You're My Light in the Dark

Chapter 13: Acceptance

The next few days were very difficult. Lauren was listless and roamed around Bag End in a depressed fog. It was difficult to watch and even more painful to deal with because she didn't want to talk about it. She cooked meals and all time spent in between she locked herself in our room, effectively closing herself off from the rest of the world. She hadn't left the house at all, hadn't gone to work at the Green Dragon, hadn't done any training, and perhaps the most concerning of all, she would barely talk to me.

After about a week I had enough.

I sat in the hallway, propped up against the locked bedroom door, leaning my head back against the polished wood. "This can't keep going on, Lauren," I said through the door, loud enough so she could hear. "It's not healthy to coop yourself up like this."

Silence met my words.

"I get it, you don't want to talk – fine. But there is something you need to know. You've had a lot of days off from work. I arranged a little bit of a vacation for you, but you've kind of used it up. Rosie came by earlier and said that Primrose expects you in to tend the bar tonight." I heard the bed sheets rustle, then footsteps crossing the floor. Knowing she finally cracked, I got to my feet just as the lock clicked and the door slid open ever so slightly.

Hair and clothes bedraggled, she looked a mess. Gripping the doorframe, face pale, she admitted softly, "I don't think I can go back there."

"You're going to have to see him eventually," I returned.

"I know," Lauren said. "It's not Merry. Not really. It's just… if all that was said to my face I don't want to think about what's been said behind my back – our backs. The gossip. To think I've been running about 'spending all my time with boys – and not the right kind of time, if you get my meaning'," she spat out the last bit mockingly, no doubt parroting one of the many wisdoms of Esmeralda Brandybuck. "I'm an idiot."

I rolled my eyes at her. "No, you're not. Besides, since when have you ever cared about what other people think of you?" I said, falling back into our teenage American mindsets — us against the world — the very same attitude we used to embrace daily when dealing with petty, combative people because of our highly competitive sports. "Last time I checked, Lauren Tamsin isn't a girl that takes shit from anybody – let alone a meddling bitch."

She laughed a bit at that, smacking my arm. "Kat!" she exclaimed reproachfully through her giggles. "That's Merry's mum you're talking about!" But since she was laughing, and since she's been making herself sick over what that woman said to her, she didn't sound disapproving at all. In fact, it seemed she enjoyed my trash talk.

"Yeah, well, I don't have much respect for people who treat my sister like an asshole," I explained with a shrug. "So fuck her."

That earned me a small smile as a resigned determination stole over her features. "Yeah, you're right," she said, giving a nod.

"Of course I'm right." I slung an arm over her shoulder, steering her down the hallway in a half-hug. "And it's not like you didn't already know that. You just needed the reminder. Now come on, let's get some breakfast."

Lauren barked out a small surprised laugh. "Breakfast, really? God, you're turning into such a hobbit," she commented. I could practically hear the eye-roll in her tone. She flashed me an amused side-long glance.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, but, you know what I mean. I'm just saying that it's nice to see, I guess. I don't think I've ever seen you this happy since… well, ever, Kat. I've never seen you this happy." We reached the kitchen, and I gave her shoulder one last squeeze before letting go. Motioning her to take a seat, I went to the counter to retrieve the leftover cider, hardboiled eggs, and scones from earlier. "And recent bullshit aside, I've been pretty damn happy too," she continued, pulling out a chair and plopping herself in it.

I set a plate and a glass of cider on the table in front of her. Her expression turned sad again as she picked up one of the hardboiled eggs, holding it up between thumb and forefinger, eyes closing as if in pain at her own thoughts. It's not hard to understand why: there'd been a time, not that long ago, where all we'd been allowed to eat for breakfast was a single hardboiled egg. Hardly enough sustenance for the training we did at the time. This morning, however, I made sure to give her three, with two scones and plenty of her favorite raspberry jam. "I'm sorry," I said, "Bilbo asked for them this morning."

With a bite to her lip, she shook her head. "No, it's okay. I was just thinking… is this what life's supposed to be like?"

Such solemnity behind her words. A heaviness settled in the air between us, full of the dark depression and hopelessness our reality used to be. So completely at odds with the warmth and cheer I've come to associate with our new home.

"I'd like to think so."

Banging the egg against the tabletop absentmindedly, cracking the shell, she admitted, "Yeah, me too."

At the Green Dragon that evening Lauren kept herself as busy as she could. Between clearing tables and taking orders she kept her head down and hummed songs to herself, with a goal of avoiding as much conversation as possible and to keep her mind off her own sullen thoughts. It was tricky at times, especially since some of the regulars like Filibert Bolger and Sam's father expressed great concern that she had needed an extended absence at all. Nosy, nosy people. But deep down she knew they meant well. Lauren waved their questions off with as big a smile as she could muster, saying, "I was feeling under the weather for a few days."

"It was nothing too serious, I hope," Sam's Gaffer said, a pipe sticking out of his mouth, smoke furling around him.

"No, nothing serious at all," she assured, refilling the old gentlehobbits' brews. Short and to the point is the way to reply to these sorts of talkative hobbits, otherwise the conversation will never end. Normally she was more than happy to oblige them – that was part of the reason she loved her job – she could talk ears off and listen just as eagerly. But today was not the day for that. Certainly not when she had a feeling that half the Shire already knew what transpired at Brandy Hall the week before, a thought which didn't sit well with her at all and made her stomach tie into knots just thinking about it.

