Chapter Forty Five - Pippin’s Riddle

Merry’s eyes flew open; something had woke him. All was dark inside his room save for a single candle burning on the nightstand. He felt childish, but since he returned from the War, Merry always kept a candle burning through the night. He lay there wondering if it was already morning, then he heard it--or rather, heard Pippin. Merry heard his cousin shout from across the expanse of the apartment and into his own room. Merry let out a weary sigh; the nightmares had returned. He rose from the bed, pulling on his night robe. Taking his candle, Merry stumbled out of his room then through the sitting room towards Pippin’s bedroom. He put a hand to his throbbing head as he moved forward. The young hobbit bumped into one of the fireplace chairs in the dimness of the solitary light he had brought with him. He quickly recovered, however, his candle broke and the flame went out in the process. Merry was relieved to know that he wouldn’t be the one to send the Smials up in flames today. He wasn’t too worried about the darkness just now. Pippin also kept a candle burning in his room. He proceeded on.

Merry almost panicked when he saw it was pitch dark inside Pippin’s bedroom. Of all times, why wasn’t the candle lit now? Merry held his arms out in front, as he felt for an object he could recognize by touch. “Coming, Pippin,” said Merry. Pippin was no longer yelling, but kept mumbling something that Merry couldn’t quite make out. He felt his hands bump a piece of furniture as they searched the air before him--it was the wardrobe! Merry knew the wardrobe by the feel of the door to this particular section of it. The wardrobe faced out from the foot of the bed. Opening the door, Merry felt clothing hanging inside. He now knew where he was in relation to the room. Instantly, he began making his way to the left, around the corner, past the bureau, then up towards the small “entry” between the bureau and nightstand. “Pip! It’s me--Merry.”

Determination rewarded Merry when he finally felt the mattress under his groping hands. “Wake up, Pippin!” said Merry, climbing onto the bed. He had hoped that the sound of his voice would rouse his cousin from the nightmare. It was working; Pippin had quieted some. His hoarse voice now reduced to whimpering. “Pip?” Merry sat down next to his dear friend to console him, feeling the feverish heat Pippin emitted. “It’s all right, Pippin,” Merry spoke in a soft voice, wrapping an arm around the lad. “I’m right here.”

Pippin became vaguely aware that he was waking up from an odd dream--not a nightmare, but a dream. He felt dampness upon his cheeks and in his eyes. Pippin had barely caught the last part of his cousin’s remark. “I’m here,” Merry repeated again, holding Pippin close to him. Pippin rested against Merry’s shoulder while he himself further awakened. He wiped at a tickling sensation that had become fixed halfway down his warm face. His hand came away feeling wet…he’d been crying.

The two cousins sat in silence for a long while, Merry gently rocking Pippin in his arms. It was when he heard the servants stirring about the tunnels in preparation for first breakfast that Merry ventured a question. “Want to talk about it?” he asked softly, breaking the stillness of the room. Dawn still had to be more than an hour away.

Resting his head upon Merry’s shoulder, Pippin had contemplated his dream ever since he woke up. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. “No,” Pippin whispered, afraid that if he talked about the “dream” it would come true.

This confused Merry. The chief reason he and his cousin had become roommates at Crickhollow was the nightmares they were experiencing. Nightmares that consisted of terrors--shared and isolated--while on the Quest. When one cousin went through a spell, the other was there to talk--to help console the other. Thankfully, Merry wasn’t easily put off by Pippin’s refusal. “Pip…we’ve done this countless times,” said Merry. “I’m here to listen, to help you through this. I don’t know about you, but I’ve found that talking about my nightmares helps me.”

Pippin sat up, reaching into the drawer of his nightstand for a handkerchief to clean his face. When he was finished, he leaned back again on Merry’s shoulder. He felt safe there. “It isn’t one of my usual nightmares, Merry. This one is different.” Without realizing he had been baited, Pippin went on. “It begins with me walking somewhere in the Shire--somewhere that I’ve never been. I’m walking near a brook, then suddenly Rosebud appears; not as a baby, but as a young lass.” Pippin dabbed at his nose that still ran. Wiping more tears wasn’t far off, either, as his emotions began to stir once again. Merry was silent as his cousin gathered himself for more. “It’s not so much what she says, as the feeling I get in my heart. She keeps telling me that she doesn’t get sick anymore, or she doesn’t cough anymore. Then she asks me to make a promise.”

“What sort of promise?” asked Merry. What sort of promise should a child want her parents to make? Bake more biscuits at Yule? To purchase a one-of-a-kind toy on a whim from the dwarves far away in their mountain? Merry felt Pippin begin to tremble in his arms, yet the lad wasn’t cold. In any case, Merry pulled up on the blanket, covering them both.

Pippin had a sinking feeling his stomach. Fear filled his heart once again. “She…she says,” Pippin paused, clutching onto Merry’s arm, “‘When the time comes, you have to let me go.’”

Merry didn’t understand the portent of the dream although he could readily see how it would upset his cousin. “It’s just a dream, Pip. Perhaps it’s in relation to her getting married one day.”

Pippin shook his head, sniffling, “No, Merry, it’s not. And it frightens me.” Tears glistened in Pippin’s eyes.

“How many times have you had this troubling dream?” asked Merry.

“Twice now,” said Pippin, on the verge of tears.

“Pippin, why don’t I make us some tea? A nice hot cup will make you feel better.”

