The Choice of Master Meriadoc
Title: The Choice of Master Meriadoc
Author: Catherine
Pairing: Merry/Pippin
Rating: A for violence
Warnings: Slash; AU; Graphic violence; h/c; Angst
Disclaimers: The characters and settings were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and belong to his estate, heirs and assigns, which are too numerous and complicated to list them all correctly. All other work here is mine, and may not be archived anywhere without my explicit permission. No disrespect toward Tolkien or his works is intended, and no money is made or would be accepted by me.
A/N: Written for danachan, who requested Merry/Pippin; Merry claims the Ring. This one was very hard to write, but I really appreciated the challenge. Thank you, Dana!
"The Ring is mine!"
Rooted to the ground in horror, Pippin watched as Merry broke through his frozen trance and leapt to grasp the Ring from Frodo's hand. Time skidded to a halt and the world stilled as he watched Merry sail so slowly through the air that he felt as if he could stroll toward him and pluck the thing from his fingers and hand it back to Frodo. He should do that, shouldn't he? It would be so easy. There was so much time. Why couldn't he move? Frodo wanted it back. He was reaching for it, even as Merry took it from him. Why was Sam throwing himself around Frodo, preventing him from reaching his goal? Why was Merry putting it on in mid-air? Why did Pippin hear his own voice screaming Merry's name?
Time, in its rude way, tore back into action as Merry vanished. Sam pulled Frodo away from the Black Riders, and Strider leapt in front of them before they could reach him. Only, they weren't going toward Frodo anymore. They were advancing as one on an invisible spot several yards to Frodo's right. Pippin screamed an alarm and ran toward the Ring wraiths as fast as he could, sword drawn and firebrand in his hand. "You shall not have him!" he cried, slashing wildly at his prey and hoping he wouldn't trip over an invisible Merry. "Strider!" he cried. "Help us!"
Pippin saw the leader reach out its arm toward something that he could not see and rushed forward, firebrand cast aside and sword raised above his head to hack at the black arm. In his haste, he ran into something and began to fall, headlong, his sword meeting sinew and bone. He heard Merry scream and saw him materialize as he himself met the ground, hard. Merry's hand flew to the ground in front of him, the Ring slipping off the tip of the third finger. Pippin covered Merry's hand and the Ring, and waited for the death blow.
Shouts. Confusion. The high-pitched scream of the Nazgul. Screaming. Merry screaming. Strider's hand was upon his, lifting it gently but firmly from Merry's cooling hand. Why was Merry's hand cooling? Had the Ring made it hot? Strider lifted the Ring and Pippin watched as he took it to Frodo and handed it to him. Frodo stumbled against Sam in abject mortification. Where was Merry? He was holding his hand; why couldn't he find the rest of him? He began to stroke Merry's hand and found that it ended at the wrist. "Merry!" he gasped.
Pippin whipped around to see Merry, clasping his maimed arm in horror, color drained from his face. Strider had slid to the ground and was tearing off a piece of his jerkin to bind the wound. Pippin moved to Merry in a slow daze. He thought he was running. Why was everything so slow?
"Hold his arm up above his head!" ordered Strider.
Pippin obeyed and felt Frodo and Sam crash to the ground beside him. Strider tied off the arm with the strip of leather, and reached for the hottest firebrand. "Hold him and steady his arm!" he commanded.
Pippin had his arm and tightened his fingers around it, willing himself to look into Merry's eyes as the red-hot coal was brought down and sizzling flesh mixed with sickening scream. "Pippin!" Merry fell limp into Frodo's arms.
"Sam," said Strider.
"Aye, sir."
"Do you know the athelas flower?"
Sam stared at him, blankly.
"You might also know it as kingsfoil."
"Aye, sir, that I do!"
"See if you can find a cutting, quick as you can."
Sam glanced at Frodo, who nodded at him, and ran off.
Strider set a pot of water to boil on the fire. "Pippin, look in our packs and find the cleanest cloth you can."
