m_findlow

Title: Never too far from home
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG.
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 37 - Reunion at fandomweekly
Summary: Merry doesn't need to be in the Shire to feel at home.

Merry thought he must have been in a dream. Beneath him was the softest bed he had ever slept in and the blanket made of the finest wool. He felt light as a feather, no longer weighed down by all that heavy boiled leather and those metal plates and helmet. He reached out his arm but he couldn't find his sword anywhere. How was he supposed to fight without his sword? He really didn't make a very good soldier after all, he decided. 'I should have stayed in Rohan,' he mumbled. He forced his eyes open, determined to find his sword before he was cut to ribbons by an orc.

'Oh, you sweet, dear oldest and best friend of a hobbit!' Pippin cried at seeing him open his eyes, grasping his hand tightly and squeezing it. 'I thought you were dead when we found you!'

'Pip?'

'Who else were you expecting? Freddie Bolger? Or perhaps some vile Sackville Baggins! Dear me! I should curse you from here to Bywater for being the most foolish hobbit of all, going into battle to fight ringwraiths and orcs and evil things!' Pippin scolded. 'More foolish even than old Mr Bilbo.'

Merry managed a small smile at his friend. 'We Brandybucks have always been adventurers,' he said, feeling quite pleased even if he still also felt quite sore and quite tired.

'You had us all quite worried there,' said a tall man with fine golden hair. 'I have never seen Mithrandir so long with worry at his pipe. He might have smoked out the Houses of Healing altogether at the rate he was going.'

Merry smiled at the image of Gandalf fussing so. More like as he would like to throw Merry in the river for being such a damn fool hobbit. He frowned as he tried to place the face of the man. 'I'm sorry, but I don't think I know you, Ser.'

'Ser?' Pippin exclaimed. 'That is no Ser that speaks to your sorry lowly Brandybuck self! This is the Faramir, the Lord Steward of Gondor. He is Boromir's brother.'

Faramir chuckled at the invocation. 'You are released from your duties to Gondor and its Steward, my brave little friend,' he said, resting a hand on Pippin's shoulder. 'There shall be no need of Stewards once the King is crowned. It shall be a sweet relief to hand all those lordy duties to someone who has earned them.'

'Then it is a pleasure to meet the very last Steward of Gondor,' Merry said. 'Your brother was the bravest man I have ever met. He faced a hundred orcs to protect us. I would bow but I fear that I may not be able to get back up again once I am bent over so.'

'It is enough to see you well and to thank you for protecting your lady.'

Merry's thoughts suddenly turned back to his last recollections of he and Éowyn being thrown from their horse and coming face to face with that terrible wraith. He heard her screams before everything had turned dark and then there was nothing more. What had happened to Éowyn?

A gasp came from the doorway which answered his question. 'Oh!' She rushed to his beside, kneeling down and smiling at him.

'My Lady,' he said, in awe of her radiant beauty, dressed in the most elegant golden gown he'd ever seen. The hems were stitched with fine green horses and flowers, and upon her brow she wore a fine circlet of silver.

'My sweet, sweet, Merry!' She brushed a hand across his cheek and it felt like the softest silk. 'How glad my heart is to see you well!'

'And you, My Lady,' Merry replied. 'Did we win?'

She smiled down at him and brushed his brow again. 'Yes. All thanks to a handful of very brave Hobbits.'

'Of which, you were not one of them,' Pippin teased.

Merry say up a little higher in bed. 'I want to know everything.'

Faramir beamed at him, before exchanging glances with Éowyn. 'Perhaps we should leave two old friends to regale one another with their adventures,' Faramir suggested, reaching out a hand to Éowyn who gratefully accepted it, pulling her to her feet. She bent over to place one last feathery kiss on his forehead, promising to visit again soon, and that they would go for many walks together once he was well enough to walk.

'He's quite smitten with her, you know,' Pippin added conspiratorially, as the pair left the room hand in hand. 'They have spent many hours wandering the gardens whilst they heal. I daresay there might be a wedding not too far away. Just imagine that, Merry. A wedding feast, and everything served in Men sized plates and cups! We should never be able to walk again after a feast like that.'

The mere thought of food made Merry's mouth water. When had he last eaten, and not just those hard bits of dried salted meat they had carried in their saddle packs? What he wouldn't give for a juicy apple and a bit of sharp cheddar. 'I am starving, Pip.'

'Then you must surely be on the mend.' Any hobbit worth his salt would demand a three course meal even on his deathbed. 'And after I find someone to bring you food, I thought you might like this,' he said, handing over a small leather pouch.

With fumbling fingers, Merry tugged open the flap and held it to his face. He drew in a deep breath. It smelled of fresh grass and aged oak, caramel sugar tarts and the finest Brandywine ale. 'Longbottom leaf,' he sighed.

'It's been an absolute wrench not to smoke it,' Pippin told him, 'but I promised myself that not a single leaf of it would go in my pipe until you were well enough to share it with me.'

'Then I had better hurry up and heal,' Merry teased, 'else you might smoke it without me anyway!'