who is trying to gain revenge, dear cousin," Merry countered with a glint in his eye. "After all, you are not quite done with your bath yet."

"You wouldn’t!" Pippin exclaimed, looking a trifle more pale than he had a moment before.

Taking in Pippin’s exhaustion, Merry reluctantly decided to let it go this time. "Relax, Pippin," he said. "I’m just going to wash your hair. That was the whole point of this bath, after all."

He helped a still wary Pippin to sit up again, then took a dipper and scooped water over the injured hobbit’s head until his hair was saturated, curls hanging lankly against his neck. Taking the soap into his hands, Merry worked up a good lather before carefully running his soapy hands through Pippin’s hair, avoiding, as much as he could, any contact with the still large lump on the back of Pippin’s head, as well as the healing cut on his forehead. Despite his care, a sudden hissing intake of breath warned him that he had brushed against the bruise. Murmuring an apology to his cousin, he continued, the pads of his fingers rubbing gently at Pippin’s scalp to loosen the dried blood before working their way out to the tips of his curls, rubbing the ends together.

When he was satisfied that Pippin’s hair was as clean as it was going to get, Merry brought the buckets of fresh water over, setting them down by the tub.

"Lean forward a bit, Pippin," he ordered, pushing gently on his friend’s back as he spoke. Pippin complied and Merry sluiced clean water over his cousin’s bent head several times, until all the lather had been rinsed out and the curly hair was squeaky clean.

"There, that’s done, then," Merry said in satisfaction as he helped Pippin lie back against the rim of the tub.

Turning and raising his voice slightly to be heard outside the tent, he called, "Marek?" The young guard poked his head in through the flap.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please tell Lord Aragorn that we are ready for his assistance." Marek nodded and pulled his head back out of the tent.

Merry reached for one of the towels he had set aside earlier and turned back to Pippin. His cousin had closed his eyes and looked to be nearly asleep, and Merry wasn’t sure what course of action he should take. He wanted to drain the tub and try to get Pippin dry before Aragorn returned, but realised immediately that there was nowhere for the water to go but all over the floor of the tent, which was already muddy from the water Pippin had splashed earlier.

Shaking his head in resignation, he tackled what he could take care of, Pippin’s hair. Very gently, he wrapped the towel around his cousin’s wet head and began to squeeze the water out, rubbing very lightly to get as much moisture as he could out of the hair without hurting Pippin.

"Mmm," Pippin protested inarticulately, but did not open his eyes.

"Shh, I’m just drying your hair," Merry murmured. "Go back to sleep, if you want."

Pippin opened his eyes and frowned blearily up at his cousin. "Shouldn’ sleep in the tub," he mumbled. "Migh’ slip in an’ drown."

Merry smiled, running his fingers through the now clean curls to work out the knots, massaging Pippin’s scalp soothingly at the same time. "Close your eyes and sleep," he whispered. "I’ll be right here. I won’t let you drown."

"...know you won’t," Pippin sighed, eyes already closed again.

Merry had just finished drying Pippin’s hair when Aragorn returned. Taking in the scene at a glance, the King rolled up his sleeves, then nodded for Merry to take up another towel. As the King lifted Pippin from the tub, Merry quickly held the towel under the dripping hobbit and pulled the edges up to wrap around his scarred body. Moving slowly so as not to wake the patient, the King took the few steps to the bed. Pippin’s eyes fluttered and he stirred slightly as Aragorn settled him into the bed, but he did not wake, even as Merry dried him off and dressed him in the clean nightshirt Aragorn passed to him.

His task accomplished, Merry lingered by the bed for a moment, paying little heed when Aragorn turned away. He was content, now, to simply watch Pippin sleep. He was reminded, just for a moment, of when they were children. After a busy morning, Pippin would nap in Merry’s bed, sleeping contentedly in the warm security of knowing his older cousin was close by, protecting him from all the monsters in the wardrobe and under the bed. Merry’s thoughts began to darken as he thought of all the monsters he had failed to protect his cousin from.

A strong hand on his shoulder turned Merry around so that he faced the King, whose face was solemn and determined. "Now, Merry," he said in a tone that brooked no argument, "I think it is time for us to talk."

*The orc’s speech is from the chapter ‘The Uruk-Hai’ from ‘The Two Towers.’