The large farm table was crowded as it had not been in a long time; in addition to the Cottons ( Tolman, Lily, Tom, Rosie, Jolly, Nick and Nibs ), there were three Gamgees ( the Gaffer, Sam and Marigold ) one Baggins ( Frodo ) and four Brandybucks ( Saradoc, Esmeralda, Meriadoc and Berilac ). Every bench was filled and chairs and stools had been pulled up to corners. The hungry hobbits ate elbow to elbow, enjoying themselves immensely on the hearty farm fare that Lily offered, assisted by her daughter and her feminine guests.

The sleeping arrangements had finally been decided after much discussion. Tom, Jolly, Nick and Nibs would be bunking in the stable; their parents would take their room; Saradoc and Esmeralda would take the parents’ room and Merry and Beri would sleep with Frodo and Sam in the spare room they currently shared. ( “That’s not a problem,” Merry had said, “we got quite used to four hobbits to a bed while we were gone.”  Berilac said nothing, it had been a few years, but as a child in Brandy Hall, four to six little Hobbits in a bed was not unusual. ) The Gaffer would keep to his cot by the kitchen fire, and Rosie still shared her room with Marigold.

After the meal, most of the hobbits still sat about the table, nibbling and “filling up the corners”; but first Tom and Marigold, and then Sam and Rose, slipped out to “take the air”--followed by knowing smiles and the admonishment of Mrs. Cotton to “keep yourselves well covered out there in the cold.” Frodo also excused himself and went into the front room.

After a little while, Esmeralda followed.

She found Frodo ensconced by the fire with a book, naturally. He sat there, absorbed, his right hand toying with the jewel that hung about his neck. Merry had told her it was a gift to Frodo from the Queen, who was an Elf, and that it was more than just a trinket. She tried not to stare at the place where his finger was missing, and noticed the resigned posture of his body. After a few seconds, he became aware of her regard.

“Hullo, Aunt Esme; did you tire of the crowd?” Although Frodo had long been an adult, he still used the fond courtesy title of childhood for his cousin’s wife.

“Not so much tire of the crowd, as wish a chance to see you away from it. We’ve not had a chance yet to speak alone.”

Frodo closed the book and sat forward. “Come, join me then.  How have things been for you?”

“All is well now. Merry is home, you and Pippin are home, Paladin seems to be over his temper finally, and those brutes are gone from the Shire. I would say I am doing very well.”

“But you *were* not doing well before, were you? I know how hard it must have been while we were gone, worried and distressed. Believe me when I say that I often regret allowing Merry and Pippin to come with me.  So many times, I thought of you and Uncle Sara and Pip’s family, worried sick not knowing if your sons were even alive.” The pain behind his beautiful blue eyes was intense.

“Still, from what Merry has told us, there was no choice but for you to leave--I’m glad they were with you, and Sam, too. We missed you, Frodo, dear, and worried about you.”

A startled, tentative look came over him. “You did?”

“Of course we did. Silly me, I had been looking forward to having you live nearby in Crickhollow, thinking I would get a chance to see you more often. You know, Merry was not the only one sad when you moved in with Bilbo. I know that I could never have taken your mother’s place with you, Frodo, but for me, you had been quite like a son for many years.”

Frodo’s eyes filled. “Oh, Aunt Esme! I do miss them still.”

Her own eyes teared. “I know you do, dearest, so do I.”

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Merry stood alone on the battlefield. It stretched for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see, in every direction, littered with the broken bodies of Men and Orcs and trolls, spattered with blood red and black, and staring with sightless eyes at a flat grey sky. Somewhere here he had to find it, something hidden on this field of carrion. Buried under one of the bodies. Under the body of a troll, he was now certain, though he still could not think of what he had to find. A troll’s body would be hard to shift; he surely could use some help--where was Pip when he needed him? Pip? Suddenly he knew what he was looking for-- PIPPIN! 

Screaming his cousin's name in anguish, Merry suddenly awoke to an unfamiliar darkness, as around him voices began a familiar litany.

