Am I Only Dreaming

Title: Am I Only Dreaming 1/1
Author: Gabby Hope
Email: yllosubmarine@y...
Pairing: Merry/Pippin
Rating: PG
Feedback: I live for it.
Notes: This is my first fic in this fandom, so
needless to say, it's a big step. This plot bunny had
been knawing at me since I read RotK, and now it's
finally written, so rock on. 
Disclaimer: The scene was written by Tolkien, I'm only
filling in the gaps. It's all his, his I tell you!
Summary: In the Houses of Healing, Merry is caught in
a horrid dream world.


The heat was devouring him, claiming his body and his
mind in a vicious torrent of flame. His fevered head
lolled from side to side against the shoulder which
bore him with each step that the one who held him
took. “I’m dying. My body will disintegrate.” he
thought, gasping for breath through his cracked lips. 
Yet no matter how his body seemed to burn, a coldness
ran up from his right arm, seemingly seizing his heart
in a clamp. He couldn’t feel his right hand at all,
and all the way up to his shoulder the feeling of
pricking needles was present.

A shudder coursed it’s way through his body as he
remembered the dreadful shriek that the creature had
made once his sword had bit deeply into it. It had
seemed unreal how he had mustered enough courage to
assault the Wraith, which seemed to pierce directly
into his heart of hearts, knowing his weaknesses and
pulling at him. He had attacked it, and now as he lay
limp upon what seemed a rocking ship, he wished with
all of his might that he had picked another form of
action.

“He will be all right, won’t he Gandalf?” A faraway
voice asked from below him. It had come from
somewhere back in the land of the living; away from
where Merry was headed. Surely it was someone from
his funeral possession. His parade towards death. 
And yet the sound of the voice seemed so familiar and
dear to him.

The thought went through Merry like a volt, making him
suddenly aware that he was being carried. Carried
through the street in Gandalf’s arms as he walked
quickly past dark buildings and complete silence. He
had not yet passed away. He looked down at the curly
head that was bobbing up and down below him. A
troubled face turned upwards and Merry found himself
staring half lidded at the drawn face of his cousin. 
The soft brown eyes that looked worriedly into his own
were brimming with tears, and as Merry saw the mixture
of emotions cross the other hobbit’s face, he felt a
pang of fear and love.

“Pippin?” Merry wheezed, barely able to lift his chin
off of Gandalf’s shoulder. “I...”

“Be silent, Meriadoc Brandybuck.” Gandalf
interrupted, patting the young hobbit softly on his
head. “You rest, now. We are nearly at our
destination.” The wizard’s hold on Merry shifted as
they ascended a flight of steps.

Pippin must have noticed the confused daze on Merry’s
face, for he said in faltering voice, “We’re at the
Houses of Healing, dear Merry.”

Merry’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as a burst
of white pain filtered through his body. Healing. 
There was no use of healing for his torn body. He
would be engulfed in the flames before any medicine
could take effect.

The feeling of falling suddenly came upon him and he
gasped in fear. No, he wasn’t falling but merely
being transferred from Gandalf’s strong arms into his
coffin.

“Are you going to put the lid on tight?” Merry
muttered halfway to himself and halfway to the others
in the room. Sheets were pulled over his lower body,
and as the soft, almost purring voices of Gandalf and
supposedly a woman nurse could be heard, Merry felt
himself slipping serenely away into the land of
nothingness.

Something suddenly gripped at his left hand, which was
drooping off of the side of the bed towards the
ground. Merry’s left eye opened just a tiny bit, and
he found that Pippin had taken his hand in one of his
own, patting it lovingly with the other one. The
brown
eyes which had long ago been filled with curiosity and
merriment now seemed drawn and worrisome as he peered
at him. Merry watched as the younger hobbit opened
his mouth to say something and then drew back as if he
couldn’t think of the right words. He instead brought
Merry’s hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly,
letting a lone tear slip from his eye and land on one
of Merry’s knuckles.

Gandalf appeared at Merry’s side and looked down at
him with a look so strong and commanding that Merry’s
breath caught in his chest. “Don’t you give in, my
lad. Don’t let it get you.” He said, smoothing
Merry’s hair away from his fevered brow.

“Alas,” Merry breathed, closing his eyes as a wave of
numbness came over his entire right side. “It has
already claimed me.” And he knew nothing but night.

~

He was surrounded by a wrath of grey clouds. His hair
flew into his eyes as the wind whipped around him. 
Hot air, the sort of air that one would expect a
dragon to breathe. The clouds lifted in front of him
and Merry found himself back in the mines of Moria. 
The
extravagant stone structures loomed over his head,
menacing and welcoming all at once.

As he stood there in wonderment, the ground beneath
his feet began to shake. A red fire appeared all too
suddenly in front of him. It pulled away as if it was
a curtain, and there was the Balrog. It’s fiery whip
in hand, it’s red eyes and horns seeming too, too
real. Merry was froze to his spot, the grey clouds
still swirling to his sides, only seeming to give way
to the horrible site that was staring him in his face.
He opened his mouth to scream, to call out for help,
as the Balrog began to stalk towards him, it’s ugly
fire licking it’s surroundings as if it was daring
Merry to make a move.

