Disclaimer: Hobbits are not mine, but belong to JRR Tolkien.

Characters: Mainly Pippin, his parents Paladin and Eglantine Took, his close friend Merry, and his married sisters, Pimpernel, Pervinca. Introducing Miss Lilas Broadhammer, her father Silas, mother Lilly, brother Sabo, and younger sister, Saborra, Lots of other hobbits, too.

This story, though my own invention, could not have been made possible without the assistance, support, and encouragement from two very special friends of mine: Pearl Took and Mysterious Ways. So, I name them my Co-Authors. MarigoldCotton helped me with the rating, and even advised on a point or two. I am ever so grateful for these ladies. The idea sprang to mind while reading one of Pervinca’s (Bra_chan90) stories (Just to Be With You--great story!), so she deserves credit as well.

A/U Warning: This is a departure from *my own* normal “universe”. I firmly believe that Pippin was able to restrain himself until he was married, but I felt so strong about this subject that I created this AU story. The main plot has nothing to do with my regular storylines; only hints of where Pippin’s sisters are at in their lives perhaps do, but that is all. This is not a humorous, suspense thriller, or romance story (my personal favorites). This is a drama, though it may contain lighter moments, but with sincere respect to the matter being addressed. Pippin is being depicted as an underaged (29/30) year old father, Lilas is also 29 in this story. If you *do not* like the idea of Pippin being a young father, then I would suggest you do not read any further.

Where Roses Grow

Pippin sat on the grassy knoll watching the birds twitter in the nearby shrubs. He felt a twinge in his heart as he watched them chase each other from bush to bush. When birds mated, he thought to himself, they were partners for life until one of them died. Here, on this very hillock, lay one who was a part of his life for a brief time and another he knew who would remain in his heart forever. No one could ever take her away. Pippin stared at the wild roses that he had planted there in her memory. They were a symbol of his love for her.

Chapter One - A Chance Encounter

It was the evening of the last battle ever held in the Shire: the Battle of Bywater. Nineteen hobbits perished in the battle along with numerous ruffians. After the hobbits had buried their neighbors and friends, they gathered at the Green Dragon to pay tribute to them. Some mourned the loss of their brothers and sons; others recalled the happier times in which they shared.

Frodo, Merry, Sam, Pippin, Mr. Cotton, and the Gaffer all sat at one table talking and recounting the events of the past few days. At last, Mr. Cotton raised his mug in salute; “To Tim Brown!” The rest of the hobbits responded with resounding cheers. Old Tom Cotton had started it, while various other regulars stood up and in turn shouted out the name of a stout lad who died that day. Eighteen names later, the last hobbit stood and raised his mug up to acknowledge the final Shire-warrior: “Robin Smallburrow!”

Only after they saluted in return did the three other Travelers notice the shocked expression on the fourth. Sam had tears in his eyes. Frodo was the first to recover his wits and put his arm around his friend, “Sam--I’m so sorry.” Likewise, all around the table his companions offered their condolences.

As the room droned again with the murmurs of multiple conversations, Pippin felt a need to use the privy and excused himself from the table. Having made his way outdoors, he swaggered to the back of the tavern and found the little shed that served the inn patrons. He learned early in life to never open the door without knocking first. “Hullo! Anyone in there?” he asked while pounding on the door, then caught himself on the side of the shed as he lost a bit of his balance. He knew then that he probably had too much beer tonight. He heard a muffled growl from inside the shed; that was usually a good indicator it was occupied. Looking around and seeing no one was in the vicinity, he headed out towards the thick line of shrubs and trees behind the inn. Finding a secluded area within a clump of bushes he relieved himself.

When Pippin emerged from the line of trees, he saw out of the corner of his eye a group of lasses breaking through the same trees from the other end, though he kept on walking back towards the pub. He heard them giggling and determined it was his height again. He had already been pointed at and called a ‘giant’ by a few children. He staggered onwards.

“Wait! Aren’t ye the fella who went t’ the wars with the Big Folk?”

How could they miss the sable and silver tunic?, he thought. He stopped to address the ladies; after all, his parents did raise him to be a gentle-hobbit. “Good evening, ladies!” Pippin bowed low and almost toppled over in his inebriated state. He heard the lasses giggling again. “Peregrin Took, at your service,” he said.