"Sam packed my best shirt, Pip," said Frodo. "We can use that. Look in my pack."
Pippin did as he was bid and brought back the finest shirt he had ever seen.
Frodo smiled. "Bilbo brought it back from Rivendell after his adventure," he said. "The Elves made it for him, and he left it for me. It will serve well." He kissed Merry's brow.
Strider looked into Frodo's eyes and smiled. "It will, indeed," he said, softly, and he tore the shirt into even strips. He loosened the leather strip around Merry's arm, slightly, and watched. When no blood oozed forth, he loosened it more. Upon the third loosening, some blood began to flow, and Strider tightened the strip again, a little. He rubbed some pungent salve onto one of the strips of fabric and smoothed it carefully onto the wound. With another strip, he covered over the first, and used a third to bind the two carefully in place. Pippin exchanged a worried glance with Frodo.
"He is strong, and we stanched the bleeding quickly," said Strider. "If Sam finds us some athelas, that should help more."
Just then, Sam came running to Strider, holding out a plant and explaining that he'd found a large patch of it not far off and could easily fetch more. Strider smiled and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You have done well," he said. "Now attend to your master, for he needs you."
Pippin looked at Frodo and saw his drawn face. He wanted desperately to hold Merry, to apologize to both of his cousins for the stupid fumble that caused him to cut off Merry's hand. Pippin! Merry's scream tore through his mind. He bowed his head over his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Pippin," said Frodo.
Pippin forced his head up. He tried to form the words, but couldn't.
Frodo knelt and took Pippin in his arms. "Pip, dearest, you saved Merry," he said. "Just as he saved me. Now he needs you with him. It will be a long night for us all."
Pippin clung to Frodo for a moment, then let him go. "I don't think that Sam will let it be too long a night for you, Frodo, dear," he said, with more cheer than he felt.
Sam's hand squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "I reckon Mr. Pippin's right about that, Mr. Frodo," he said.
Frodo squeezed Sam's hand back. "Thank you, Sam, dear," he murmured. He let Sam draw him up.
Pippin watched as Sam put a protective arm around Frodo and led him away, back to their bedrolls.
Strider lifted Merry to his bedroll, Pippin following close behind. "Hold him," he said, tilting Merry into Pippin's arms as he sat down.
Pippin had little choice, under the circumstances, and did so, gawping at Strider.
Strider plucked a few stems from the plant Sam had brought him and crushed them. Instantly, the air was filled with a sweet, bracing perfume which suffused the senses and brought solace to the spirit. Strider dropped the crushed leaves into the steaming water, then soaked one of the Elven cloth strips in the infusion. He pulled the strip out with a stick and let it cool enough to handle before squeezing out the water, thoroughly. He crushed a few more leaves, put them onto the cloth and bound it to Merry's wound, over the other bandages. "This will do, for now, until we reach Rivendell," he said.
Merry's breathing deepened and quieted, and he moved in his sleep closer into Pippin's embrace.
"Merry," whispered Pippin, brokenly. He held him close and pushed his face into Merry's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He felt large hands on his shoulders.
"Lie down, Pippin," said Strider, surprisingly close to Pippin's ear. "You'll both be better for it."
Pippin hugged Merry tighter, not wanting to let go. He felt Strider shift so that he supported them both.
"Lie down," repeated Strider.
Pippin relaxed into Strider's arms and let him guide them both to the ground. Merry's head settled on Pippin's chest, and Strider covered them both.
"I'll be keeping watch," he said. "I won't be far. Just speak to me and I'll hear." With that, he turned and went to take up his watch at the edge.
