Chapter Fifty - A Lullaby for Rosebud

“He’s asking for Rosebud,” Merry announced to the family in the sitting room. His brow wrinkled in confusion; he wondered why they were passing anxious looks between themselves. “Where is she?”

“She’s in your bedroom,” answered Paladin. “With your Aunt Tina.”

When Merry walked through the door of his bedroom, the late afternoon sun stabbed at his eyes through the yellow curtains. He closed his eyelids until they adjusted to the brightness of the room. Entering fully, Merry’s eyes glistened with tears when he saw his fragile niece lying motionless in his aunt’s arms. Slowly he approached the pair then saw that his auntie was crying. She looked up; her eyes met with his. “They said…it won’t be long now,” Eglantine cried softly.

Merry felt those very words rip his heart in two. He could readily see that Rosebud’s breathing had become laborious; the wee babe was spent. Merry thought his tears had been exhausted earlier, yet more fell from his eyes as he wept again. He tenderly ran his fingertips through Rosebud’s soft curls, over her thin eyebrows, her small round nose, her lips. She stirred at his familiar touch, though did not wake. Merry could not believe this sweet baby that he helped to care for would soon be gone. With deep sadness, Merry kissed her forehead. He finally glanced at Eglantine, speaking softly, “Pippin is asking for her.”

“Does he know?” she asked Merry.

The young hobbit shook his head in reply, wiping away tears. “I didn’t know until you just told me. Why didn’t my cousin say something to me?”

“I don’t know,” Eglantine answered. “How is Pippin? I haven’t been in to see him since I fed him the broth this afternoon.”

Merry stood up with Rosebud in his arms. “He’s the same.”

“For the present,” remarked Eglantine. She feared what might happen when Pippin would learn about his daughter.

* * *

Pippin breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his baby daughter in the arms of his cousin. However, instantly he knew something was wrong with his little girl. He looked at Merry, searching his face for…

“Pippin,” Merry began, sitting down on the bed next to his friend. If the healers aren’t going to say anything, he reasoned, someone ought to tell him. However, Merry would have much rather faced the Witch King again than tell his closest friend that his daughter’s time was coming to an end. “Aunt Tina just told me something…”

Pippin looked at his lifelong friend, his skin prickling. “What did my mother tell you?”

Merry couldn’t look at Pippin; instead, he gazed out the window searching for a distraction. A bluebird alighted in the bough of a tall ash that stood in the garden near the Smials.

“Merry?” Pippin saw the redness in Merry’s eyes. His own eyes filled with tears. “Did Merimas or Donnabelle say anything to you?”

Still gazing out the window, Merry swallowed hard, slowly shaking his head. “No. Neither one has. Donna was in the sitting room with Uncle Paladin and Pimpernel. I didn’t see Merimas, but…” he explained, looking at Pippin now, eyes glistening, “when I was in the sitting room, I saw it in their eyes.”

Pippin looked hard at his cousin, “I won’t believe it until they tell me.”

As if on cue, a knock was heard. Standing in the doorway was Donnabelle and Merimas. “May we come in?”

Pippin glanced at Merry. Every fibre in Pippin’s being wanted to scream a resounding no to both hobbits. He held Rosebud defensively, saying, “What do you want?”

“We should like to speak with you--alone,” Donnabelle replied, looking at Merry.

Merry started to get up only to be pulled back down by the distressed father. “He’ll stay, thank you.” Pippin didn’t feel as if he could face this alone.

Donnabelle sighed in frustration, “Pippin, I believe what we have to say should only be told to you--no one else.”

“Merry stays, and that’s final.”

“Merry,” Donnabelle turned to the younger Brandybuck. “You’re a reasonable--”

“Donna,” Merimas called to his colleague, then shook his head, wisely advising her to not press the issue. Pippin appeared as though he were about to explode with anger. “I believe my brother-in-law would benefit from the company of his friend,” said the younger healer, using his familial attachment. Pippin and Rosebud were not just ordinary patients to him; they were family. Merimas had only agreed to accompany Donnabelle in this miserable task after seeing Rosebud exhibit obvious signs of what was to befall her.

“Very well,” she answered Pippin, though not liking the idea of an audience. “Pippin,” she started again, yet spoke as tenderly as she could. “An hour ago I examined Rosebud. I found that her breathing was very shallow, her skin pasty, and her lips and fingernails colored with a hint of blue.”

Pippin looked from one healer to another. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Merimas spoke up then sat down on the bed near Merry, who was holding the young father’s hand. “It means that Rosebud is struggling…” Merimas found it difficult to remain professional. Tears fell from his eyes. “She’s struggling to breathe…to live.”

Pippin said nothing; his own eyes fixed on the sleeping child in his arms. After a moment his vision blurred, tears spilling onto her baby blanket in huge drops. The silence was broken with sobs from Merry. Merimas scooted closer to console his younger cousin, knowing Merry had lived with Rosebud since she was six weeks old. “Please go and invite Pippin’s mother and father inside here,” he said to Donnabelle, “they should be present to give their son comfort.”

Once Donnabelle left, Pippin asked one question he had. “How do we know that these signs you spoke of won’t go away?”

“They won’t go away,” answered Merimas. “These signs have been gradually appearing all day. Even I refused to believe it when Donna first shown them to me. Rosebud is hanging onto life by a thread right now, Pippin, and I don’t know why.” Merimas didn’t say to the lad that he had seen patients where they didn’t last this long.

Pippin sniffed, wiping his eyes, “Someone needs to inform the Broadhammers.”

