Disclaimer: All
names, characters, and places contained herein are property of Tolkien
Enterprises, with which I am in no way affiliated. I am making no money
from the writing of this story. It was written purely for entertainment
purposes.
Many thanks, hugs, and Hobbits to
shirebound
for looking this over for me. Thank you, dear, you are a
lifesaver.
Written for Challenge Two at the Tales of the Red Book LiveJournal
Community. Marigold provided the first line, which is the same for all
four ficlets, and I provided the rest of the story.
~*~*~*~*~
"Try
calling his name. Perhaps he can hear you."
Sam looked into Strider's face as
the Man set him on his feet on the east bank of the Bruinen. The Man's
face was graver than Sam had ever seen it. Strider's grey eyes were
hard, his mouth set in a firm line.
"We do not have the time to spare
to tend to your master here," the Man continued. "We must get to
Rivendell as soon as we can. Lord Elrond will be able to tend Frodo
better than I."
Strider looked over his shoulder
and Sam, following his gaze, could see Glorfindel struggling to lead
Bill, with Merry and Pippin astride, across the water. "I must help
Glorfindel." With that, Strider turned and waded back into the water.
Sam rushed to Frodo's side and
gently turned his master so that he was lying on his back. Sam had to
bite back a cry as he caught sight of his master's face. It was a pale,
sickly green color. Dark circles surrounded closed and sunken eyes,
almost as if Frodo had smeared his face with soot. His breathing was
very shallow.
Kneeling in the wet earth, Sam
grasped his master's ice-cold left hand and began to briskly rub it. He
leaned down and spoke into Frodo's ear.
"Mister Frodo, can you hear me,
sir?" he asked, his voice shaking. "It's me, sir, it's Sam. Please,
Mister Frodo, don't give in. You need to keep fighting. We'll be in
Rivendell soon, so you'll be right as rain in no time. But you can't
stop fighting, sir. Don't give in."
~*~*~*~*~
"Try
calling his name. Perhaps he can hear you."
Pippin turned in surprise at the
sound of the strange voice. An older healer woman, Ioreth, Pippin
vaguely remembered, stood in the doorway of Merry's room. She stood
nervously, as if she was unsure if she should enter the room. Pippin
and Merry were alone, as Gandalf had left on some errand earlier in the
day.
"Excuse me?" Pippin questioned,
still holding his cousin's hand despite the fact that he was twisted
around in his seat to see the woman.
"It is custom to speak to the ill
and dying," the woman said. Pippin winced at her use of the word dying.
"We do not know if they can hear our voices or not, but if they can
hear, then at least they can be comforted by the voices of loved ones."
"I have never heard of such a
thing," Pippin said, turning again to Merry. He gently stroked his
cousin's hair away from his eyes and forehead. With trembling fingers,
he traced the large brown scar that stretched across Merry's brow.
"I believe that it is only a
custom of the South," the woman answered, still standing in the doorway
from what Pippin could tell. "I have never traveled beyond the borders
of Gondor, but I have heard from travelers that Men in the North have
no such custom."
Pippin anxiously watched Merry,
dearly hoping for some reaction from his too-still cousin. Merry
remained eerily still, as he had been for almost a day. "Do you think
it will help?"
"I do not know. All I know is
that it cannot harm him." The woman was silent for a moment. "I must
return to my other duties. Do not give up hope."
"Never," Pippin whispered as the
woman's footsteps echoed away down the empty corridor.
Could speaking to Merry really
help? Pippin wondered. Could Merry hear him? Or would his words fall on
deaf ears? There would be no knowing unless he tried.
"Merry. Merry-dear, it's me. It's
Pippin. Please, Merry don't give in. Please wake up."
~*~*~*~*~
"Try
calling his name. Perhaps he can hear you."