Pippin turned his face away and let the tears fall, at last. He could weep, now that he was alone and the others wouldn't be bothered by it. He could weep for Frodo and the trouble he knew would come to him. He could give vent to his self-pity and his shame that he needed to do that. He could simply weep, knowing that he didn't have to put on a cheerful hat for anyone or pretend that he wasn't hungry and aching and sore, and afraid. He could weep for Merry, and the fact that he wouldn't feel those clever fingers wrapping around him or soothing or comforting him, or tousling his hair; that he would never again be able to kiss them, one by one, and feel them stroke his face in the early morning dew. He could weep because it was his fault.
He wept until he slept, haunted by dreams of dark horsemen, Black Breath and Merry screaming his name as his life blood poured out of his fingers. Over and over, he tried to save Merry from the little goblin with pointy, twisted features and ginger hair who leered at him and hacked his love to pieces. Over and over, a hand, engulfed in flames, reached for him in supplication, only to be consumed before him as he was forced to watch. "Pip-pin!" The goblin and the flames joined in jeering unison, taunting Merry with the twisted refrain of his scream.
"Let him be!" Pippin cried in his dream, his voice cut off as his breath failed him.
"Pippin!" The scream changed tone, became firm. Merry was angry with him.
"I'm sorry, Merry," sobbed Pippin. "I'm so sorry. I'll give you my hand. I don't need it." He made to remove it, as though he were pulling off a glove. He tugged and tugged, but it wouldn't come off.
"Pippin," Merry's voice intruded on his work.
"I'm sorry. It won't come off. I'm trying…"
"Pip, sweetheart."
Pippin forced open his eyes.
"That's better. All your mumblings and jerking are keeping me awake!"
Pippin blinked. "I'm sorry to be such a bother, Merry," he said, as steadily as he could; "It must be the rocky ground." He held very still, unable to look into Merry's face.
"Pippin." Merry's voice was soft. He moved to pull Pippin close, and yelped in pain, an unearthly sound escaping his lips without permission.
Pippin started, whipping his head around to find Merry, face blanched against his bedroll, eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared in a painful rictus, good hand grasping at his injured arm.
"Strider!" cried Pippin.
Strider was at Merry's side in an instant, having heard him cry out. "Let me see your arm, Merry."
Merry held out his arm, biting his lip. Pippin turned his face away and cast an arm over his eyes.
"It looks all right, for now," said Strider, calmly. "And I'm sure that you'll agree that you've been given a stern warning not to bump it."
"Yes, Strider," rasped Merry. "I can't say I'm looking forward to changing the dressing, much, either." He grimaced as Strider let go of his arm.
"It will not be pleasant," said Strider with a wry smile. "You'd be wise to sleep as best you can." With that, he went back to his watch.
"He's rather dour, isn't he?" said Merry, wincing as he turned again toward Pippin.
Pippin was still turned away, hiding his eyes.
"Pip…" Merry cursed as his wound bumped Pippin's chest.
Pippin felt Merry move beside him, and then felt his cousin's arm softly placed over his heart.
"Pippin, love, it's not your fault."
Pippin tried to dash the tears from his eyes and calm the heaving of his chest, with no success.
"Hush, sweetheart," said Merry. "It's not your fault," he repeated.
"If I'd been more careful… If I hadn't tripped… You - you might -"
"Pip, love, you tripped over me," said Merry, suppressing a laugh. "I can hardly blame you for something that I caused, now can I?"
"That - that was you?" said Pippin, twisting a bit to see Merry. "I thought it was a rock!"
Merry chuckled out loud, then winced as his arm flapped against Pippin. "Well," he gulped, "I'm sure there are many who would agree with you, there!" He smiled broadly at Pippin.
"I'm so sorry, Merry," said Pippin, miserably.
"Oh, curse this thing, anyway!" said Merry, as he tried once again to hug Pippin with his maimed arm and blanched in pain. "Pippin, come here, love." He rolled over onto his back, careful not to jostle his arm, and held out his uninjured one.
Pippin squeezed his eyes shut.
