Epilogue
I am still smiling. It's an odd feel, a smile. Not the practiced twist of the corners of my mouth that is born out of sheer politeness and necessity. A genuine smile, one that travels through my veins like warm ripples. It feels … nice. Normal. And for a while it pushes back the shadows, eases the hurt. Silences the hateful yearning.
Do you remember years ago, when your Mummy was so ill that they thought she would not last another month? You were ten then and everybody was either ignoring you or trying to protect you by not telling you anything. Bilbo and I came to the Great Smials to try to give some comfort to your father. I saw you first at tea and almost did not recognize you. You were so quiet and withdrawn; you hardly said anything the whole time; your face pale and pinched and your eyes bleak. Your father had his hand around your shoulder and mentioned something about how his Peregrin was a steady rock he could lean on in that time of trouble. I looked around the room and saw your sisters ensconced in the loving arms of a multitude of concerned aunts. And it struck me how lonely you were. How you tried to be strong even though deep inside you were shattering to pieces.
That night you came into my room. I was glad that I was not asleep yet at the time. I was at the window, gazing at the stars, when you suddenly emerged from the shadows and stood beside me.
"Do you miss your mother, cousin, since she died?" you asked quietly, reasonably, your eyes impenetrable.
I turned and stared at you. "Yes, of course," I said. "I miss her very much. Why do you ask?"
"They say Mummy's dying," you said flatly. "They think I don't know. They wouldn't answer my questions. They wouldn't let me see her…."
Suddenly you began to cry. It was a pitiful sight: you stood there by the window, bathed by the pale moonlight, your fists twisting into your eyes, your body shaking with each sob, a far cry from the little Pippin I thought I knew, who seemed to live within a sunny, merry fortress that sheltered him from hurt and sadness.
I held you. Long into the night, until the stars glimmered pale and low in the sky, I held you. You wept into my nightshirt, mumbling something about being scared, as I quietly ran my hand through your hair. Finally you stopped crying and looked up at me with your red, swollen eyes.
You did not say anything. You did not need to. The dark weight that I saw in your eyes had been lifted. There was a look of near content gladness in your face. You could smile again. A rather shy smile, at that, but I was grateful for it.
I see the same look in your face tonight. When you came, looking stricken and bewildered, with pleas for help roiling wordlessly in the golden brown of your eyes, I wondered what you could possibly expect me to offer. I have nothing, less than nothing. I cannot even pretend that I know how to drive out my own nightmares. But you nestled into my arms as though it was unthinkable not to; you burrowed into the empty shell that was my embrace and laid yourself, your heart, trustingly in it, letting my disfigured hand caress you in a mockery of the comfort it used to promise.
Long moments passed before you finally shifted and gazed at me. There was the selfsame grateful calm in your eyes, the identical candid love gushing into my heart before I could shutter it with the belief that for someone who had dragged you into this remnant of madness, I do not deserve such devoted tenderness. But there it was in your eyes, that look of comfort and relief. Somehow, I can still hold you and you still find respite in my arms. Somehow I am still the cousin Frodo you used to turn to when you were in trouble, not the ruined Frodo of the Nine Fingers who has nothing, who is nothing.
I brush the curls from your brows, feeling a gratitude and love so profound that they hurt. You shift, your lips quirking in a smile, mumbling, "No…. No more blushing Balrog…."
I smile again, taking your hand that lies limp on your pillow, closing my eyes, listening to you breathing, feeling you soft and warm next to me.
Maybe the blushing Balrog can watch over us tonight. Maybe it can keep the darkness at bay. Just for tonight, maybe I can find peace in a long, untroubled sleep. And who knows … maybe even … sweet dreams.
~fin~