"Where is he?" Pippin climbed down once more from the bench beneath the high window and darted over to Merry's bedside. The last 30 minutes had seemed like an eternity to the hobbit. Éomer had carried Merry to a fair bedchamber on the third floor, where the window looked out over the corridors below. It was, in fact, the room of the herb-master and designed so that he could keep watch on the comings and goings within the Houses of Healing.

Leaving Merry in the charge of a healer, who bathed his wounds, and Pippin, who alternated holding his cousin's hand and running to look through the window, Éomer had gone in search of Aragorn and to break the news of Merry's discovery to Éowyn.

Pippin took Merry's cold hand in his and soothed his curls back from his ashen face. "Don't leave me Merry," he whispered, "Strider will come soon."

Merry made no response, even as the healer tightly bandaged a deep cut on his shield arm, gouged by the very orc that the hobbit had finally slain. "That will serve for now," the healer remarked to Pippin, "although I suspect there may be venom in that wound for which the herb-master's skill will be needed. These creatures often smear their weapons with the taint of foul toxins."

"Should I fetch him?" Pippin asked at once, "in case the poison should spread!"

"He will arrive in due course," the healer reassured him, "your comrade will not be overcome by this ill in the next few hours. Rather he needs the tending of the Lord Aragorn, or King as I have heard tell. He, and he alone, can bring healing for the poison that invades your friend's heart."

"But where is he?" Pippin climbed onto the bench once more and looked frantically over the winding passages below. "Why does he not come?"

"My apologies, Master Took," the serious voice made Pippin jump, first from his skin and then from the bench as he ran across the room to take Strider's hand. "I have been delayed by many calls upon my time. Had I known before Éomer came to find me that Merry lay sick, I would have come sooner."

"Oh Strider," Pippin was filled with relief and remorse for his impatience, "I am sorry! Ever since that night at Bree we have been a nuisance to you."

"Do not apologise Pippin," Aragorn laid a calming hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "but make yourself useful and find me some clean water that is boiled and bring it, still warm, to your cousin's bedside."

"I shall provide what is needed my Lord," the healer smiled, "please allow the perian to remain here; he has barely left his comrade's side, except to look for your coming."

"Of course," Aragorn nodded to the healer and went to Merry. He ran his hand lightly over the hobbit's brow. "Poor Meriadoc, you struck a blow in valour and it has returned upon you ten-fold. But do not let your heart dwell in shadow, return now to those who love and honour you. Merry? Come valiant Rider, find your way back to us."

Pippin hardly dared breathe. He hung tightly to the post of the great bed in which Merry lay, so still and white, and it suddenly struck Pippin how small and lost his cousin seemed in that vast bed; alone and childlike in this great world of Men.

"Merry?" Aragorn took the cold hand in his, "the battle for Minas Tirith is fought and won. You rode through the thick of the conflict as bravely as any Rider of Rohan, for such you are now named. Do not let the Shadow overwhelm your heart, fight back as the great warrior you have become."

Although Pippin knew Merry well deserved this praise, it seemed incongruous to speak to his dear cousin of wars and fighting. Pippin understood that Aragorn knew well the black shadow that threatened to overwhelm Merry's heart, but no one knew Merry's heart quite as well as Pippin himself did.

"Did he speak to you of aught? When you found him and brought him here? Pippin?"

Shaking his head from his reverie, Pippin realised that Strider was asking him a question, almost as if he had been reading his thoughts. "He did, but we spoke mostly of the Shire. He thought we were back there and it was haymaking time and that he was drunk on cider."

"Then you should remind him of that once more." Pippin looked up with surprise and saw that Aragorn was almost smiling. "I know that hobbits have gentle peace-loving hearts, valiant though you may be when tested. But now is the time for pleasant thoughts and sweet memories. Speak to him of those things again Pippin, for your words may bring healing too."

Aragorn guided the younger hobbit to curl up by his cousin on the great bed and, having a care for Merry's bandaged wound, Pippin wrapped his arms around Merry and whispered softly in his ear. "Merry? Merry we must awaken now. The sun is high and the day is warm. Can you hear the bees in the meadow? They are collecting honey from the pink clovers. You always said that pink clover makes the very best honey Merry. Shall we have some for our tea? Fresh bread, warm from the oven, with yellow butter and golden honey, that's what Uncle Bilbo always has for tea."

Pippin looked up briefly as the healer returned with a bowl of steaming water. Aragorn nodded for him to continue as he crumbled some leaves in his hand and dropped the fragments into the vapour.

"Or shall we lie here a little longer, under this haystack? The hay smells so sweet when it is newly mown. You lie here and rest Merry, and I'll run and pick you a posy of red poppies and blue cornflowers, just as I did when I was little, and you laughed as you wove the flowers into a crown to place on my head. You called me Thain Pippimus, King of the haystack; do you remember Merry?"

"How fares our smallest warrior?" The voice was low and Pippin had scarcely registered its owner, so intent was he upon Merry. He turned and saw that Gandalf had spoken and now stood with Éomer in the doorway.

"He is weary now, and grieved, and he has taken a hurt like the Lady Éowyn, daring to smite that deadly thing." Aragorn laid his hand on Merry's head and called him by name once more.

"Merry? Come Merry," Aragorn ran his hand through the fair curls just as the scent of athelas stole through the room. "Wake Merry, waken to a new dawn."

"Can you smell the blossom Merry?" Pippin felt his own heart lift as the sweet fragrance brought memories of home. "The orchard is in full bloom, there will be a fine crop this year. See how the petals carpet the grass with white, like a deep and perfect fall of snow. Almost as if Thluggul the Yuletide dragon was coming, you remember Merry? To fill our sacks with presents and we would sit before the blazing Yule log and feast on chestnuts and mince pies and you would steal sips of mulled wine when your mum wasn't looking. And Brandy Hall would be ablaze with laughter and songs and tales of old. Can you smell the warm spices, the nutmeg and cinnamon in the Yulepudding, can you Merry?"

As Pippin spoke the greyness started to leave Merry's face and he finally murmured, "Yes Pip, I remember", until at last, as Aragorn gently called to him once more, his eyes opened wide, and he said:

"I am hungry. What is the time?"

"Merry!" Pippin almost shouted in joy. "Trust you to think first of food."

"You should not be so surprised Peregrin Took," Gandalf gave a knowing wink to Éomer and Aragorn. "It is practically all you have spoken of to your cousin since I arrived here."