A short while later, Merry brought a tea tray into Pippin’s bedroom, setting it on the nightstand. Both hobbits sat on the bed where Rosebud slept, leaning against the wall under the blanket. Pippin used part of the blanket to shield his hands from the hot ceramic cup as he sipped the steaming liquid. “Did you put Merimas’ elixir in my tea?” he asked. “Father said he left a vial on the table--for my headache. I don’t have one, but I feel awful nonetheless.”

“No,” answered Merry, grinning. “I, um…I know of your slight aversion to my cousin’s tonics.”

“I shouldn’t call it an aversion,” said Pippin, after a careful sip of his tea. “I simply like to choose what I ingest and when.”

“Well, I placed the vial on the tray lest you wanted any, but I didn’t pour any of it into your cup. I did put some of it in mine, though,” said Merry, rubbing his temple in affirmation of his own achy head.

Pippin took the bottle--now only half full--from the tray and poured a small amount of the liquid into his cup, after which he stirred more milk and honey into his tea. The lads sipped their tea in comfortable silence for a while. Pippin’s thoughts kept returning to his dream. “‘When the time comes... ’,” he muttered under his breath, repeating the promise he was supposed to make in the vision.

Pippin’s words caught Merry off guard. “Sorry?”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it all,” answered Pippin, still feeling dismayed about his dream--the promise in particular.

Merry patted his cousin’s arm, “It’s just a dream, Pip--nothing more.”

Still mulling it over Pippin replied, “I’m not so sure.”

Throughout the following week, Pippin mused on his puzzling dream but never came close to solving the riddle--which still unnerved him. Normally, hobbits loved riddles, especially Pippin; however, this one involved someone whom he loved dearly. Someone who was the beat of his heart: Rosebud. Pippin lost more and more sleep at night because he feared having the dream again--much like the nightmares. In some ways, this “dream” was worse than some of the nightmares he’d had.

On the anniversary of Lilas’ death, Pippin dressed Rosebud warmly and put her in the pram. They were going for a long walk. “We’re going to visit your momma, Rosebud,” he said, tying the strings of her bonnet. “I’m sure you miss her, don’t you?” He smiled, listening to her “reply” while he folded his summer cloak, laying it inside the pram. There was plenty of room inside for his cloak and a sack containing a picnic lunch for them both.

It was a lovely day for walking in the Shire as it turned out. Not a rain cloud in the sky. Pippin breathed in deep the fragrant air of the meadows he passed. At this time of the year--late Thrimmidge--flowers were all in bloom; reds, yellows, and golds were scattered about the meadow he passed. It had been a while since Pippin took a long walk by himself to sort things out. Well…he wasn’t truly alone today, but the level of conversation from his daughter wasn’t exactly one to interrupt his thoughts too terribly, either.

Before long, Pippin found himself sitting on a grassy knoll overlooking the graveyard. He had spread out his cloak onto the grass enabling him and Rosebud to sit and enjoy their lunch in the lovel sunshine. Pippin spread butter onto a chunk of bread, breaking off pieces for Rosebud to chew. As long as the food lasted, Rosebud was content. Where do you put it all, he thought to himself, observing her eat the bread he gave her. For a baby, you eat a lot! Such a wee lass…spindly legs and arms…you’ve never had baby fat. Always cold…frail. Pippin pulled his baby daughter onto his lap, listening to her protests--after all, there was more food to be had. “But you’re my beautiful, spindly lass!” he said, giving her a kiss. “I love you, Rosebud.” Pippin sighed…noticing that her nose was runny. “Oh, Muffin,” he said, pulling out his pocket-handkerchief. “Please don’t be sick again.”

Pippin gazed around the glen below where the grave markers stood against time. A soft wind swept past his face as his eyes lifted to the heavens. This place suddenly made Pippin feel uneasy. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end as the dream resurfaced in his mind. Pippin shivered, drawing his jacket close about him and the baby. “Come on, Rosebud. It’s time to go home.”

Before going back to his apartment, Pippin stopped in the garden to engage in tranquil thought whilst sorting out the enigma in the graveyard…and the riddle a couple weeks ago. Both items brought about fear…and dread within him. He pushed the pram along the paths until he found a patch of sunlight. He saw no bench to sit on nearby, so he spread out his cloak again. The breeze was a tad cool here in the garden--mainly due to the bits of shade. Pippin wrapped Rosebud in her blanket to keep her warm.

It bothered him greatly that she didn’t argue whenever he did this; she merely laid her head down to doze. Pippin thought his baby daughter ought to be an active fauntling by now--trying to squirm out of his grasp, ready to investigate everything life had to offer her. Yet Rosebud never fought. She played with her cousins less and less, although she occasionally played with her blocks. Rosebud mostly enjoyed her spoon, her papa, and food--though not necessarily in that order. “Do you want to play the peek-a-boo game?” Pippin asked her. Rosebud raised her head when her papa spoke, then lay her head again on his shoulder, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “I guess not.” Pippin listened to his daughter’s soft breathing as his mind wandered far and near. He could hear the congestion rattling each time she drew in air. This didn’t bode well. He stood up to put Rosebud back in her pram with no other thought than to take her in doors--and perhaps seek out Merimas--who was tending an ill Pervinca this past week.

Suddenly, Rosebud started to cough. It seemed worse than the spell she had this morning. Moreover, she had been refusing her medicine again. After a minute of listening to his daughter cough and gasp for air, Pippin began to worry. This spell didn’t stop as it normally would. “Easy, Muffin,” he held her close, rubbing her back. Next thing he knew, her lunch was dripping down his back. Pippin left the pram behind in the garden, holding Rosebud tight as he ran for the main entrance.