Merry sighed and took Pippin's hand in his own, grasping it firmly and interlacing their fingers. "It wasn't your fault; it was mine. I was so desperate to save Frodo from those wraiths that I didn't think. I had no right to claim the Ring." He shuddered. "You rid me of that abomination, Pip. If you hadn't, I'd be dead now. You saved me, sweetheart. A hand is a small price to pay."
"If I hadn't slipped, I would've cut off the wraith's hand, rather than yours. You would have given the Ring back to Frodo once we'd driven them away."
Merry shivered and drew Pippin's hand to his lips, kissing it fervently, drawing a deep breath. "You wouldn't have been able to harm their king," shuddered Merry. "You would have died in the attempt; you would not have saved me." He swallowed. "If I had lived, I would not have given the Ring back to Frodo, or to anyone." Merry was trembling and holding Pippin's hand very tightly. "It had me, Pip," he whispered, pale again, and cold.
"Oh, Merry-mine!" murmured Pippin on a hitching breath, as he turned and pressed himself close to Merry, wrapping his arms around him and drawing the covers over them as warmly as he could, dropping kisses on the beloved face: cheeks, brow, eyes, nose, lips which opened to him, begging him to enter.
Merry folded his good arm around Pippin and drew him close. "You saved me, Pip, my love. You saved me." Merry kissed away the tear tracks on Pippin's face. "Sleep now, sweetheart. Sleep here, with me. Don't let me go."
Pippin wrapped his leg around Merry's and shifted to draw him closer, bumping the injured arm.
"Just do be careful of my arm, Pip," said Merry through clenched teeth. "It's not in a forgiving mood, quite yet."
Pippin chuckled, in spite of himself. "Sorry, Merry." He stroked his face. "Just tell me when it is. I'll want to pamper it when it's well enough." He kissed a line along Merry's jaw, as if to illustrate his point, wrapping his lips around the point of Merry's chin and lingering there before claiming his mouth, tenderly.
"I think it likes that idea," said Merry with a husky laugh. He kissed Pippin and pressed their faces together. "Goodnight, dearest Pip."
Pippin settled softly on Merry's chest and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Author: Catherine
Pairing: Merry/Pippin
Rating: A for violence
Warnings: Slash; AU; Graphic violence; h/c; Angst
Disclaimers: The characters and settings were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and belong to his estate, heirs and assigns, which are too numerous and complicated to list them all correctly. All other work here is mine, and may not be archived anywhere without my explicit permission. No disrespect toward Tolkien or his works is intended, and no money is made or would be accepted by me.
A/N: Written for danachan, who requested Merry/Pippin; Merry claims the Ring. This one was very hard to write, but I really appreciated the challenge. Thank you, Dana!
"The Ring is mine!"
Rooted to the ground in horror, Pippin watched as Merry broke through his frozen trance and leapt to grasp the Ring from Frodo's hand. Time skidded to a halt and the world stilled as he watched Merry sail so slowly through the air that he felt as if he could stroll toward him and pluck the thing from his fingers and hand it back to Frodo. He should do that, shouldn't he? It would be so easy. There was so much time. Why couldn't he move? Frodo wanted it back. He was reaching for it, even as Merry took it from him. Why was Sam throwing himself around Frodo, preventing him from reaching his goal? Why was Merry putting it on in mid-air? Why did Pippin hear his own voice screaming Merry's name?
Time, in its rude way, tore back into action as Merry vanished. Sam pulled Frodo away from the Black Riders, and Strider leapt in front of them before they could reach him. Only, they weren't going toward Frodo anymore. They were advancing as one on an invisible spot several yards to Frodo's right. Pippin screamed an alarm and ran toward the Ring wraiths as fast as he could, sword drawn and firebrand in his hand. "You shall not have him!" he cried, slashing wildly at his prey and hoping he wouldn't trip over an invisible Merry. "Strider!" he cried. "Help us!"
