Peregrin stood there, terrified as he watched the soldiers pass by him and through the run down gates of Minas Tirith. Where was Merry? These were the soldiers from Rohan and Gondor, coming back from the battle in the Pelennor fields. Merry had been a part of them. But where was he now?
The men in the front were carrying two, long box like things that were cushioned with red pillows. Pippin noticed a lock of golden hair draped over the edge of one.
Pippin watched, with half curiosity and half worry as the hundreds of clad men disappeared into the streets of Minas Tirith. And then, at the end of the long line, Meriadoc Brandybuck lingered. His eyes were half closed and his hair matted with one whole side of his head covered with blood. His nose was bleeding as well as his dry lips. He seemed to be limping badly and his left arm reached across his chest to hold the right arm.
Pippin rushed through a crowd of people that had gathered, and despite his stature he was able to push them aside and race to Merry’s torn body that staggered at the end of the line.
“Merry?” Pippin gasped as he touched his cousin’s right arm. Merry shrieked and fell to the ground at Pippin’s touch. Pippin, horrified, knelt down to his cousin and brushed the curls out of Merry’s sickly eyes. “Wha-what happened?” Pippin asked quietly.
Merry’s face showed no expression, he just laid there, his face getting paler and his eyes turning gray and un-healthy.
“Merry!” Pippin called louder and with more emotion in his voice. Merry’s eyes opened up to vivid slits.
“Pippin? Oh…it was horrible. My arm, I think it is getting much worse. And my head, my head hurts…” Merry brought his left hand up to the bleeding side of his head and brought it back down. He gasped at his blood-covered fingers.
“Merry, don’t worry…” Pippin soothed. But he himself was worrying, maybe more than Merry who was shaken and uncertain.
Merry fainted right then and there in Pippin’s trembling arms. He looked around for help, but all the soldiers and most of the large crowd had gone inside. But a gatekeeper still was standing at the entrance. As much as Pippin didn’t want to, he laid Merry on the ground and raced towards the gate. As he got close enough, he saw that the keeper was indeed Beregond as Pippin had suspected.
Pippin, in tears, collapsed at Beregond’s feet. The man knelt down and pulled him up. “Peregrin? What has happened?”
“Please, help him, please Beregond help him…” Pippin whimpered helplessly.
“Help who?” Beregond asked with worry in his voice.
“Meriadoc…my cousin. He’s hurt, I think he is dead…”
Pippin led him to where Merry lay. Beregrond knelt down to him and touched the skin on Merry’s face.
“Even though he looks dead, Pippin, there is still some warmth in his skin and a beat, a faint beat, in his heart,” Beregrond said as he picked Merry up.

