Little Bird Blue
She sat in their garden, their small garden that set back from the path. Most Hobbits had one; you weren't a proper Hobbit if you didn't have at least one patch of earth to your name. Unlike many, however, Diamond did not have an affinity for gardening, no matter how hard she tried; so she, like old Bilbo had, hired out. In this moment, she was grateful. She was afraid if she knelt in the dirt she would stay there forever, lost among the roots and undergrowth.
Two weeks after it, she and Pippin still had not spoken. She drifted through each day, each day the same: no babe to hold, no wee one to nurse. Gone were the lovely mornings of dreams and softly spoken things; instead, she slept, and took her medicine when he could not rouse her and left for his own devices.
At present, he was visiting Merry, citing some errand. She didn't hear what it was as he saddled his pony. All she could hear lately was a distant roar, a chanting, blame. She muttered something, she thought. She hoped she did.
Diamond looked across the garden. They did have beautiful flowers, when they bloomed: peonies, and irises, and her favorite, the tiny daisy. A humble flower, her mother once told her, yet in the right hands can look like the stars. When Diamond married Pippin, her dress was embroidered with them, scattered across the skirts. Pippin called her "his diamond sky", kissing her with such desire...and she had returned the ardor, enthusiastically. They snuck away from their wedding party, and watched the clear skies above. He had told her such stories of the Elves, had told her stories he had learned in Rivendell, wooed her with his touch. She could barely stand his hands, since...it. It felt like shame, like the stars had fallen from their diamond sky. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, let the snowflakes land on her shoulders. She was not sure which were snowflakes, which were tears.
The garden was covered in drifting snow, some frozen over, some fresh enough from the brief snowshower. She should be inside, but she could not bear it. The smial could not contain her grief, its oaken beams too stark against the cloudy sky outside, and too closed in inside. She needed to breathe; the crisp, cold air suited her. A biting wind blew through her curls, tangling them across her eyes. Exhaling, she tried to untangle them, but soon gave up when the third knot refused to budge. Days of sleeping late and turning from her husband created an impossible mess. Instead, she reached next to her and created a snowhobbit on the bench. Two. A third. Then burst into tears, again. Would she ever stop? Would the pain ever, ever end?
Pippin thought he heard a mumbled, "Be careful," from his wife as he saddled the pony. It shuffled his lips at him in reassurance. "Right," he whispered to him. He swung up and trotted away, heart as heavy as the snowy sky.
Two weeks. Diamond was awake, and alert, and finishing the medicine Healer Peabody wanted her to. That was good, and he was glad to see her up and about. Yet neither of them had spoken of it. In fact, they spoke very little, and that was why he was finally seeking Merry out.
Ordinarily, Merry would have come, but the snow prevented him. Healer Peabody made it because he had to; but most Hobbits stayed in when the snow was higher than their waists. Pippin himself would have preferred to stay by the fire, if he could stand it. Yet the tension in his home was so thick he felt he could cut it even with the dullest butter knife.
He finally made it to the Green Dragon before the snow started falling again. He dismounted and tied Trollbane – yes, that was the pony's name, named with good humor – and went inside. It was warm, almost suffocatingly so, packed with Hobbits seeking succor from the wintry chill.
Wooden tables, worn with time, stories, and raucous laughter, lined the large room. Barrels packed the side wall, and a fireplace roared at its back end. Most Hobbits circled the hearth, many with an extra blanket or sweater on for additional warmth. Altogether a friendly, jovial atmosphere, one that Pippin dearly wished he could bring back home.
And it was there Pippin found Merry, sitting with Estella. It was an unusual trait in a lass, but she matched him pint for pint from their initial meeting, and they looked cozy and glowing. They reminded him of a portrait, and his heart ached unexpectedly.
He used to paint, before; since he fought the Troll, he had not been able to handle brushes the same way: his hand cramped and the brushes dropped too easily. Diamond encouraged him weekly to pick them up; it was a friendly argument, that never failed to bring a sad smile to his face. He could not say how much it hurt to be unable to express his heart upon the vellum as he used to.
He almost paused – the firelight behind Estella's hair gleamed in an amber shine, as she leaned forward to steal a kiss mischievously. Merry, obviously didn't mind, given his tell-tale flush; from this distance, Pippin knew he would be red from the neck up. A give-away from every Brandybuck he had ever known, particularly Merry. A shared blanket, of bright green and fuzzy thread, spread across their legs and trailed onto the floor. A scene familiar to Pippin himself; how many evenings had he and Diamond spent together? how many mornings had she pressed her lips against his, teasing and gleaming in the pale sunlight that streamed in across their bed?
Yet his problem would not be solved without help, and who better than Merry? His oldest friend. Pippin steeled his resolve, and wove his way through the throng of Hobbits, ignoring the serving lass who offered him a cheeky wink along the way. Married or not, they knew he always tipped generously when he dined out.
Estella glanced up as he approached, a blushing, happy smile on her face. "Pippin!" she exclaimed. "What brings ye so far? How fares Diamond?"
"Diamond brings me," he answered soberly, and her smile slipped. He felt no small guilt, but did not know how to explain the heaviness within. Merry, catching the exchange, reached up to whisper in her ear. She nodded, and fell off his lap. "I'll be retrieving ye a hot drink. Mind ye, Merry! Seems we have some work to do!" She blew a kiss at him, and disappeared behind the crowd, dodging an unfriendly hand.
Pippin watched her briefly, before turning back to his friend. Estella's liveliness was so…vivid. Fresh. Diamond seemed to float in their smial, untouchable, cold. Tears fell down his face, hot, before he could stop them, and tried to wipe them away quickly. Merry caught his hand.
"Pip? What ails you? What is happening with Diamond?" Brown eyes glittered with concern and worry, wrinkles dissipating his happy flush.
And so Pippin explained, haltingly, stumblingly: the lack of conversations, the lack of touch, the silence in the smial. How he felt Diamond was beyond his reach. He barely noticed when Estella returned and pressed mulled cider into his hands, ("sending him home drunk would do no one good," he faintly heard) and when he took sips. He only realized several moments later, when somehow the mug was empty, and his face completely wet, that he had been weeping and drinking simultaneously. He could not stop.
"It hurts," he palmed his face. "It hurts, Merry, and I cannot fix it."