Pippin saw the leader reach out its arm toward something that he could not see and rushed forward, firebrand cast aside and sword raised above his head to hack at the black arm. In his haste, he ran into something and began to fall, headlong, his sword meeting sinew and bone. He heard Merry scream and saw him materialize as he himself met the ground, hard. Merry's hand flew to the ground in front of him, the Ring slipping off the tip of the third finger. Pippin covered Merry's hand and the Ring, and waited for the death blow.
Shouts. Confusion. The high-pitched scream of the Nazgul. Screaming. Merry screaming. Strider's hand was upon his, lifting it gently but firmly from Merry's cooling hand. Why was Merry's hand cooling? Had the Ring made it hot? Strider lifted the Ring and Pippin watched as he took it to Frodo and handed it to him. Frodo stumbled against Sam in abject mortification. Where was Merry? He was holding his hand; why couldn't he find the rest of him? He began to stroke Merry's hand and found that it ended at the wrist. "Merry!" he gasped.
Pippin whipped around to see Merry, clasping his maimed arm in horror, color drained from his face. Strider had slid to the ground and was tearing off a piece of his jerkin to bind the wound. Pippin moved to Merry in a slow daze. He thought he was running. Why was everything so slow?
"Hold his arm up above his head!" ordered Strider.
Pippin obeyed and felt Frodo and Sam crash to the ground beside him. Strider tied off the arm with the strip of leather, and reached for the hottest firebrand. "Hold him and steady his arm!" he commanded.
Pippin had his arm and tightened his fingers around it, willing himself to look into Merry's eyes as the red-hot coal was brought down and sizzling flesh mixed with sickening scream. "Pippin!" Merry fell limp into Frodo's arms.
"Sam," said Strider.
"Aye, sir."
"Do you know the athelas flower?"
Sam stared at him, blankly.
"You might also know it as kingsfoil."
"Aye, sir, that I do!"
"See if you can find a cutting, quick as you can."
Sam glanced at Frodo, who nodded at him, and ran off.
Strider set a pot of water to boil on the fire. "Pippin, look in our packs and find the cleanest cloth you can."
"Sam packed my best shirt, Pip," said Frodo. "We can use that. Look in my pack."
Pippin did as he was bid and brought back the finest shirt he had ever seen.
Frodo smiled. "Bilbo brought it back from Rivendell after his adventure," he said. "The Elves made it for him, and he left it for me. It will serve well." He kissed Merry's brow.
Strider looked into Frodo's eyes and smiled. "It will, indeed," he said, softly, and he tore the shirt into even strips. He loosened the leather strip around Merry's arm, slightly, and watched. When no blood oozed forth, he loosened it more. Upon the third loosening, some blood began to flow, and Strider tightened the strip again, a little. He rubbed some pungent salve onto one of the strips of fabric and smoothed it carefully onto the wound. With another strip, he covered over the first, and used a third to bind the two carefully in place. Pippin exchanged a worried glance with Frodo.
"He is strong, and we stanched the bleeding quickly," said Strider. "If Sam finds us some athelas, that should help more."
Just then, Sam came running to Strider, holding out a plant and explaining that he'd found a large patch of it not far off and could easily fetch more. Strider smiled and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You have done well," he said. "Now attend to your master, for he needs you."
Pippin looked at Frodo and saw his drawn face. He wanted desperately to hold Merry, to apologize to both of his cousins for the stupid fumble that caused him to cut off Merry's hand. Pippin! Merry's scream tore through his mind. He bowed his head over his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Pippin," said Frodo.
Pippin forced his head up. He tried to form the words, but couldn't.
Frodo knelt and took Pippin in his arms. "Pip, dearest, you saved Merry," he said. "Just as he saved me. Now he needs you with him. It will be a long night for us all."
Pippin clung to Frodo for a moment, then let him go. "I don't think that Sam will let it be too long a night for you, Frodo, dear," he said, with more cheer than he felt.
Sam's hand squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "I reckon Mr. Pippin's right about that, Mr. Frodo," he said.