“It’s all right, Merry,” Frodo’s voice, gentle and calm, his arms finding Merry in the dark to hold him. “It was a dream. Come back to the light.”

“We’re here, Mr. Merry, don’t you fret,” Sam’s voice, confident and kind.

“Merry?” That *wasn’t* Pippin’s voice! It was supposed to be *Pippin’s* voice. Where was Pippin’s voice?

“Pip?” Merry whimpered, as Frodo rocked him, making soothing sounds. “Pippin?”

“Strike a candle, Sam,” said Frodo.

“What’s wrong with Merry?” said not-Pippin. It was a familiar voice, though--Berilac?

Suddenly the here and now came clear, as Sam brought over a lit candle. Merry drew a deep shuddering breath as Frodo held him close. “Oh, Frodo,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, dearest, you don’t have to be sorry,” Frodo said gently.

He felt Sam’s strong arm about him. “Don’t fret about that, Mr. Merry. It’s just your turn tonight. But we’re here.”

“And Pip’s fine over at the Great Smials.” Frodo reminded him.

Merry opened his eyes to see Berilac peering at him in confused concern, while Frodo and Sam still held him close. “Merry, are you all right? What were you dreaming?"

Suddenly Berilac found himself the object of three reproachful gazes. He felt alien, an outsider, who had stepped where he didn’t belong.

“What?” he said defensively, “My mother says you should always speak an evil dream to keep it from returning.”

Merry gave a bitter laugh.

“I’m sorry, Beri, but this dream has been spoken before,” said Frodo softly.

“And it’s not the only dream’s been spoken,” added Sam, “nor Mr. Merry the only one to have them.”

Berilac sat down abruptly, stunned at the implication. “Oh.”

Frodo looked at him, blue eyes full of pain. “It’s just part of a price that had to be paid.”

*Part* of a price? thought Berilac. His eyes strayed to Frodo’s right hand as it patted Merry’s head soothingly, and not for the first time that day, he wondered.

_________________________________________

In the Geat Smials, Pippin lay awake. He’d had no nightmares since the night he’d talked to his father, though he’d no doubt they would sooner or later return. But he had awakened to a strong feeling that Merry needed him. That was silly. Merry was safer now than he’d been in over a year, back with his family, and soon to be here to see him. Still, he found it hard to get back to sleep.

They’d all had trouble sleeping after the War. Once they had begun to heal physically, the nightmares had begun, for all of them. Frodo’s were the most often, almost every single night unless he was dosed with something; Sam’s, less frequent, but more intense when they occurred, nearly always of Shelob, would wake him shrieking in terror. Merry and Pippin had several different recurring evil dreams which woke them in a panic, often at the same time, that left them clutching at one another.  Merry's often seemed worse, possibly because he had been so often exposed to the Black Breath.

At first, Strider had thought that having them in the same room was causing them to feed off one another’s fears, so he had thought that separating them might help. It made them worse. So they were once more allowed to sleep together in the same room; they had tried telling the dreams out loud, they had tried all kinds of things. It was found that if Gandalf or Legolas watched over them as they slept, the dreams would dissipate, but as Frodo pointed out, this was hardly fair to the Wizard or the Elf, and would do them no good later on when they returned home.  Legolas would have been perfectly willing to sit with them every night for the rest of their lives if it would spare them, and generously and seriously offered to do so, but Gandalf agreed with Frodo that the hobbits could not get on with their lives like that.

After Arwen gave Frodo her jewel, his dreams were less troubled, though sleep still remained difficult.  But her gift was unique and could not be shared with the others.

Yet after Midsummer, when they finally began to return home, things had begun to gradually improve and none of them had suffered so since Rivendell, until Pippin came home. But Lord Elrond had warned them that the effects of the Last Homely House would only be temporary, and that they would most likely have spells of these dreams for the rest of their lives. Lovely.

Pippin wondered if maybe Merry was having a bad night. “It’s all right, Merry. Be well.” he murmured, as he settled back down to try and sleep.

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