The heat over took him, causing him to whimper. He
wanted to fall to his knees and claw his way out of
the beast’s line of sight but his body stubbornly held
him in place. He instead rose his large brown eyes to
the monster and watched in horror and amazement as the
Balrog seemed to shrink. It was melting, the flames
pulling themselves in towards the beast as it gave an
awful roar and disappeared in smoke.

Merry closed his eyes, feeling the sweat pour off of
his brow and down his face to mix with his tears. His
hands moved from their frozen stupor and held his face
as his body wracked with sobs. Then a sudden, hideous
cry arose from ahead of him. He reluctantly dropped
his hands from his face and rose his eyes to see that
the Wraith which Eowyn and he had defeated, steed and
all, had risen from the smoke. It arose and cried out
again as if calling for a victory. Horrified, Merry
took a step back in surprise as the Wraith flew
through the air, black against dismal grey, the steed
neighing and pawing at the diminishing smoke. 

“No... no.” Merry muttered, backing further and
further into the clouds behind him until he could no
longer see the creature. He clenched his eyes shut as
he continually willed his legs to move. With an
abrupt gasp he suddenly found that he had backed into
a stone wall. He opened his eyes and turned his head
from side to side, but the grey clouds covered any
possibility of escape. Desperately, he ran his hands
as far as they would go along the wall, feeling only
cold stone beneath his fingertips. The sounds of the
Wraith all of a sudden came to a halt. Through a
unexpected silence all Merry could hear was the
pounding of his poor heart. 

Ahead of him he could make out the shape of the Wraith
slowly riding through the grey cloud. He averted his
eyes up, daring not to look into the face of his
death. The hot wind circled as the creature advanced,
it’s hate piercing through Merry’s body with such
ferocity that Merry’s limbs began to shake so hard
that his teeth rattled.

“Please... no.” He whispered, the tears escaping from
his swollen eyes. He didn’t want to die. He wanted
so much to be alive and well, tramping through the
Shire with his friends, sitting in an inn drinking and
eating. More than anything he wanted to sit down and
have a laugh with Frodo or even good Samwise Gamgee. 
And Pippin. Oh, yes, dear old Pip, who had before
looked at him with such tenderness that only a true
friend could give. He wanted that. He wanted Pippin
to soothe his worries and his tears and tell him what
he had wanted to say before he choked up and gave way
to silence. Merry wanted to sit in the sun with his
dear cousin and listen as Pippin laughed about trifle
things. That melodious laugh that ran up and down
one’s spine, making them react with their own
laughter. Yes, Pippin was his dearest friend for
life. And if only he could have the chance to say
that and much more. But the darkness reined over him
like a swarm of flies. The world was growing black.

And as Merry closed his eyes for what he thought was
the last time, the most curious thing happened. As if
his prayer had been answered, the wind slowly died
down and a cool breath of fresh air blew across his
face. A clean and invigorating smell entered his
nostrils and lifted the heavy burden from his limbs. 
A shadow seemed to be lifted and Merry found that his
heart was released from it’s icy clutches. A sigh of
relief shuddered through his body as he could feel
himself floating through a colorless world. His eyes
remained closed, and yet he could feel a strong
presence next to him.

Then a voice rang out from around him. It sounded to
Merry like a beautiful note being sung just right. It
was far away, yet strong and persistent. It called
again, nearer this time, and Merry could tell that it
was his name being said. 

The floating sensation ceased, and Merry felt as if he
was entering his body from the outside world. He
could feel himself resting on a bed with someone’s
hand on his brow.

“Meriadoc. Merry.” The voice said clearly and
calmly, as if it could wait forever. Yet, it didn’t
have to wait much longer. Merry stirred slightly and
opened his eyes slowly. Around him stood a handful of
people, and yet Merry’s eyes rested solely on one
figure near the foot of the bed.

Pippin had been standing still as a statue, his chin
quivering ever so slightly as Aragorn had called
Merry’s name again and again. Hope was diminishing
and his spirit seemed crushed in two. His entire
frame had shrunk down to at least five inches shorter
than his normal height, and his head was slightly
tilted to the side as his eyes brimmed with tears. 
Then as Merry’s eyes had suddenly opened and his soft
gaze was on his own, Pippin’s heart swelled to the
size of a pumpkin, he was sure, and he cried out in
joy.

This was what Merry had been waiting for. He opened
his mouth to speak then cleared his dry throat before
he began again. “I’m hungry.” He said to the room,
smirking ever so slightly at their amazement. “What
time is it?”

On that note, Pippin threw his head back and laughed
as tears of joy ran down his cheeks. The hobbit’s
laughter rang through the room amidst the relieved
sighs and clapping of the others in the room. Merry
took in a breath of clean air and smiled quietly to
himself, watching as Pippin’s gay eyes once again
locked with his.

Yes. This is what Merry had been wishing for all
along.

fin

Hobbits