2. A Hint Of Light

The stables were dim and still after the riotous afternoon festival outside, and Pippin stopped in the doorway to let his eyes adjust.  The quiet shuffling of ponies in their stalls was the only sound, though he’d seen Merry enter the building some time ago.  Pippin had endured a good hour more of the attentions of every matron in attendance with a daughter near to marriageable age, and still his cousin had not returned.

“Likely forgot me in favor of a nap in the hay,” he muttered to himself, a mischievous grin lighting his face as he imagined a fitting revenge for his troubles.

He came round to the last stall and froze, jesting words forgotten.  Merry sat, shoulders bowed as under a heavy burden, the traces of old tears still apparent on his cheeks.  A dark knot of fear tightened around Pippin’s heart.  Forcing a grin, he sauntered noisily to the bench and plopped down beside his cousin.

“Well, it was a rather nice party until the wolves closed in.  Don’t think I’ll forget you leaving me at their mercy for so long!”  He paused, barely breathing, waiting for a response.

At last, Merry looked up, a small wistful smile upon his lips.  “I’ve been trying to remember…  before.  When we knew nothing of the darkness out there…” he murmured.

Pippin let out a long held breath and, looking closely at his cousin’s face, so familiar he knew it better than his own, he had a glimpse of something Merry had always taken great pains to hide since they had returned:  the haunted look of one beset by memory and regret.

The nights at Crickhollow had rarely been peaceful those first months, and while long days of hard riding, well washed with fine ale, had kept the shadows at bay, too often dawn still found them wide awake.  Of course, Pippin had always known that their endless tour of the Shire was merely a distraction and that the darkness that was stealing Merry’s sleep and peace of mind would need to be faced.  He’d hoped for Frodo’s help, but his older cousin had continued to slip further from their lives, ill health and a quiet sort of desperation sapping the very life from that once bright soul.

Pippin sighed and looked back at Merry, painfully aware that this was no time for wit and mischief, for the joking fool that had always been his role among them.

“I remember,” he said quietly.  “But we don’t need to imagine the music and laughter we left behind anymore.  We’re here.  The Shire is safe again, almost completely recovered in fact, thanks to Sam’s hard work.  Everyone is already forgetting those dark times…” he trailed off, knowing he’d hit on the problem.  Not everyone could forget.

“Not everyone...” Merry replied, echoing Pippin’s thought.  Strangely though, the older hobbit started to smile.  “I think maybe it is time we got to work Pip.  We left more than music and laughter behind, you know.”

 ***   ***   ***

As they trotted down the road towards Buckland, a beautiful, strangely familiar, dark-haired lass watched them pass from behind the low hedge in front of the many windowed face of Budgeford's chief dwelling.  Dark eyes glowed amber in the sun’s dying light.  To Pippin’s great surprise, Merry stopped before her and leaned down to kiss her hand before continuing on.  He caught up to his cousin just past the bend in the road.

“What happened to getting to work and responsibility and all that?” Pippin asked.

“That was part of it…  Hopefully,” Merry replied with a smile.