3.  Home

Merry watched his mother carefully shut the nursery door with a smile, the well-worn storybook tucked under one arm.  Silver glinted in her chestnut curls, more than he remembered even a year ago.  It was neatly pinned up with a pale green ribbon, as befitted a lady of her means and station, and a soft woolen shawl draped over her shoulders.  He had known just where to find her in the first hour after sunset, here in the suite of rooms reserved for the children of the Master of Buckland.  By all rights, it should have stood empty in the last twenty odd years, at least until Merry filled it with his own progeny.  But Esmeralda had lost none of her Tookish stubbornness when she married a Brandybuck, and she did not accept life’s decree that a single child would be her due.  A dozen or more children, orphaned by the vagaries of life, had since been brought up in these rooms, and Brandy Hall remained the refuge of many a wayward cousin.  Merry never begrudged his mother’s generosity, as a similar twist of fate had made Pippin such a large part of his life.

Esmeralda turned to find her son smiling down at her in the flickering light of the hall.

“Merry!” she stammered in surprise.  “You scared the wits out of me, looming there in the shadows!”

“I’m sorry,” he replied with a smile, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back for a visit,” she said softly as they started down the hall, arm in arm.  “You’ve missed supper, but I’m sure we can find you a bite in the kitchens.”

“Any hopes for apple tart?”

“Well, that depends… Where is my scamp of a nephew?  I do hope you’ve not left him to raid the larder, or there’ll be nothing left!” she teased.

“When I left him with Father, he was trying to finesse some of Brandy Hall’s finest applejack to take back to Great Smials.”

“Great Smials….  So he’s off for home at last.”  She turned to her son then, face anxious.  “I don’t know that your uncle would receive you well….  You know he blamed you for Pippin’s absence, and it’ll take more than a few bottles of brandy to soften his heart.”

Merry smiled and pulled her into a gentle hug.

“I’d rather stay home, if you can find me a bed,” he murmured against her ear.

“Find you a bed!  Keep growing and I’ll have to let you lie on the banquet tables,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her shawl.

“Come,” he said, with a chuckle, and put an arm about her shoulders.  “Lets go see if Pip’s stolen the last tart yet!”

 *** *** *** ***

Soon after his cousin’s footsteps had faded down the hall, Pippin let the conversation lapse into silence.  Looking up from the empty glass in his hand, he found his uncle’s gray eyes on him, his expression curious.

“Well, nephew, what do you need to tell me that my son should not hear?”

Pippin carefully set the glass on the side table and sighed.

“I really am returning to Great Smials.  Without Merry.”  He paused a moment.  “We’ve agreed there is work to be done and…  duties each of us must see to.  To be honest, I’ve been itching to return for some months now.  I don’t like the kind of talk coming out of Tookland.  Oh yes,” he continued with a bitter smile in answer to his uncle’s inquiring glance. “Yes, I’ve heard…  The one advantage to being thought an irresponsible scamp is that no one cares what they say or do in your presence.”

“It is clear, at least to me, that you are neither Peregrin,” Saradoc replied.

“But I was…  for far too long, and it will take a lot to change that perception.  I’ve seen a bit of good governance while I was away, and some bad, and I intend to put those lessons to good use.  There are better ways of doing things…”

He sighed and stood, restlessly moving to the sideboard to pour another brandy and pacing back to the fireside.  Saradoc watched the young hobbit curiously.  Whatever he needed to say was clearly difficult for him.

Pippin finally turned back to his uncle and sat down across from him, long legs curled under him in the overstuffed chair.

“Merry…” he began hesitantly, “Merry….  Well, you know him.  He thinks, he broods, he worries…  He can’t let go of, well, all that’s happened these past two years.  Not just what we encountered on the quest, but the aftermath…  and everything that happened here. We just never thought that any harm could reach the Shire, we thought we’d prevented that.  We all felt terrible that we waited so long to come back, and then dawdled on the way…  But Merry really took it to heart and he seems to feel destined to watch helpless while others fall…  There are nights he still walks the gardens in the Houses of Healing, waiting for news, for hope… for the end…” he finished in a whisper, gaze distant.  “When the nightmares come, he’ll not know you or remember in the morning, and some nights he’ll not sleep at all.  You’ll have to draw him out, get him to tell…  He’s still trying to protect me,” Pippin finished with a bittersweet smile.

“And you’d like to return the favor?”

Pippin nodded.

“You have…  You brought him home.”

A heavy silence stretched between them, and Saradoc again wondered what could have done so much to change the lad so powerfully in one short year.  The serious young hobbit before him, tall and lean, features still sharpened by uncertain provender and hard roads, had little in common with the baby faced tweenager who had stolen tarts from the kitchens with alarming regularity.  He suddenly needed very much to see his nephew smile.

“Well, a few bottles of brandy is poor payment for that, but it may get you in the front door at Great Smials.  Your father always appreciated Buckland’s best, if not the Bucklanders themselves.”

“I’ll no doubt be sent back for more in no time,” Pippin replied with a grin.  “The cooks are far less lenient with pastry thieves in the Thain’s kitchens than they are here at Brandy Hall!”