Aragorn bent over Merry and brushed his cold cheek with the back of his hand and sighed.
Merry seemed to be getting much worse. His face was much more pale and his lips were dry and chapped. The bleeding on the side of his head had not stopped, but Aragorn had managed to stop the bleeding from his lips and nose. But what really worried Aragorn was his right arm. It was cold and felt dead. Often, Merry would brush a curl out of his eyes with his left hand in his sleep, but he didn’t move his right one.
Aragorn felt that Merry wouldn’t make it through the next few days. He wouldn’t let Pippin come in, because he feared the poor lad might get too depressed. Aragorn left Merry’s room after kissing his sweaty, but cold brow to go in search of Gandalf.
He found the old wizard sitting with Legolas and Gimli at a table. Aragorn sat down among them and sighed loudly.
“What’s troubling you, dear friend?” Legolas asked with concern.
“I fear that our dear Merry will not make it,” Aragorn said with woe.
All eyes fell upon Aragorn suddenly.
“What do you mean?” Gimli roared, refusing to believe Aragorn’s statement.
“I mean that he is getting sicker every second and he hasn’t moved since Beregond and Pippin brought him here,” Aragorn said.
They all fell silent, and even though they didn’t want to believe a word anyone said about their friend’s fatal illness, they knew everything was a thick reality. They thought back to those memorable days in Rivendell when Merry had fought to go with the Fellowship and not be sent home. And the despair at Moria, and although Merry thought the Fellowship could care less for him, all through that dangerous time they had kept a sharp eye on him and protected him. And then, when he had been taken captive, they barely rested, and when they did, well, they couldn’t get a second of sleep.
“We were all there for him all those other times when he needed us most. Where were we when he needed us at the Pelennor?” Gimli growled.
No one responded.
“I’ll go see what I can do for the lad,” Gandalf said, standing up. He disappeared into the halls that were lined with many rooms. When he came to Merry’s door, he opened it slowly. The worn, tired figure was laying on his back, his eyes closed and somewhat of a smile spread across his white face.
Gandalf stepped in and sat in a chair at Merry’s bedside. He scooted the chair closer and pulled the blankets over Merry more securely than a very careless room keeper had done.
Gandalf’s bristly white eyebrows shot up in surprise as Merry stirred and opened his eyes quickly. Although his face was ghostly, his eyes were thick and vivid and lit up his whole face. Their magnificent brown color made his face seem alive and healthy.
“How are you feeling, Meriadoc?” Gandalf questioned. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket, stuffed it with pipe weed and began to puff out smoke happily.
“Oh, I’m feeling ok,” Merry said, sidetracked for the moment as he looked about himself at the beautiful room. “Where am I?”
Gandalf brought the pipe down from his lips. “In Minas Tirith, at the Houses of Healing. Do you remember Pippin finding you? And a nice fellow carrying you here. His name was Beregond. You were quickly taken to a room and we let you rest. This is the first time you have spoken or managed to move, if you don’t count your hand reaching up to the side of your head to brush away bloody curls.”
“Bloody curls?” Merry gasped. “I do remember looking at my fingers after touching the side of my head. They were covered with blood! But I don’t remember seeing Pippin, but I did hear his voice…it all seemed very long ago.”
Gandalf made Merry lay down again as he brushed away blood coated curls to find the source of his wound. And there, was a thick scar. It started at the center of Merry’s head and went diagonal behind his ear.
Gandalf murmured something under his breath about ‘idiotic healers’ and jumped up from his seat by Merry’s bed to go to the closet. He pulled out bandages and extra blankets. He covered Merry with flannel covers till the boy could barely breathe and stopped the bleeding on his head.
Gandalf hesitated for a moment before pulling back the blankets to get a look at Merry’s arm. He un-wrapped the bandages revealing a cold, pale arm and shoulder. His blue veins were plainly visible and his fingers were quivering. Although Merry looked healthy at a glance, his arm revealed his fate could be soon. Gandalf growled and quickly wrapped Merry’s arm back up with fresh bandages.
Just then, the door burst open. Pippin stood in the doorway, sobbing uncontrollably. He tried to speak, but his voice quivered violently. Gandalf stood up quickly.
“You were ordered not to come in here!” Gandalf cried. “What ever is the matter?”
“It’s the Lord Faramir, he is reported to die soon. He is so sick…” Pippin said ending in a whisper. He wiped his eyes but those tears were quickly replaced as he saw the state of Merry. His eyes were still sickly, and his face still a yellowish color.
Gandalf stormed from the room, pulling Pippin after him. He shut the door and slammed Pippin down in a chair.
“Who told you such news?” Gandalf commanded.
“I overheard the Healers talking to Aragorn,” Pippin said, beginning to cry softly.
“The Healers are foolish, Peregrin,” Gandalf said softly. “I inform you that Faranir will be fine. So will Meriadoc.”
“But Aragorn said…”
“I know what Aragorn said about your cousin, but we must have hope, or else everything will seem impossible,” Gandalf said, touching the Hobbit’s shoulder.
“Everything already seems impossible…”
Gandalf felt the urge to whack Pippin with his long white staff, but restrained himself as he felt the lad’s pain and confusion.
“You can’t allow yourself to think like that,” Gandalf said softly.
“Please, Gandalf. Can’t I see Merry?” Pippin asked quietly.
“Of course no-…of course,” The wizard said, starting harshly but ending in a whisper.
Joy sprung across the young Hobbit’s face as he embraced Gandalf and ran lightly into Merry’s room.
Gandalf felt himself laugh that old hearty laugh, the kind of laugh he hadn’t had the joy of laughing in quite a long time. He stood and went to Faramir’s room, with new hope and new joy

“Merry? Can’t you hear me?”

As Gandalf and Pippin had been talking, Merry let sleep over take him. Pippin was now franticly trying to speak with his cousin, but he was in too deep of a sleep.
“Well, if you can’t hear me…that’s ok, I guess. Just seeing you breath makes me feel much better, Merry. I try not to listen to what Aragorn says, but I can’t keep his words out of my mind. I know you won’t die, Merry…because…you can’t…and I won’t let you. People so young and full of possibilities of life with a cheerful heart and enchanting smile just aren’t aloud to die, it’s not possible. We all really miss seeing your smile, Merry. You know how hard it is going days and days not seeing that perfect smile? Its tough, Merry, we need to see the real you again.”
Pippin felt odd saying all this to a sleeping Hobbit. It was all too true though; the remarkable smile was missed terribly by the ill Hobbit’s companions.

Me: To be continued…

You: GAH!