Frodo squeezed Sam's hand back. "Thank you, Sam, dear," he murmured. He let Sam draw him up.
Pippin watched as Sam put a protective arm around Frodo and led him away, back to their bedrolls.
Strider lifted Merry to his bedroll, Pippin following close behind. "Hold him," he said, tilting Merry into Pippin's arms as he sat down.
Pippin had little choice, under the circumstances, and did so, gawping at Strider.
Strider plucked a few stems from the plant Sam had brought him and crushed them. Instantly, the air was filled with a sweet, bracing perfume which suffused the senses and brought solace to the spirit. Strider dropped the crushed leaves into the steaming water, then soaked one of the Elven cloth strips in the infusion. He pulled the strip out with a stick and let it cool enough to handle before squeezing out the water, thoroughly. He crushed a few more leaves, put them onto the cloth and bound it to Merry's wound, over the other bandages. "This will do, for now, until we reach Rivendell," he said.
Merry's breathing deepened and quieted, and he moved in his sleep closer into Pippin's embrace.
"Merry," whispered Pippin, brokenly. He held him close and pushed his face into Merry's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He felt large hands on his shoulders.
"Lie down, Pippin," said Strider, surprisingly close to Pippin's ear. "You'll both be better for it."
Pippin hugged Merry tighter, not wanting to let go. He felt Strider shift so that he supported them both.
"Lie down," repeated Strider.
Pippin relaxed into Strider's arms and let him guide them both to the ground. Merry's head settled on Pippin's chest, and Strider covered them both.
"I'll be keeping watch," he said. "I won't be far. Just speak to me and I'll hear." With that, he turned and went to take up his watch at the edge.
Pippin turned his face away and let the tears fall, at last. He could weep, now that he was alone and the others wouldn't be bothered by it. He could weep for Frodo and the trouble he knew would come to him. He could give vent to his self-pity and his shame that he needed to do that. He could simply weep, knowing that he didn't have to put on a cheerful hat for anyone or pretend that he wasn't hungry and aching and sore, and afraid. He could weep for Merry, and the fact that he wouldn't feel those clever fingers wrapping around him or soothing or comforting him, or tousling his hair; that he would never again be able to kiss them, one by one, and feel them stroke his face in the early morning dew. He could weep because it was his fault.
He wept until he slept, haunted by dreams of dark horsemen, Black Breath and Merry screaming his name as his life blood poured out of his fingers. Over and over, he tried to save Merry from the little goblin with pointy, twisted features and ginger hair who leered at him and hacked his love to pieces. Over and over, a hand, engulfed in flames, reached for him in supplication, only to be consumed before him as he was forced to watch. "Pip-pin!" The goblin and the flames joined in jeering unison, taunting Merry with the twisted refrain of his scream.
"Let him be!" Pippin cried in his dream, his voice cut off as his breath failed him.
"Pippin!" The scream changed tone, became firm. Merry was angry with him.
"I'm sorry, Merry," sobbed Pippin. "I'm so sorry. I'll give you my hand. I don't need it." He made to remove it, as though he were pulling off a glove. He tugged and tugged, but it wouldn't come off.
"Pippin," Merry's voice intruded on his work.
"I'm sorry. It won't come off. I'm trying…"
"Pip, sweetheart."
Pippin forced open his eyes.
"That's better. All your mumblings and jerking are keeping me awake!"
Pippin blinked. "I'm sorry to be such a bother, Merry," he said, as steadily as he could; "It must be the rocky ground." He held very still, unable to look into Merry's face.
"Pippin." Merry's voice was soft. He moved to pull Pippin close, and yelped in pain, an unearthly sound escaping his lips without permission.
Pippin started, whipping his head around to find Merry, face blanched against his bedroll, eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared in a painful rictus, good hand grasping at his injured arm.
"Strider!" cried Pippin.
Strider was at Merry's side in an instant, having heard him cry out. "Let me see your arm, Merry."
