Content Warning: This story touches on the issue of the death of an infant, which I know that some people may find painful, especially if they have had experience of such a tragedy. Therefore I have put this warning at the beginning for anyone who wishes to avoid being upset.

Note: The word used in the title, "Kali", is Westron for joy/merry. According to Tolkien, it was Merry's nickname as spoken in the Hobbit's common tongue (which Tolkien 'translated' for Lord Of The Rings).

With thanks to MarigoldG for the Beta

***

“Merry?” Pippin’s voice filled Crickhollow. “Merry come on, we’re wasting the light.”

There was Merry, sat in the corner of the garden, staring out into the fields that surrounded the cosy dwelling. He didn’t respond to Pippin, he simply stared as if unable or unwilling to hear.

“Merry,” Pippin said cheerfully. “Are you ready to help rid the Shire of evil?”

Merry still said nothing.

“Merry, what’s wrong?”

“Merry?” A voice spoke behind Pippin and he turned to see Frodo, who was visiting for the week, standing in the doorway. He said softly, “Do you need anything Cousin?”

“No,” Merry’s voice was flat, lifeless.

Pippin swallowed hard. “What’s wrong with him?”

Frodo placed an arm around the tweenager’s shoulders and lead him into the hallway of the little house.

“He’s upset about something,” Pippin said. “Is it me?”

Frodo shook his head. “You forget Cousin. Today is November 17^th.”

“Oh,” Pippin nodded, realisation suddenly dawning. “Oh poor Merry.”

Frodo nodded, continuing sadly, “1419. He would have come of age this year.”

***

The room was deathly quiet, and so cold. The very air itself seemed to bite his skin despite the warm fire glowing in the corner, light sharpening the shadows that surrounded the…the…

Before him the tiny child swallowed hard, and Frodo carefully reached down to grasp both of Merry’s shoulders. He fought back his own tears, felt the burning in the back of his throat and eyes, but he controlled it. Merry needed his strength; there would be time for his own tears later.

Aunt Esme’s scarf was lying on the floor where it had been dropped during her own visit, with Saradoc, and the blanket in the small cot was still spotted in places, showing where tears had fallen upon it. They had left recently.

It must have been so hard for them to say goodbye…

And now it was Merry’s turn.

Frodo tightened his grip on the lad. Merry had been so excited the past nine months, relentlessly planning the stories and jokes he would tell, how he would go about teaching games and pranks, how he would sneak treats when their parents weren’t looking. He had even decided on which of his toys he would pass along on his birthdays, and which year he would give each of them.

Years. It had barely been a day.

He was so small.

“Hello Rorimac.” Merry’s voice was barely audible even in the silence of the room. “I’m your big brother Merry, and that’s our cousin Frodo, we came to see you.”

Rorimac didn’t respond, he would never say anything.

Frodo reached across and gently, ever so gently, ran a finger across the velvety skin of the baby’s cheek. Merry did the same, so softly that he was hardly touching Rorimac at all. With his finger he travelled down the little body, which was dressed in pure white clothing, to rest in the palm of the tiny hand.

For a small, tender moment, it seemed to Frodo that the hand clasped the child’s finger, but he knew that it was his imagination.

“He’s so quiet.”

Merry started humming softly, his finger drawing a gentle half circle on the silky palm. Frodo stood behind him in respectful silence, thumbs massaging Merry’s shoulders.

The song slowly died out, stopped, silent. “Did you like that Rory? Mummy sings it to me sometimes, maybe she will sing it to you as well.”

The sensation in Frodo’s throat was stronger now, his eyes spilled over. “Come on Merry, we have to say goodbye now.”

“Why?” The tiny child looked up at Frodo, eyes wide.

“Because Rorimac’s sleeping forever.” Frodo’s voice felt painful to use. “Do you remember when Missy started sleeping forever?” He asked, remembering the pet field mouse the young hobbit’s had kept for two years.

Merry nodded solemnly.

“Well Rorimac is sleeping forever as well now, so we have to say goodbye like we did with Missy.”

“All right,” Merry said, carefully pulling his finger out of the palm. He leaned down and kissed little Rorimac’s forehead. “Goodbye Rory,” he said quietly.

Frodo could hear a world of sadness in the words. Little Merry knew that he would never see his brother again, even if at that moment he didn’t understand why.

***

Till his own dying day, Merry never understood why.

*** *** ***

Thanks for reading

Please leave a review to let me know what you liked / didn't like.