A patron at the bar called for another refill; saving her from answering any more of the gentlehobbits' concerned questions. Lauren gave the old hobbits a smile, and as she turned away Filibert lifted his tankard to her. "To your health, dear lass." The Gaffer nodded, and some younger hobbits at surrounding tables who had been eavesdropping seconded the toast, lifting their own glasses with a chorus of, "Here, here!" For a small moment she was stunned. It wasn't a reaction she was expecting in the least. To see them all care about her was touching.

Circling around tables, when Lauren reached the bar she saw the two hobbits she spent the whole week trying to avoid camped out on barstools right in front of the tap, and therefore, right in front of her face. She had been duped. No one was looking for seconds or thirds – it had been these two calling her over. Pippin looked quite pleased with himself, as if he'd won a bet, and knowing their antics, it wouldn't surprise her if the two had bet on when and where they would run into her first.

Merry, on the other hand, seemed agitated more than anything else. He was leaning over the counter on his elbows; arms crossed and giving her a dark look from under his big, furrowed eyebrows. "Why the bloody hell have you been avoiding me?" he asked, tone conveying he wasn't pleased in the slightest.

"Us," Pippin piped up, correcting him. But the comment was largely ignored by both Merry and Lauren.

"You know perfectly well why," she replied, grabbing two mugs from the clean stock and making quick work of filling them up with ale.

"If it makes you feel any better Aunt Esme isn't too fond of me either," Pippin said with sympathy as she slid the drinks in front of them.

Lauren frowned at that. "Why's that, Pip?"

"She seems to think that I hurt Merry's chances of wooing lasses," he explained pointedly, taking a swig of ale, with Merry rolling his eyes beside him the whole while. "Like I scare them off or what have you. And as if he needs any help scaring them off."

Merry gave his cousin a swift smack in the ribs for that. "Quit it! Honestly." Words, which, of course, never end an argument but always tend to begin one instead.

"But it's true!"

"Like hell it is!"

"Prove it then!"

"I don't need to prove anything to you! I'm not interested, besides."

"What, in lasses?"

"No, you idiot. In doing whatever my mother tells me to do."

Damn, it felt good to be with her friends again. They always could make her laugh, even without really meaning to. Lauren couldn't help but grin at the pair, something Merry picked up on immediately. "So you're not mad at us then?"

"Of course not." At their matching expressions that all but said 'you could have fooled us' she continued, "I guess I just needed some time to reflect on what your mother said to me."

Merry tilted his head to the side; his hazel eyes alight with curiosity. "What did my mum say to you anyway?" he asked, swirling the liquid around in his glass in a nonchalant sort of way. As if it wasn't a big deal. Even though both he and Pippin already knew that it was – that it had to be – otherwise Lauren wouldn't have reacted as badly as she did.

She was wiping the counters off with a dishrag when he asked it and she completely stilled at the question. She felt kind of like a deer caught in headlights. A million thoughts seemed to pop into her head at once, like the nature of their relationship that his mother had insinuated, something far dirtier and more complicated than the simple friendship they had, not to mention the accusations that she monopolized his time, and kept him away from other lasses. Does she monopolize him? Lauren hadn't really thought about it before Esmeralda brought it up, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't want anything to change. The thought of spending less time with him, or of another girl spending more, just seemed weird and unrealistic. And what does that mean? Well, maybe she likes him a lot more than she had been willing to admit.

"I would rather not talk about it," she finally said, trying her best to not seem flustered – not that it worked. They sensed the hesitation with ease.

"You're blushing!" Pippin, who was ever tactful, pointed out with some astonishment. He leaned forward over the bar with glee. "That must've been some talk. Come on, we're all friends here, you can tell us."

"It was nothing!" she insisted, pressing a hand to her flushed face, almost as if to hide it.

"Like I'd ever believe it was nothing!"

"Dammit Pip, leave me alone!" and with that, she turned on her heel and sped away from the bar, Pippin not far behind.

Merry stayed at the bar sipping at his drink silently as he watched his friends, a pleased smirk pulling at his lips. Lauren's reaction alone gave him all the answers he needed.

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my sketchbook, paper and charcoal pieces scattered all around me, when Lauren came home that evening.

"So how did it go?" I called out. I could hear her hang up her coat and keys before making her way down the hall.

"Fine, though I'll probably never hear the end of it from Merry and Pippin," she said as she came into the kitchen, a bag slung over her shoulder. She gave a long, wide-eyed stare around the room. "Jeez, did a hurricane blow through here or what?" she commented, taking note of the mess.

I let my head fall to the table with a tired thud. "I wanted to draw some things from home to give Frodo some visual references but I'm having a hard time with it. There is just so much stuff that we can cover so I don't really even know where to begin."

Lauren nodded in understanding, giving me a small pat on the back. "We'll figure it out, Kat." After a moment she reached out to trace her fingertips across a very rough sketch of a modern city and it's skyscrapers that was lying nearby. She had a faraway look in her blue eyes, her thoughts drawn to the past and the world we had been pulled from. "Are you going to tell him about the Lord of the Rings?" she asked softly. Her bangs, in a bad need of a trim, hung in her face like a blonde curtain, and she peeked out from beneath them as she turned her gaze toward me. She has been through so much the past few days, I knew she was asking so she could mentally prepare herself for another onslaught if need be. But there's nothing to worry about, not with that.

"How can I?" I returned, my tone conveying the impossibility of the idea. It's bad enough that we know what's to come. In a few years time, Frodo's going to be forced into a terrible position by carrying the Ring to Mordor – a horrifying ordeal wracked with a lot of pain, death, and responsibility. That kind of knowledge can be devastating. I shook my head. "No, some things are better left unsaid."