“And we at yours,” stated the auburn haired lass, and curtsied in kind. He found himself staring at her long, curly tresses shining in the moonlight, and her full lips. She was quite the bonny lass, but Pippin also knew she was the daughter of the Hobbiton cooper. His father would have a fit if he knew his son allowed himself to fall in love with a common laborer’s daughter. Pippin smiled at her then turned to continue his trek back to his friends inside the pub.

“Wait!” She called out to him again. Giving a signal to her friends, they quietly left for the inn. “I mean,” she slowly traipsed up to him. “Wouldn’t ye like t’ walk with me for a spell?” she asked with a coy smile.

Pippin puzzled at her offer, “Walk with you where?” The lass was so close to him that he could smell the fragrance in her hair. “What is your name, lass?”

“My name?” She took his hand and began walking, “Ye don’t remember my name?” He shook his head. “My name is Lilas. Once, a long time ago in the Market, I dropped my sack and ye helped me pick up my things.” He still could not recall the situation. “Ah, well,” she said, “’tis a long time ago; we were young teens then. Don’t s’pose ye’d remember that.” She continued to hold his hand, guiding him into the shadows of the trees. In the cover of darkness, she drew him close.

Pippin was not as sure as to what all was happening, but it seemed to him that Lilas was sending him clear signals, though he only knew these overtures in theory as he had never actually been with a lass before. It was the beer inside him that set free any inhibitions that he carried with him at this moment. As she drew him close to her, he leaned down and kissed her. His hands glided freely up her silky arms, over her shoulders, then down her back. His hands rested on her bum, then pressed her against himself, giving rise to a potential situation. They continued to kiss a long while until she pulled away, but only long enough to unlace her bodice. Pippin was trembling as she then began to unfasten his breeches. Lights were exploding in his mind as his body melded together with hers in passionate love.

~ ~

It had been a long day for the hobbits; the Green Dragon was closing early for business. Merry, among a few other lads, was making his way towards the line of trees that would serve as the alternate privy while the lasses formed a queue at the shed. It had been a while since Pippin had gone on his little excursion. Where was he?

Merry was finished with his business and refastening his breeches when he caught sight of his friend lying on his side…snoring. Merry did a quick glance about him to ensure he was the only person seeing this. Pippin lay on his side with his breeches down around his knees. Merry was at his side in a wink, tapping Pippin’s face on either side. “Pip! Wake up!” he whispered as loud as he dared. When Merry got no response, he nudged him harder. “Pip!”

“Hmmmm,” Pippin groaned.

Merry began leaning on his friend and patting his cheeks again. “Peregrin Took!” At hearing his full name, Pippin’s eyes snapped open. Merry wasted no time in rousing his cousin fully awake. “Peregrin Took, what have you been up to?” Pippin slowly sat up, looking around through squinted eyes. Merry helped his cousin to his feet, “Look at you! You’re drunk--and what happened to your breeches?” He then pulled up the wayward breeches while Pippin buttoned them up.

Pippin was still intoxicated and confused. “Where--?” Then he promptly bent over and vomited on the ground.

“You went out to pee and never came back. Now I see why,” Merry chided him. “What in Middle-earth was taking place out here?” He saw he was getting nowhere with Pippin. He decided it would be better to take him back to the Cottons first, nurse his illness, then deal with whatever happened out here in the trees. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Chapter Two - Gone and Done It

Lilas sat on the empty barrel inside the market booth as she and her younger brother, Sabo, hawked the wares of their father, Silas. Together they worked from nine in the morning until after tea, which for them, was usually held at about four in the afternoon. Sabo was handling most of the business today as Lilas was not feeling very well. Sabo noticed his sister was growing pale again, though it wasn’t because it was a cold January day outside.

“Why don’t ye go on home, Lilie?” Sabo asked. “Ye don’t look good.”

“I’d rather stay here,” she answered. “I’ll be all right in a minute.” In truth, Lilas had not been feeling very well for the past several weeks intermittently. At first she attributed her discomfort to the change of the weather in the Shire, but now she wasn’t so sure. The work frock she wore nearly everyday felt more and more constricting; in fact, it was snug. She supposed the swelling that she was experiencing was due to her monthly cycle that was overdue, though it should have started weeks ago. It had been late before…though not this late. She had heard tales of married women missing cycles before they found out that they were expecting.

