The battlefield was dark, the quiet of the night broken only by the distant sounds of the wind rustling through the fallen leaves and the soft groans of the dying. The scent of blood and smoke lingered in the air as Pippin stumbled through the carnage, his heart heavy with worry. He had searched for hours, moving from body to body, calling out for his friend, his cousin, his brother in all but blood.

"Merry!" Pippin shouted into the void of night, his voice hoarse with the strain of his fear. There was no answer, only the echoes of his own voice returning to him. His breath came in shallow bursts, each step feeling like it took him farther from the hope of finding Merry. Where could he be? Pippin thought, desperation creeping into his chest.

As he moved through the wreckage of war, something caught his eye—a flicker of movement, a shape partially concealed beneath the dark mass of an orc's lifeless body. Pippin's heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

"Merry?" he called again, his voice more desperate now, as he hurried towards the figure. He reached the orc and, with trembling hands, pushed the corpse aside. Beneath it, covered in blood and grime, lay Merry—pale, battered, but very much alive. Pippin's breath caught in his throat as he stared at his cousin, relief flooding through him like a burst of light in the darkness.

"Merry, it's me. It's Pippin," he said, his voice thick with emotion. His hands were already working to roll the orc off his cousin, pushing it with all the strength he could muster. As he did, Pippin's eyes searched Merry's face, and he saw the faintest flicker of recognition in those usually bright eyes.

Merry's voice, soft and cracked, barely made it past his lips. "I knew you'd find me," he said, his words a whisper, as if the effort of speaking was almost too much for him.

Pippin's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and pain. He had known, deep down, that Merry wasn't gone—that his cousin would survive this, as he had survived so many battles before. But seeing him now, battered and broken, made the weight of the battle hit Pippin like a physical blow.

"Yes, Merry, I'm here," Pippin said, his voice steadier now. He knelt down beside Merry, his hands gentle as he brushed a few stray strands of hair from Merry's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to look after you, just like always."

Merry's lips parted in a small, weary smile, though it was obvious how much it cost him. He winced slightly as Pippin carefully helped him sit up. The battle had taken its toll on both of them, but Pippin knew that, together, they could endure anything.

Merry let out a small, pained laugh. "I should've known better than to get myself pinned by an orc. Should've fought harder."

Pippin shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite the situation. "It's not your fault, Merry. It's a bloody battlefield. You did more than your part."

Merry's eyes fluttered, and Pippin could see the weariness in his cousin's face. He wasn't sure how long Merry had been unconscious, how much blood he had lost, but Pippin knew he couldn't leave him like this. He needed help—real help.

With a quick glance around, Pippin found Merry's cloak nearby, torn but still in one piece. He grabbed it, lifting it gently and draping it over his cousin's shoulders, trying to give him some warmth in the cold night air. The cloak, once a familiar and comforting piece of home, now seemed to represent everything Pippin was fighting for—everything he was willing to protect.

"Merry, listen to me," Pippin said softly, as he adjusted the cloak over Merry's fragile frame. "We're going to get out of here. You're going to be alright. I won't leave you. Not now. Not ever."

Merry's breathing was slow, shallow, but he managed to nod, his hand weakly grasping Pippin's arm as if he were trying to reassure him as much as Pippin was reassuring him. "I trust you, Pip. Always have."

Pippin's heart ached at the words. He didn't know what he would do without Merry. They had been through so much together—so many battles, so many losses. But they had always been there for each other, and he wasn't about to let that change now.

He could hear the faint sounds of the others in the distance—footsteps, the voices of Aragorn and the others as they searched the battlefield. They would come soon, but for now, it was just him and Merry. Just the two of them, in the dark.

Pippin's voice was soft, but firm. "I'll carry you if I have to, Merry. We're going to get you to safety."

Merry's laugh was weak, but there was a hint of his old mischievous spirit in it. "You'll have to be strong, Pip. I'm not light."

Pippin smiled, brushing his hand over Merry's forehead once more. "I'll manage. You're worth carrying, cousin. Always."

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the battle and the fear of what was to come pressing heavily on both of them. But in that moment, in the quiet of the night, Pippin knew one thing for certain: no matter what, he would never abandon Merry. He would find a way to get him through this, just as he always had.

He helped Merry to his feet, supporting him as they moved slowly through the darkness, the sound of their footsteps steady in the silence. Together, they would find their way back to their friends, to safety, and to the hope of a future beyond the horrors of the battle.

And as they walked on, side by side, Pippin whispered once more, "I won't leave you, Merry. I promise."