Dusk had fallen in the Shire, the inky purple of night replacing the pinks and blues of sunset.  Crickets chirped obliviously in the hedges, and the warm summer breeze carried the scent of roses and lavender to Frodo’s nose as he lay atop the fragrant grass of Bag End. 

The sound of merrymaking floated up to him from the smials down the row, laughter and light spilling out onto the lane, and he smiled sadly to himself. 

There had been a time when he would have enjoyed being a part of that happiness, rather then contenting himself with blowing smoke rings into the heavens.  A time when he would have been dancing and singing with no more thought to the world around him than any other sensible hobbit.

But that time had long since passed.

 Now he was happy to be by himself, to gaze into the heavens, and picture a distant land where the heaviness in his heart no longer pulled him down.  It was not that he was unhappy, but rather that the happiness he felt was often tempered by a sadness that never seemed to leave him. 

He had changed.  Not so much as many thought he had, but in a way more profound than they guessed.  Even his beloved Sam did not realize the extent of his change.  Only dear Pippin came close to understanding what had transpired.

 He smiled fondly as he thought of his cousin, one of the main singers in the party below, celebrating the news of Rosie’s expectation.  How his dear little Pippin had changed, had grown, and become wiser and wearier than any of them had guessed was possible.  He could not comprehend all that Frodo had gone through, but he had seen his world shattered into a million pieces, cutting himself upon the shards.  Perhaps he had not bled as much as Frodo, but bloodied his world had become.  And none could survive, or heal, such wounds without scars.

 No, Frodo thought again, gazing at the stars that were wakening from their daily slumber, not even Sam could understand the scars that lay hidden beneath his skin.  And he was happy that it was so.  His friend deserved to be without such wounds. 

 He took a long drag on his pipe, enjoying the scent of Old Toby and the feel of the smoke filling him with a heady buzz.  Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he found himself longing for privacy and solitude he knew would never be found in the Shire. 

 He was tired of laughter about him when he himself did not feel like laughing, of having to speak when the words did not want to leave his lips.  He wanted to lie down for a long sleep such as he had not experienced since his rescue from Mount Doom.  He wanted to slumber until the sorrow left his heart and the laughter he heard would once more echo within him as it once had.  He wanted to be left in peace.

 The crickets continued to chirp about him, their song a lullaby in the night that had his eyes drooping and his head nodding.  He tamped down his pipe, placing it beside himself as he lay down on the soft grass, his limbs sprawling at a comfortable angle, gazing up into the full night that had fallen around him as he thought.

Perhaps it was selfish of him to want to be alone, especially when such joyous news had been announced.  But he could not force his feet down the road to that music and light and laughter.  Darkness was a new friend to him, one he had courted in a thousand ways and was still learning to appreciate.

 Slowly his eyes drooped shut, the peace of night settling over him.  Though it was barely past sunset, he felt exhaustion deep within his bones as though he had labored the day away rather than resting in his library with a favored book in his lap.

 He felt himself begin to drift away, and peace settled over him as the world faded.

It was the silence that woke him. 

The noise of the party had finally died, and now all was quiet along Bag End and Bagshot Row.  He blinked blurrily, trying to understand what felt different from when he had fallen asleep, his sleepy mind muddled.

 “Go back to sleep,” a familiar voice whispered above him.

 He was not startled, though he probably should have been.  For some reason having Pippin there at that moment felt right.

“Did you enjoy the party?” he mumbled, feeling a warm body settle beside him, smelling slightly of apples and ale and smoke. 

 “It was a nice party, I suppose,” came the somewhat surprising answer. 

“Oh?” Frodo asked, turning his head slightly to look down at the curls lying against his chest.  Pippin had his head pressed against his cousin’s breast, his back to Frodo’s front, so he could not see what expression he was hiding.  “It sounded like you were having quite a good time from here.”

“I knew you were up here,” Pippin whispered, curling in on himself as he had done since a child, getting comfortable as he settled down for sleep.  “And a part of me wanted to be up here with you, away from everyone, away from all the noise and light and happiness.”  A deep sigh, the body now bigger than any hobbit save one giving a soft shudder.  “I thought that if I sang loud enough that part would be quiet.”

Frodo reached out a hand lazily and stroked the golden curls tenderly.  “But it wouldn’t, would it, Dearest?” he asked softly.

 “No.”  A breath, barely heard above the crickets. 

“Where was Merry?” Frodo asked curiously, wondering why his cousin had not noticed this change in their younger kin.

“With Estella,” Pippin sighed, and this time the weariness and sorrow in that soft voice matched exactly that of his heart. 

“Ahhh,” Frodo murmured, no more needing to be said between them. 

A few moments passed, in which they both seemed to settle into a light doze, then Pippin’s soft voice broke the spell.

“Were you afraid, Frodo?”

 Neither one needed to elaborate the question.

“No, Dearest,” the eldest cousin whispered, once more running his fingers through thick curls.  “Were you?”

There was a pause, the space of a shuddering breath, then, softly, “No.”

Nothing more was said as they lay quietly, enjoying the comfort that was each other’s warmth.

 “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you Frodo?”

The question did not take him by surprise, as Pippin’s presence had not.  In the quiet of the night, as those they loved and cared for slumbered on, their souls were finally free to speak what daylight made them hesitant to say. 

“No, Pippin, not for a while yet.”

“Why?”  He felt the other turn to look at him, could picture the puzzled look on the Took’s face.

 “Because I am needed a bit longer, lad,” Frodo murmured, smiling.  “And I am not quite ready to go.”

“When you do leave, will you leave at sunset?”

This question did capture Frodo off guard, and it took him a moment to answer.  “I’m not sure.  Why?”

 Pippin did turn then, his earnest green eyes illuminated by the stars overhead.  The grass pillowed his face, partly obscuring his features even as the silver light above them cast a halo about his hair.  Young and old, wise and innocent all at once.  It took Frodo’s breath away as he felt his heart jump.

 “Because I want to know that it will be the last time a day passes that you are not happy.  I want to know that when the stars appear overhead, they are guiding you to someplace wonderful. And that the start of your journey is the ending of something we both want to forget…and never can.”

 Something tickled his nose, and it took Frodo a moment to realize that he was crying. 

“I promise, Pip-dearest, that when I begin my journey, it shall be at sunset, and that, should I ever forget where I am going, I shall look to the heavens and find my way again.”

 Pippin nodded, his own eyes damp despite their steadiness. 

“Then I know you shall be all right.”

Frodo closed his eyes as his cousin turned again, wrapping his arms around this one he had known since a babe.

“And will you be all right, Pippin?”

There was such a long silence that Frodo wondered if the other had fallen asleep.  Then a deep breath shivered the form in his arms, and he knew an answer was forthcoming.

“I am tired, Frodo,” came the soft reply in a quavering voice.  “No matter how much I sleep, I can never seem to shake this weariness from my bones.  But I know that I will one day wake up, and look about me, and wonder what the day is going to bring.  And when that happens, I know everything is going to be all right.”

“Yes, Pip.”  Frodo breathed into those soft curls, closing his eyes as sleep began to take him once more.  “On that day, everything will be all right.”  For only then may I leave, he added silently to himself. 

 And then there was no more talk as the world faded, and the two wearied hobbits slept, dreaming of a time when evening would fall upon a day when both could release their worries, and sleep the most perfect sleep.