“I’ll be back, Sabe--I need t’ use the privy,” she said, standing up from her seat on the barrel. The sky seemed ever so bright as she made her way across the Market towards the Green Dragon’s little shed. She waited in the queue outside until it was her turn. Mistress Kettle, the seamstress whose booth was situated next to her father’s, was waiting behind her when the privy became available.

“How are ye feeling, lass?” Ola Kettle thought the young tween was looking rather peaked. Perhaps it was the cold, she reasoned at first, but the longer they waited, the more hunched Lilas became.

“I’m fine, Mistress Ola,” she replied, though Lilas was relieved when she was finally able to step into the privy and close the door. Inside, the stench was almost more than she could bear. When Lilas was finished, she stepped outside into the fresh air, but the nausea remained--and still no sign of her cycle. She was holding her stomach as she stumbled towards the familiar line of trees and then vomited. No matter what she ate or when, it would come up on her sooner or later. Nida will know what the matter is with me, she thought, though somehow she had a feeling it wasn’t a normal, run-of-the-mill sickness.

Leaning against the tree, Lilas took out her handkerchief to wipe her mouth and blow her nose until the world would stop spinning. Now she was frightened. Nida, her closest friend, said that a lass couldn’t get pregnant unless she was married. Could it be possible that Nida was wrong? She had been with a lad twice before and nothing happened afterward.

Lilas again felt sick to her stomach. Her legs became like jelly as she walked past the privy on her way back to her father’s market booth. She sank to her knees half way across the yard. Ola Kettle was the first beside the falling lass, catching her as she teetered forward.

* * *

Lilas awoke to low voices in the far side of the bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Saborra.

“Can’t Saborra help out in the booth, Ma?” It was Sabo speaking about Lilas. “It’s not like she’s been helping a whole lot--and she’s always using the privy. Nobody wants t’ buy anything from us when they see she’s sick.”

“No,” the elder hobbit replied firmly, “Saborra’s barely twenty. Right now I’m teachin’ her t’ knit and such so that she’s doesn’t have t’ stand at a booth all day and shout t’ the top o’ her lungs.” She looked over at her eldest daughter dozing on the bed. “She’s gone and done it this time.”

“Gone and done what?” asked Sabo. “Makes no difference anyhow. She’s always getting into trouble with Pa.” The tween got up from the bed where he was sitting and walked towards the door. “I’m going t’ find Dabo to help, and I’m telling ye Ma, Pa’s going t’ be fuming when he finds out Lilas has been acting up again.”

Lilly watched her son leave the room then muttered, “Yer Pa’s goin’ t’ be fumin’ when he finds out what she’s gone and done.”

Now that the conversation about her was over, Lilas stirred. “What was that all about?”

“What do ye think it was about, eh?” Lilly scooted closer to her daughter.

“Me,” Lilas answered. “It’s always about me; how lazy I am, how dumb I am. I’m sorry I can’t be like Saborra--all pretty an’ clever she is.”

“Now don’t go hatin’ yer sister ‘cause she’s pretty and knows her numbers.” Lilly smoothed her daughter’s curls away from her tearing eyes. She let out a long breath, “Tell me what happened.”

Lilas looked sideways to her mother, “Nothing Ma. I just got sick.”

“You can’t fool and old fool, lass. I can see ye’ve gone and done it,” she said. “What was his name? Did ye even get that?”

The tween’s thoughts went back two months ago to the handsome Took lad in the Sable and Silver tunic. “Didn’t need it.”

Lilly raised her eyebrows at her daughter. “Didn’t need it?” Lilly shook her head sadly, “How long ago did it happen?

Lilas sighed. “Did what happen?”

“Don’t b’little me, lass!” Lilly was losing her patience, “Yer Pa is going t’ be here soon and he’s going t’ want an answer!”

Lilas turned her head, and studying the cracks in the wall. “Blotmath 3.”

“How long did ye know this?”

“I known all along I laid with him on Blotmath 3,” answered Lilas. “What else is there?”

“What else?” Lilly leaned closer, “Yer with child, lass. And you’re only a girl yerself.”

So there it was. “Who said I was with child? I can’t be with child, Ma--Nida says that babies are made only after yer married.”

