Weight. Crushing weight, and worse than that is the fear, which presses him down as surely as the body of the horse that has fallen atop him. In his dream he cannot win free of the weight, he must struggle in vain and watch in horror as He--he never can name Him, ever--as He strikes Dernhelm to the ground like a fly. In his dream the helm rolls off and he sees Eowyn's beautiful eyes, open and glassy with death. In his dream her hair spills from its confinement to mingle with the blood and dirt on the trampled and desecrated field. In his dream He then turns his faceless hood toward Merry and reaches out, grasping toward his arm--

"It's a dream!" he shouts, half-terrified and half-triumphant at the realization, and wakes.

The door to his bedroom slams open and Pippin stands there in his nightshirt, disheveled, clutching a heavy candlestick. He stares wildly at Merry for a moment, then puts the candlestick onto the night table and climbs up onto his cousin's bed.

Merry shudders now, unable to get the image of Him from his brain, or the picture of Eowyn's golden hair spread softly across that horrid earth. Pippin holds him tightly. "What do you need?" he whispers.

Merry shakes his head. He cannot talk, his teeth chatter so hard. The cold of that touch works in his blood like poison, and his right arm and hand are lifeless. The rest of his body shakes despite Pippin's firm embrace, and Merry grits his teeth and keeps his eyes open--better that than the darkness that lurks behind his lids--and waits for the cold to abate.

It does, a little, enough for him to get out the word: "C-c-c-cold," he stammers.

"I can see that," murmurs Pippin. He hugs him tighter still and chafes Merry's right hand with his own. A moment later he clambers out of the high bed to fetch more blankets. Piling them over Merry, he crawls under and clasps his cousin close.

The shuddering becomes shivering becomes an ache becomes tingling, and then the tingling subsides everywhere except in his right hand and arm.

Pippin continues to rub the injured limb, his hands sure and calming, and speaks. "What was it this time?" he asks quietly. Merry gives a little shiver and Pippin shakes his head at him. "It was only a dream, my Merry-lad," he says. "It's better to talk of it and banish it. If you don't it might be there when you sleep again." They both know this to be true, all too often.

"I dreamed that I couldn't get to her in time," says Merry, and Pippin knows he speaks of Eowyn. He nods, and Merry goes on: "He killed her, and in the dream I didn't know it was her again, until her helm fell off and I could see her face..." His voice trails away, and Pippin snuggles against him.

"That sounds awful," he says.

"Mmmm," murmurs Merry, getting sleepy. The warmth is creeping back into his arm.

"Was that all?" persists Pippin.

"Mmmm? No." Merry is quiet for a moment; Pippin sighs, thinking he's gone to sleep again, and gives a tiny start at Merry's voice: "I was looking at her, and I was trapped under the horse's body, and He saw me and reached for me--He reached for my arm. Then I woke up." His eyes open, a gleam in the darkness of the room.

"What did you shout?" asks Pippin. "I was far down in my own dreams when I heard you, I guess I thought you were in danger..." His teeth glimmer in a small smile as he glances over Merry's shoulder at the pewter candlestick on the table.

"I think I said 'It's a dream!'" Merry muses, a puzzled look creasing his features.

"That's odd," agrees Pippin. "Why would you say that?"

Merry does not reply immediately. He is thinking: Pippin can see the threads of his thoughts, creating an answer. Finally he speaks. "In my dream, I knew it wasn't true. I knew Eowyn did not die that day, and I knew that He--He didn't really touch me. So I made myself wake up." His eyes come wide open and he struggles to sit up, pushing back the four quilts he is smothered beneath.

"What?" says Pippin, sitting up beside him.

"Don't you see?" Merry cries.

"No!" Pippin exclaims, half-frightened, half-amused.

Merry bounces gently in his bed. "I knew it was a dream! I made myself wake up!"

Pippin's eyes grow wide. "Ohhhhh!"

"Yes, yes." Merry's curls stand up in wild disarray as he runs his fingers through them, wide awake again. "I didn't let it go any further. Pippin, this is wonderful!"

"Brilliant," the lad says, although privately he thinks that the dream had gone quite far enough, considering the state Merry was in just a few minutes gone. He quashes this unworthy thought, though, and smiles at him. Will Merry ever be able to think clearly about the Black Rider, the Wraith King, and name him to himself? Pippin does not know. Should he? This, too, is hidden. For now, Merry is obviously pleased and happy and so Peregrin Took grins back at him, hiding his fear deep inside.

"I'm hungry," announces Merry, beaming. "Are you?" He slides out of the bed and pulls his robe on. "I am going to put some bacon and onions and those mushrooms Farmer Maggot gave us today into a big pan with a lot of butter and have a glorious fry-up." He casts a pitying glance at Pippin. "I only hope there shall be enough for you."

Pippin jumps from the bed. "Really, my dear Brandybuck. How you do jest. You know I would happily push you into the river to get at mushrooms." He follows Merry out the door, poking him between the shoulder blades.

Their voices fade down the hall. "As if a Took could get the better of a Brandybuck anywhere within a league of a body of water."

"Don't tempt me, Meriadoc."

"All right, that's it. No mushrooms for you."

"Hey!"