Merry held out his arm, biting his lip. Pippin turned his face away and cast an arm over his eyes.
"It looks all right, for now," said Strider, calmly. "And I'm sure that you'll agree that you've been given a stern warning not to bump it."
"Yes, Strider," rasped Merry. "I can't say I'm looking forward to changing the dressing, much, either." He grimaced as Strider let go of his arm.
"It will not be pleasant," said Strider with a wry smile. "You'd be wise to sleep as best you can." With that, he went back to his watch.
"He's rather dour, isn't he?" said Merry, wincing as he turned again toward Pippin.
Pippin was still turned away, hiding his eyes.
"Pip…" Merry cursed as his wound bumped Pippin's chest.
Pippin felt Merry move beside him, and then felt his cousin's arm softly placed over his heart.
"Pippin, love, it's not your fault."
Pippin tried to dash the tears from his eyes and calm the heaving of his chest, with no success.
"Hush, sweetheart," said Merry. "It's not your fault," he repeated.
"If I'd been more careful… If I hadn't tripped… You - you might -"
"Pip, love, you tripped over me," said Merry, suppressing a laugh. "I can hardly blame you for something that I caused, now can I?"
"That - that was you?" said Pippin, twisting a bit to see Merry. "I thought it was a rock!"
Merry chuckled out loud, then winced as his arm flapped against Pippin. "Well," he gulped, "I'm sure there are many who would agree with you, there!" He smiled broadly at Pippin.
"I'm so sorry, Merry," said Pippin, miserably.
"Oh, curse this thing, anyway!" said Merry, as he tried once again to hug Pippin with his maimed arm and blanched in pain. "Pippin, come here, love." He rolled over onto his back, careful not to jostle his arm, and held out his uninjured one.
Pippin squeezed his eyes shut.
Merry sighed and took Pippin's hand in his own, grasping it firmly and interlacing their fingers. "It wasn't your fault; it was mine. I was so desperate to save Frodo from those wraiths that I didn't think. I had no right to claim the Ring." He shuddered. "You rid me of that abomination, Pip. If you hadn't, I'd be dead now. You saved me, sweetheart. A hand is a small price to pay."
"If I hadn't slipped, I would've cut off the wraith's hand, rather than yours. You would have given the Ring back to Frodo once we'd driven them away."
Merry shivered and drew Pippin's hand to his lips, kissing it fervently, drawing a deep breath. "You wouldn't have been able to harm their king," shuddered Merry. "You would have died in the attempt; you would not have saved me." He swallowed. "If I had lived, I would not have given the Ring back to Frodo, or to anyone." Merry was trembling and holding Pippin's hand very tightly. "It had me, Pip," he whispered, pale again, and cold.
"Oh, Merry-mine!" murmured Pippin on a hitching breath, as he turned and pressed himself close to Merry, wrapping his arms around him and drawing the covers over them as warmly as he could, dropping kisses on the beloved face: cheeks, brow, eyes, nose, lips which opened to him, begging him to enter.
Merry folded his good arm around Pippin and drew him close. "You saved me, Pip, my love. You saved me." Merry kissed away the tear tracks on Pippin's face. "Sleep now, sweetheart. Sleep here, with me. Don't let me go."
Pippin wrapped his leg around Merry's and shifted to draw him closer, bumping the injured arm.
"Just do be careful of my arm, Pip," said Merry through clenched teeth. "It's not in a forgiving mood, quite yet."
Pippin chuckled, in spite of himself. "Sorry, Merry." He stroked his face. "Just tell me when it is. I'll want to pamper it when it's well enough." He kissed a line along Merry's jaw, as if to illustrate his point, wrapping his lips around the point of Merry's chin and lingering there before claiming his mouth, tenderly.
"I think it likes that idea," said Merry with a husky laugh. He kissed Pippin and pressed their faces together. "Goodnight, dearest Pip."
Pippin settled softly on Merry's chest and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.