“Silly lass--the both of ye! Doesn’t matter if ye’re married or not,” said Lilly. “Didn’t ye know that?” Now Lilly was regretting never having talked about lads with her daughter. She was too embarrassed before, and now it was too late. She took Lilas’ hand and braced for shock when they both heard heavy footfalls enter the house.

“Where’s Lilas!”

Chapter Three - The Summons

Merry walked down the hallway to the familiar oak door that his father used to shut the cacophony of the world out on busy days. He knocked once and then entered. As son of the Master, Merry was afforded certain privileges though he rarely invoked them, except on this occasion. He had been summoned from Crickhollow early this morning to receive an urgent message from the Master of the Hall.

Merry stood and addressed the Master. “Hullo, Dad, you wanted to see me?”

Saradoc looked up, seeing his son he rose from his desk and gave him a warm embrace. “How are you, Merry? Is Crickhollow treating you well?” He stood back, giving his son the once-over, noting he was still slimmer than most hobbits his age. Perhaps with the right lass he would shape up--or out, as it goes with hobbits.

Merry smiled politely, though he knew that this was only a precursor of the true reason he was asked here. “Crickhollow is peaceful, private, and I love living there.” He sat down on the couch next to his father. “Can you tell me why I am here?”

Saradoc’s smile waned. “You have always been a perceptive lad, Merry. I was going to get to that eventually, though it seems I must perform my duty whether I like it or no.” Saradoc went to his desk and fumbled for a particular document. “Ah! Here it is.” He came back and gave it to Merry to read. “I received it late yesterday, but waited until this morning to summon you here. I saw no need in making an uproar sooner than need be. Paladin wants his son in Tuckborough--in Great Smials--as early as this afternoon, though he doesn’t state why.”

Merry sat silently reading the parchment with the red seal of the Thain pressed into it.

“To the Master of Buckland,

I am requiring the presence of my son, Peregrin Took, on Afteryule 10, 1420. He will present himself in my office no later than Four o’clock.

Sincerely,

Thain Paladin, II”

Merry looked at his father, “Uncle Paladin isn’t asking--he is demanding Pippin’s presence. Do you know why?”

Saradoc shook his head, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I don’t have any idea,” Merry answered, sighing. “We have no time to waste then. I must take my leave of you, Dad. Whatever awaits Pippin at Great Smials, he may need me.”

“I agree,” said his father. “Take as long as you wish, Merry. I only ask that you send word of Pippin. I’d like to help, if I can.”

“I don’t want to make a promise that I may not be able to keep,” Merry replied, “but I will send word if I am able to. How’s that?”

Saradoc smiled grimly, “Thank you, son. That will be fine.”

* * *

Silas picked up the bag at his daughter’s feet and none too gently swung it into the back of the cart. “Get in,” he said, hoisting himself into the driver’s seat. “Get in, lass!” he said more harshly. “All o’ Hobbiton now knows--are ye waiting for all of the Shire to learn it ‘fore ye get t’ moving?

With one last look to her mother, Lilas walked over to the passenger side of the cart. She would not give her father the satisfaction of seeing her tears. She pulled herself up into the cart and fixed her gaze at her feet.

No sooner had Silas learned of his daughter’s condition that he told her under no uncertain terms was she to abide any longer under his roof. If she was old enough to consort with lads and have babies, then she was old enough to move out. When he discovered who the expectant father was, he had another idea. He had visited Great Smials the day before on his own and spoke with the lad’s father--the Thain himself. He figured perhaps the couples’ circumstance could help further along the family finances. Orders for his storage barrels were down ever since the demise of Lotho and his Leaf exports to foreigners away south of the Shire.

As she and her father rode through Hobbiton, Lilas could see out of the corner of her downcast eyes the folks stopping to stare; staring at the sullied lass. She could hear the talking and the giggles in the distance.

“See what ye’ve done?” he spoke in a hushed tone. “They’re laughing at you--and they’re laughing at me, too. Not being able to keep a tight rein on my own daughter. Folks will never forget this; ye’re never to come back, hear?” He looked over and saw her face was still downward; tears streaking down her cheeks. “Ah…ye never listen anyway.”

* * *

It had been a long ride from the Bucklebury Ferry all the way to Tuckborough. Merry was ill at ease the entire ride because Pippin took too long in getting ready and as a result got a late start. Taking the South Road, now well tended after the War, Merry and Pippin arrived with only enough time to wash off the road dirt. Merry had told Pippin that the Thain’s summons was an official document, so each wore their authoritative livery from their respective, far away kingdoms that they served.