Merry jumped at the words. He had
been wholly concentrated on Pippin and hadn't heard anyone enter the
healing tent. Merry knew that they were safe, in the center of the
camp, but he still cursed his inattentiveness. After all, he still
wasn't sure that he could trust all of the Men in the camp.
"Legolas! I thought you were
helping to tend to the wounded," Merry said, moving to stand.
"Please, don't rise," Legolas
requested, so Merry kept his seat. The Elf moved to perch on the edge
of Pippin's cot, opposite Merry. With graceful movements, he checked
Pippin's breathing, pulse, and temperature. "His fever has dropped
considerably. That is good."
When Legolas fell silent, Merry
ventured to ask, "Why do you want me to call out to Pippin?"
Ageless grey eyes met curious
blue eyes and Merry had to force himself to hold Legolas' gaze. "Though
your cousin is in a healing sleep, the sound of your voice may impart
some peace upon him. If he is as peace and not struggling against us,
he may heal more rapidly."
"I have never heard of this
before," Merry said, finally breaking Legolas' gaze to look at his
beloved cousin. "And I know much of the herb-lore and healing craft of
the Shire."
"An age ago, when there was still
friendship between Elves and Men, we introduced the idea to the Men of
the South," Legolas said quietly. "I do not know if Men still have such
practices. Elves do not have much need of it."
"If I speak to Pippin, will it
really help him?" Merry asked, looking again at the Elf, who was still
watching Pippin.
"If you were both Elves, then I
could assuredly answer yes to your question," Legolas answered, resting
his slender hand on Pippin's wayward curls. "I do not know if the bond
between two mortals is as strong as the bond between two of the
Firstborn, so I do not know if the sound of your voice will calm his
spirit."
Legolas was still watching
Pippin, a thoughtful look on his face. He murmured something too
quietly for Merry to hear, and then stood, removing his hand from
Pippin's head. "I must return to the other wounded now," he said,
looking at Merry. "Please try to get some rest yourself, my friend. I
do not want to see you in a sickbed again so soon after you've risen
from one." With that, the Elf exited, leaving Merry alone with his
thoughts once again.
Abandoning his seat, Merry
climbed atop Pippin's cot and seated himself comfortably next to his
cousin. He stroked Pippin's always-unruly hair with one hand and held
his cousin's hand with the other.
"Pip? Pippin, can you hear me?
It's me. It's Merry. I'm here, Pippin. I won't leave you, I promise."
~*~*~*~*~
"Try
calling his name. Perhaps he can hear you."
Frodo looked up as Gandalf
entered the tent that he and Sam currently occupied. He watched the
wizard walk across the tent and sit in a chair next to Sam's cot.
Though he had seen Gandalf earlier in the morning, Frodo was still
amazed by the Wizard's appearance.
"Why should I call out to Sam?"
asked Frodo, who was sitting on the cot next to his dearest friend. He
held one of Sam's hands in both of his own wounded ones. "Will he wake
if I call to him?"
"He just might if you ask him to
do so," Gandalf said, gazing at Sam's peaceful countenance. "His sense
of duty and love are too strong to allow him to remain resting when you
are awake and may need his services." The Wizard looked at Frodo, who
wondered just how much Gandalf knew of the journey across Mordor.
Frodo turned to look at Sam. The
gardener was thin, scarred, and sun burnt, but he looked more peaceful
than Frodo had ever seen him before. His breathing was deep and even
and a small smile graced his features. Frodo wondered if Sam was
dreaming of his garden back home, or maybe of just one specific flower.
"No, I don't think I shall wake
him now," Frodo said slowly. Now more than ever, he did not want to
bother Sam. Frodo did not remember much of their journey once they had
entered Mordor, but he was sure that Sam would have done everything for
him, at any time, much as he had always done, ever since he was naught
but a lad. Sam deserved whatever rest he could get.
Letting go of Sam's hand, Frodo
crawled under the coverlet. Before he settled back, he whispered into
Sam's ear, "Sleep well, my dear Samwise."
The End