It was hard to sleep at night. Pippin often wondered if he was the only one who had sleepless nights like this one now, but he didn't think he was. Frodo must share his restlessness, surely. But then, Frodo had carried the burden. Pippin saw no reason why he himself should be haunted by those shadows.
He sighed and sat up. There were no signs of any dawn outside the window; it must still be the middle of the night. He wrapped a robe around his far too thin body and tip-toed through the halls of their house. *Their* house. His and Merry's.
He considered waking Merry up as he passed his bedroom. He decided not to and continued quietly until he got to the kitchen. Once there, he lit the two candles that were left on the table since dinner and stretched.
Now he was here he didn't know what he wanted. He shivered a little; the house was chilly at this time of the night when all the fires had gone out. Maybe he should just go back to bed. But now he was here, he didn't want to leave the comfort of the kitchen and go back to his bedroom. The bedroom was, after all, the only place where the shadows still haunted him.
He absentmindedly found a loaf of bread and cut off a slice, putting it on a plate. He didn't know what he wanted on it.
Strawberry jam reminded him too much of summer days long ago, long before the whole thing started. How he wished he could be back there now.
Blackcurrant reminded him too much of Sam, because Sam made the best blackcurrant jam in the Shire. Sam's eyes when he and Frodo first returned from the accursed land still haunted Pippin at times.
Blueberry? No, it reminded him of Frodo. Of that time when Frodo was stabbed. It had been a long day when they finally set up camp. There had been a tiny blueberry bush just beside the place Strider had gently laid Frodo wrapped up in blankets. Pippin shivered at the memory. He had thought Frodo would die for sure.
He stopped surveying the jams and reached for the pot of honey on the shelf above them. Honey reminded him of his mother. He remembered when he was little and had night-mares, his mother would give him a cup full of hot milk with honey in it to help him sleep peacefully. He didn't have the energy to heat milk right then, so he just spread honey over his bread and ate it.
When he had finished he still didn't want to go back to bed. He felt lonely now, and the kitchen was cold. The candles cast shadows on the walls, homely shadows, familiar shadows, so unlike the shadows in his dreams. He jumped as something touched him.
"Shhh, Pip, it's me. It's just me." Merry's voice was soft in his ear, familiar, calming, reassuring. He leaned back into Merry's embrace and welcomed the warmth and comfort.
Merry held him tightly. "You should have woken me up." Pippin thought he detected a hint of sadness in his voice. He nodded quietly, wondering why he hadn't, yet knowing the reason but unwilling to voice it now Merry was there.
Pippin shivered slightly. He didn't know if it was those thoughts and memories that suddenly reappeared, or if it was from the cold. Maybe it was both, or neither.
"You're cold." Merry murmured, then let go of him. "Come on, back to bed."
"Yes." Pippin said, and yawned as he stood up. He didn't really want to go back to bed, but he couldn't tell Merry, because it would crave too many difficult explanations. And it would worry Merry, and Pippin thought his cousin had far too many things to worry about of his own.
Merry rekindled the fire in Pippin's room when they got there, and soon there was a warning glow coming from it. Then he tucked the covers around Pippin. "Want me to stay until you are asleep?"
Pippin nodded. "Please?"
Merry sat down on the side of the bed. "Want me to tell you a story? Sing something?"
Pippin shook his head. "No, just sit with me."
Merry nodded, and took Pippin's hand. "Ok."
It didn't take long for Pippin to fall asleep. He was tired, and it was easier to sleep now he was not alone.
Merry sat on the bed for a long while after Pippin had gone to sleep. He was lost in his own thoughts, his own wishes. He wished they had never gone on the quest. He wished that there had never been a Ring. He wished everything was the same as it had always been. Bust most of all, since it *had* all happened, and everything *had* changed; he wished that little Pippin was strong enough to heal properly and leave the shadows behind him.
THE END
He sighed and sat up. There were no signs of any dawn outside the window; it must still be the middle of the night. He wrapped a robe around his far too thin body and tip-toed through the halls of their house. *Their* house. His and Merry's.
He considered waking Merry up as he passed his bedroom. He decided not to and continued quietly until he got to the kitchen. Once there, he lit the two candles that were left on the table since dinner and stretched.
Now he was here he didn't know what he wanted. He shivered a little; the house was chilly at this time of the night when all the fires had gone out. Maybe he should just go back to bed. But now he was here, he didn't want to leave the comfort of the kitchen and go back to his bedroom. The bedroom was, after all, the only place where the shadows still haunted him.
He absentmindedly found a loaf of bread and cut off a slice, putting it on a plate. He didn't know what he wanted on it.
Strawberry jam reminded him too much of summer days long ago, long before the whole thing started. How he wished he could be back there now.
Blackcurrant reminded him too much of Sam, because Sam made the best blackcurrant jam in the Shire. Sam's eyes when he and Frodo first returned from the accursed land still haunted Pippin at times.
Blueberry? No, it reminded him of Frodo. Of that time when Frodo was stabbed. It had been a long day when they finally set up camp. There had been a tiny blueberry bush just beside the place Strider had gently laid Frodo wrapped up in blankets. Pippin shivered at the memory. He had thought Frodo would die for sure.
He stopped surveying the jams and reached for the pot of honey on the shelf above them. Honey reminded him of his mother. He remembered when he was little and had night-mares, his mother would give him a cup full of hot milk with honey in it to help him sleep peacefully. He didn't have the energy to heat milk right then, so he just spread honey over his bread and ate it.
When he had finished he still didn't want to go back to bed. He felt lonely now, and the kitchen was cold. The candles cast shadows on the walls, homely shadows, familiar shadows, so unlike the shadows in his dreams. He jumped as something touched him.
"Shhh, Pip, it's me. It's just me." Merry's voice was soft in his ear, familiar, calming, reassuring. He leaned back into Merry's embrace and welcomed the warmth and comfort.
Merry held him tightly. "You should have woken me up." Pippin thought he detected a hint of sadness in his voice. He nodded quietly, wondering why he hadn't, yet knowing the reason but unwilling to voice it now Merry was there.
Pippin shivered slightly. He didn't know if it was those thoughts and memories that suddenly reappeared, or if it was from the cold. Maybe it was both, or neither.
"You're cold." Merry murmured, then let go of him. "Come on, back to bed."
"Yes." Pippin said, and yawned as he stood up. He didn't really want to go back to bed, but he couldn't tell Merry, because it would crave too many difficult explanations. And it would worry Merry, and Pippin thought his cousin had far too many things to worry about of his own.
Merry rekindled the fire in Pippin's room when they got there, and soon there was a warning glow coming from it. Then he tucked the covers around Pippin. "Want me to stay until you are asleep?"
Pippin nodded. "Please?"
Merry sat down on the side of the bed. "Want me to tell you a story? Sing something?"
Pippin shook his head. "No, just sit with me."
Merry nodded, and took Pippin's hand. "Ok."
It didn't take long for Pippin to fall asleep. He was tired, and it was easier to sleep now he was not alone.
Merry sat on the bed for a long while after Pippin had gone to sleep. He was lost in his own thoughts, his own wishes. He wished they had never gone on the quest. He wished that there had never been a Ring. He wished everything was the same as it had always been. Bust most of all, since it *had* all happened, and everything *had* changed; he wished that little Pippin was strong enough to heal properly and leave the shadows behind him.
THE END