On their way to their rooms, the lads passed Pimpernel carrying her six month old son, Hilfred; named after his father who was murdered by trespassing ruffians during the Shire occupation. Pimpernel stopped and gaped at her younger brother.

Pippin noticed his sister’s unnerving stare. “Hullo, Pim--are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Pippin,” she answered. “Are you on your way to Father’s office?”

“Yes, Merry and I--” he stopped and was perplexed by her shaking her head.

Pippin was now aware that his sister had not greeted him in the same manner she had in the past. “Pim, I’m asking you, what is wrong?”

“I can’t say, Pip. Father would be angry with me if he found out I spoke to you beforehand.” Then she leaned in close, “Whatever you do, don’t wear your official garments into the meeting. Change your clothes, Pip.”

“What’s wrong with wearing our official livery?”

“Everything, Pippin,” she answered, then looked at their cousin, “and I’m afraid that you are not invited to the discussion, though you are welcome to wait with me in my quarters. I’m going there now to feed Hil.”

Pippin got the feeling this was going to be a very solemn meeting between him and his father, and for whatever reason, Pimpernel was warning him. “How is Father doing, Pim?”

She cast an anxious glance from cousin to brother, “You had better hurry up and change, Pip, then head straight for Father’s office. It’s almost a quarter to four--and he expects you to be prompt.”

Chapter Four - The Unexpected

Pippin had changed his clothes just as Pimpernel advised. He wore his simple homespun breeches, yellow shirt, and a brown waistcoat. Standing outside the Thain’s office, he took in a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in.”

Pippin turned the door handle and entered the office. He stopped when he saw another hobbit sitting in one of the winged chairs across from the Thain’s desk. “Am I interrupting, Father?”

“No, Peregrin; you are on time. Come in and sit,” he replied flatly, indicating to the other chair. Pippin also noticed his father did not use his nickname.

Pippin did not recognize the elder hobbit in the other chair, but nevertheless shook his hand, then took his seat in the other winged chair. The tension in the air was thick; he stayed silent.

“Peregrin, I want you to meet Silas Broadhammer,” Paladin paused for effect. “He’s the cooper from Hobbiton.”

At first, Pippin thought something rang familiar with the combination of “cooper” and “Hobbiton”, but it took a long minute to seep in. Suddenly he remembered the night of the Battle; his journey into the woods…he blanched in the face. He was her father--he knew. Now he was here to seek retribution from the Tooks. Pippin knew then that he was in hot water. “Sir--”, Pippin started, but a sharp look from his father silenced him.

“Mister Silas,” said Paladin, “as you know, this is my son Peregrin, of whom your daughter says is the father of her child.”

F-father?? Pippin felt like someone just kicked him in the stomach. He could not possibly be the father of any child; he was only twenty nine years old! “Father,” Pippin tried again, but this time his father was more forceful.

“Peregrin Took, you will be silent until spoken to, do you understand?”

Even without his father’s stern reprimand Pippin sat with gaping mouth; unable to form the thoughts that were whirling around in his head: shock, confusion, and anger. He looked pleadingly to his father across the miles of desk. Paladin turned away from his gaze and focused on Mister Silas. Pippin heard the incoherent drone of voices. Every now and then he heard his name come up along with the lass, Lilas. She was a complete stranger to Pippin, except for that one little encounter that happened…was it two months ago?

“Stand up, Peregrin.”

Pippin stirred from the buzz in his head. He looked to his father and unconsciously obeyed; rising slowly up from his seat.

“Shake hands with Mister Silas.”

Pippin complied. He felt as if he were a marionette and his father was pulling the strings. He watched Mister Silas slip a pouch into his pocket then walk out of the office. He sat down only after he heard the door click shut. Pippin was numb from head to toe.

Paladin also sat down in his leather chair. He could only stare at the tween who sat before him. So many emotions were spinning round in his head, yet he could not pin any one of them down. He wished he was able to so that at least then he would feel something. His tween-aged son, a valiant Knight and Messenger of the High King--and still very under aged, would become a father in five months time. He was not even thirty years old yet for heavens sake! The lad could barely call himself an adult, let alone be father to an infant. “Peregrin, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me this nightmare isn’t happening. Please tell me that you did not bring shame on that lass--or yourself.”

