fic for
ansothehobbit
Sep. 15th, 2005 11:03 pmI've been promising
ansothehobbit some Merry h/c for a very long while and I finally sat myself down and wrote something. This is a 'Courage' prequel, set the first night Merry spent in Minas Tirith, after Pippin found him and Aragorn healed him.
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Merry had been very grateful when a tall but very young lad had brought a cot into his room for Pippin to sleep on. While Aragorn had somehow pulled him back from his dark dreams, he was none too ready to be left alone. Pippin, even strained, pale and oddly attired as he was, was a comfort. At least, Merry had thought he would be a comfort, but it had been harder than he ever would have thought possible to be in the same room with his young friend.
Pippin was exhausted and he’d been badly scared, although he was trying to hide that from Merry, and as he tended to do in those circumstances, he was babbling.
“…afraid I wouldn’t find Gandalf in time, but somehow I did. We rushed back to the tombs and…”
Merry shifted restlessly, trying to make himself comfortable. His arm was still cold and partially numb, his head ached vaguely and his whole body felt tight and tense. Sighing, he closed his eyes and allowed Pippin’s words to wash over him.
“…poor Faramir was drenched in oil and Denethor stood over him, demanding that they be set alight. I don’t think I’ve ever…”
Merry thought that he should recognize the names Pippin was scattering about, but they escaped him. As tired and confused as he was though, one thing was perfectly clear. Something terrible had happened to Pippin, something that had hooded the younger hobbit’s normally clear eyes and caused his whole body to knot in tension, and Merry didn’t think it was all due to his own injury. This was what was causing Merry the most pain, the look of knowledge gruesomely bought that Pippin wore like a shroud.
“…I knew it was Strider, even before we could see the flags on the ships…” Pippin’s voice was getting soft and drowsy, gradually dwindling down to almost inaudible mutters before finally silencing altogether.
Merry listened to the silence for a long while, the absence of Pippin’s voice becoming its own heavy presence. It was deep into the night before he fell asleep.
He awoke in a panic an unknown amount of time later, thrashing and flailing about, fighting against dreams that he had already forgotten.
“Easy, Merry-lad,” a soft, sleep-slurred voice whispered against his ear. “You’re safe here, I’ve got you now.”
“Pippin!” he gasped, suddenly aware of wiry arms wrapped around him, holding and gentling him.
“Aye, and who else would be daft enough to spend the night in the same room with you?” Pippin asked wryly, a strong, reassuring presence despite being little more than a smudge of outline in the darkened room.
Suddenly all the tension drained from Merry. Pippin was here; he wasn’t alone. “Thank goodness it’s only you,” he muttered, already half asleep again, “you were snoring so loudly, I thought you might be a hill troll.”
Pippin snorted in disgust, but was very gentle as he helped Merry get settled down again. This time, Merry had no trouble getting to sleep, confident that whatever dreams might come, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.
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Merry had been very grateful when a tall but very young lad had brought a cot into his room for Pippin to sleep on. While Aragorn had somehow pulled him back from his dark dreams, he was none too ready to be left alone. Pippin, even strained, pale and oddly attired as he was, was a comfort. At least, Merry had thought he would be a comfort, but it had been harder than he ever would have thought possible to be in the same room with his young friend.
Pippin was exhausted and he’d been badly scared, although he was trying to hide that from Merry, and as he tended to do in those circumstances, he was babbling.
“…afraid I wouldn’t find Gandalf in time, but somehow I did. We rushed back to the tombs and…”
Merry shifted restlessly, trying to make himself comfortable. His arm was still cold and partially numb, his head ached vaguely and his whole body felt tight and tense. Sighing, he closed his eyes and allowed Pippin’s words to wash over him.
“…poor Faramir was drenched in oil and Denethor stood over him, demanding that they be set alight. I don’t think I’ve ever…”
Merry thought that he should recognize the names Pippin was scattering about, but they escaped him. As tired and confused as he was though, one thing was perfectly clear. Something terrible had happened to Pippin, something that had hooded the younger hobbit’s normally clear eyes and caused his whole body to knot in tension, and Merry didn’t think it was all due to his own injury. This was what was causing Merry the most pain, the look of knowledge gruesomely bought that Pippin wore like a shroud.
“…I knew it was Strider, even before we could see the flags on the ships…” Pippin’s voice was getting soft and drowsy, gradually dwindling down to almost inaudible mutters before finally silencing altogether.
Merry listened to the silence for a long while, the absence of Pippin’s voice becoming its own heavy presence. It was deep into the night before he fell asleep.
He awoke in a panic an unknown amount of time later, thrashing and flailing about, fighting against dreams that he had already forgotten.
“Easy, Merry-lad,” a soft, sleep-slurred voice whispered against his ear. “You’re safe here, I’ve got you now.”
“Pippin!” he gasped, suddenly aware of wiry arms wrapped around him, holding and gentling him.
“Aye, and who else would be daft enough to spend the night in the same room with you?” Pippin asked wryly, a strong, reassuring presence despite being little more than a smudge of outline in the darkened room.
Suddenly all the tension drained from Merry. Pippin was here; he wasn’t alone. “Thank goodness it’s only you,” he muttered, already half asleep again, “you were snoring so loudly, I thought you might be a hill troll.”
Pippin snorted in disgust, but was very gentle as he helped Merry get settled down again. This time, Merry had no trouble getting to sleep, confident that whatever dreams might come, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.
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Date: 2005-09-15 08:25 pm (UTC)the look of knowledge gruesomely bought that Pippin wore like a shroud.
Elegant turn of phrase, but wait, there's more.
a strong, reassuring presence despite being little more than a smudge of outline in the darkened room
This image is so very clear in my head; lovely writing.
And then the slight chill in the bit of foreshadowing about the hill troll... masterfully done.
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Date: 2005-09-16 03:33 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2005-09-16 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-09-16 09:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 04:38 am (UTC)*hugs you*
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Date: 2005-09-16 09:44 am (UTC)You're welcome. I hope you're feeling a bit better today.
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Date: 2005-09-16 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-09-16 09:46 am (UTC)