* * *

There wasn’t a dry eye in Great Smials as soon as word spread about Rosebud’s condition. All the relatives and servants had at least one delightful encounter with the adorable, cheerful baby.

In the servant’s quarters, chitchat and rumors were at a minimum, out of respect for the family. “’Tisn’t right,” said Mistress Ivy, shaking her head sadly at her workmate, Fern. “The wee lass lost her mum right after bein’ born, and now her dad is gonna lose ’em both.” The hobbit-woman recalled Lilas, her one-time charge, making a special trip to the kitchens to show off her new daughter. “So tiny she was, when I first laid eyes on ’er -- and ’er mum in a wheelchair and all.”

Deep inside the Smials, in the Thain’s quarters, Paladin’s family gathered in Pippin’s bedroom, consoling the sick tweenager and holding their sweet granddaughter…or niece…probably for the last time.

There was laughter among the tears, remembering Rosebud’s first toy, or her first words. Merry was quiet, but he nodded, or at times a faint smile would appear at hearing some of the tales, yet sadness reigned in his heart. Pippin, still very sick, spoke not a word, nor smiled. His heart had shattered when Donnabelle broke the news to him. Pippin allowed his sisters, his parents, and cousins to briefly hold her, however, he let Merry hold Rosebud the longest.

After a while, Pippin requested that he be left alone for a time with his baby. He wanted to say a few words privately.

“So,” Pippin sniffed, once everyone had left, “you do intend leave, don’t you?” The baby slept peacefully in his lap. “Well, you can’t--I won’t let you.” She is hanging onto life by a thread, he heard Merimas’ words echo in his head, and I don’t know why.

“Why?” he wept. “Can’t you see that this is all tearing me apart?” Pippin never felt so miserable; both physically and emotionally. His chest was filled with congestion and his head blocked by a stuffy nose, which was caused by unfathomable anguish and tears. Now learning that the one person he loved most with all his heart would soon leave him was devastating Pippin. Once his beloved daughter was born, his family and dearest friend had become his second favorites. Rosebud held his heart in her hands the very moment she arrived.

“Please…let her stay,” he sobbed, beseeching the One above, “I promise…to be a better father.” Rosebud still did not move. When Pippin opened up her wee palm, her fingers wrapped reflexively around his. Reflex or not, Pippin was heartened by the response; she knew he was there with her. “Papa’s here, Muffin,” he whispered, tenderly kissing her forehead. It was while doing this that he heard wheezing noises in her efforts to take in air. Her lips indeed appeared more blue than a pinkish-red. Her fever remained, yet her skin was pale…too pale. Once again he saw his eight-year-old daughter from his dream crying among the tall grasses, asking for his permission to go beyond the trees. Pippin faced a decision that no parent would wish on their worst enemy. Should he give her his permission--or should he selfishly demand that she stay behind--and suffer?

Thoughts raced from one end of his mind to the other, however, one drifted down inside his heart. A song. Rosebud loved songs…

Merry sat on the floor on the other side of the bedroom door, ready to do whatever his dearest and closest friend needed. He rested his head upon his arms, which crossed over his drawn-up knees; his thoughts ever upon the little family inside the bedroom. He could hear Pippin’s muffled voice for a while, then the room inside went quiet. Merry heard the mattress squeaking as he guessed Pippin was squirming upon it. He imagined Pippin reaching somewhere…for something…

Inside the bedroom, Pippin was indeed reaching for an object. On the far side of his nightstand sat the small music box that Merry had given Rosebud at Yule. His fingertips reached just far enough to slide the silver box in his direction. In his other arm lay Rosebud, deep in an uncommon slumber. Pippin opened the box, revealing the beautiful layer of red velvet inside. He took out the small silver key, winding the box until it would turn no more, then set it on the nightstand near to him and Rosebud. Pippin hummed along with the tune from where it continued, then started to sing when the verse began. Amid his broken heart, he sang this lullaby to Rosebud:

Sweet dreams my little baby so lovely and fair,

Forget all your troubles abandon your cares.

Asleep in the arms of the One up above

And endlessly cherished, enveloped in love.

Glim’ring dewdrops of diamonds, the greenest of leaves

Is the vale that greets morning with song of bluebirds on the lea.

Soft petals of roses so wild and free,

Surrounding my dearest

Please come back to me.

When he finished the song, Pippin still cradled Rosebud in his arms, sobbing as his tears dropped onto the dying child. He kissed her cheek, her brow; his innermost soul crying out agony as he said goodbye to his baby daughter.

“I’ll…I’ll look for you in the far green country…under the swift sunrise. My sweet Muffin…my beautiful Rosebud. I love you so much…it hurts. I don’t want to let you go. But…I don’t want you to suffer any more…my dearest, dearest Rosebud. I guess…I’m giving you my permission to leave. I will think of you every single day until we meet again…down by the brook in the lovely meadow.” He kissed her again, his feverish cheek caressing hers. “I love you, Rosebud,” he sniffed. “I always will.” Pippin looked around the room with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know what else to do…I suppose we’ll just sit here and wait until…until you’ve gone beyond the trees…to be with your momma.”

Pippin held onto his little lass far into the evening.

TBC

A/N: My apologies for the lyrics to the lullaby -- I freely admit that I am not a poet. The words are set to the tune of Flow Gently, Sweet Afton. 

1/01/05 A/N: My grammar check has been corrected--though that doesn’t mean too much--it’s still a computer’s edit. I hope I got everything in order; thank you to Meldewen Ilce and Arlewen! Happy New Year! - PF