Pippin said nothing. He was leaning on the chair-arm with his elbow holding his forehead in his hands; hiding his tears. They ran freely down his cheeks as he prayed that he could turn back time--that he would never have allowed that lass to lure him into the trees. He regretted his drunkenness and that he had ever laid eyes on Miss Lilas.

The elder hobbit felt a prick in his heart as he watched his son sobbing in the chair. Giant or not, to him Pippin looked as if he was once again a small hobbit child, lost and alone. There was not a whole lot that Paladin could do to help his son out of this mess. He sighed. “A Bride is supposed to offer a dowry, not exact one. How could you be so irresponsible, Pippin?” There; he used his affectionate nickname though Paladin’s anger remained. Pippin was his son--his child--and still very much his responsibility. He got up and walked around his desk to sit in the other chair recently vacated by Mister Silas. Knowing Pippin rarely carried his own handkerchiefs, Paladin reached into his own pocket and handed one to his son. He would let Pippin cry for a bit longer, but there was much to do in the coming days. There would be no more time for tears.

Chapter Five - Facing the Future

“I heard there’s going to be a ceremony.”

Pippin had been sitting in the same chair in the Thain’s office for well over an hour. His father had left to prepare a few things. He wiped his eyes, looking up he saw his life-long friend. “The day after tomorrow,” he said, sniffling. “But I don’t love her, Merry. I don’t think that marriage is the answer; I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.”

Merry sat down in the chair previously occupied by his uncle. Pimpernel had filled him in on everything while the important meeting was going on. “Well, Pip,” he said sighing, “I don’t think it’s about what you want anymore. There’s Lilas to think about as well as your baby.” Merry still couldn’t believe his young cousin had done…well, that he was going to be a father. He’s too young, Merry thought to himself. “So, you weren’t just sick when I found you back in the woods behind the Green Dragon?”

“How do I know that she’s even carrying my child?” Pippin’s weary anger was rousing again. “How do I know that the baby isn’t a Stonehouse or a Bellows? Those lads are notorious for having seduced an unwary lass or two. How do I know that Lilas wasn’t with one of them during that time and is now using unscrupulous ways to become a Took?”

“Pippin,” Merry reasoned, though he himself was still reeling from the news, “work it out on your fingers. Ragin Stonehouse was killed by ruffians long before we returned, and if your memory serves, we found Mort Bellows in the lock-holes. The only other scoundrels that I know of run within our own social circle--and they regard themselves too high to have anything to do with a cooper’s daughter.”

Pippin sighed heavily. “Merry, what am I going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Merry answered. “You’re going to stand up, walk down the hallway to your room and have a sleep. You’re far too wrung out to do anything or make any decisions right now.”

“I can’t sleep now, Merry,” said Pippin, though he finally arose from the chair. His red eyes and nose were swollen from the tears that still trickled down his cheeks. “I just need peace and quiet to think about all of this.”

Merry had an idea. “You go and do that in your room while I fetch us both a nice, cup of hot tea.” Merry walked his cousin to his room, then went to the kitchens to make a special cup of tea for his friend. His older cousin in Buckland, Merimas, would often concoct this recipe when Merry went through periods of insomnia after the War. His cousin needed to relax and rest, Merry thought. He imagined the days that lay ahead for Pippin would soon tax the very wits of the tween.

* * *

“Pippin,” came a soft voice.

Opening his eyelids, it took a second for Pippin to focus his blurry eyes on his sister. He had grown very sleepy after his tea with Merry and fell asleep on the couch in his room.

“Come along, Pippin, it’s time for supper,” she said.

He felt rather toasty under the thick quilt. He did not want to face his family at the table. Without thinking, he gave her his best lost puppy look, “Can’t I have a tray sent in?”

“No, you may not. Mother and Father are expecting you in the dining room,” she answered firmly. Pimpernel saw his imploring eyes and wanted to smile. He looked so boyish and vulnerable. She wanted to tell him that this was all a mistake; that Lilas had either lied or suddenly remembered she was with another, more corrupt lad that dark evening. Pippin was not a corrupt lad; he had been brought up well with morals taught to him by both parents.

She believed that Pippin, even in the inebriated state that he was, knew full well what he was doing at the time, but the beer in him clouded his judgment. In Pimpernel’s opinion, her young brother had been deviously seduced and taken advantage of.

“I’m not hungry,” he answered, then turned over. It wasn’t a bad dream as he thought. Shame was now descending upon the tween; he could readily guess what folks must be thinking about him now: rogue, immoral, disgusting, wayward, repulsive, vile. The list went on and on. And his dear mother! How she must abhor him now. Tears sprang anew in his eyes.

Pimpernel saw his tears, then she reflected on how much Pippin had grown. Yes, he was taller than when he left the Shire a year ago, but he was also taller inside. Would her brother’s jovial spirit rise to the occasion? This was one battle Pimpernel was willing to suffer: to fight for her brother’s courage. She had heard from their cousins that Pippin had plenty of it during the War.

Pippin’s spirit was flagging for the present, but Pimpernel would not allow it to go on. It was wounded now, but if he gave up completely, it would be lost forever. She yanked the quilt off of him, saying, “Peregrin Took, get up! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Mother has seen very little of you in the past year and she wants us all to have dinner together.” She then held her arm out as if she were directing one of her own children, “Now march!”

* * *

Lilas sat on the edge of the enormous bed too afraid to move. It had both a headboard and a footboard made of a dark wood with posts that went almost to the ceiling. She guessed the wood was walnut, as she had heard the tales of how the wealthy folk lived. It was every bit of what she imagined and more. The room she was given was obviously an inner room, as it had no window. She did not like the sense of being enclosed--she was used to opening a window in her old bedroom in Hobbiton whenever she wanted to. Her eyes caught sight of the large piece of furniture against the far wall. It was her very own wardrobe. In her father’s house, she and her sister shared a room, the bed, and the wardrobe.

Lilas overcame her trepidation and wandered over to inspect it. When she opened the doors, she could smell a sweet fragrance of flowers. Looking down, she noticed a small sachet and lifted it to her nose. Underneath the top most shelf, she discovered a rod running the length of it. Decorative padded hangars made with a silky material hung from the rod. There were more shelves on the lower right side that contained extra pillows, blankets, and linens. She closed the doors to the wardrobe and went over to the bureau. Lilas had never seen one up close. The tween skimmed her hand over the smooth polished surface. It had three drawers, and on top was a ceramic bowl and pitcher for washing up. A linen towel lay next to it. Unfolding it, she saw the embroidered stitching of a daisy. In the corner was set an eating table with two chairs, and on the table was a brass lantern. She saw that a desk and wooden chair was placed against the other wall. Lilas chuckled to herself; what in the Shire would she do with a desk? She could neither read nor write. Finally, on either side of her large bed was a bed table, each with a candle in its stand.

Lilas could not help feeling overwhelmed. Here she was in a guest room of Great Smials; she--a simple lass from away yonder in Hobbiton. The scruffy little bag on the bed that contained all of her effects was a stark reminder of the reason for her being here. She could never return home. She wished she had never met Nida, yet the lass who had become her closest friend over the past couple years was the only hobbit in the world who seemed to think she wasn’t lazy…or dumb. But now Lilas did feel dumb; how could Nida be such a clever lass and yet be so wrong about lads? She wiped away an errant tear that ran down her cheek, Now I’ve gone and done it, her mother’s words echoed in her mind. The spacious room suddenly gave Lilas a chill. A knock on the door startled the tween out of her thoughts.

The door opened slightly and a head peaked through. “Miss, I’ve brought ye a tray for yer supper.” The matronly servant came through the door holding a large tray with covered dishes and a small pitcher of an unknown beverage. “My name is Iris, Miss. I’ll be yer server while yer a guest here.” Iris set the tray on Lilas’ eating table. Turning towards her newest charge, Iris saw the goose bumps on the girl’s arms. “You poor child!” She came up and vigorously rubbed the girl’s upper arms to warm her up. “Have ye a cardigan with ye? I could start a fire if ye like. Has anyone been in t’ see ye?”

Lilas puzzled at so many questions. “No, I--I have no cardigan. I outgrew it and gave it to my sister. Fire?” she looked at the small hearth, “I would like that--thank ye.”

Iris went to the wardrobe and pulled out a light blanket and folded it in half, bringing it towards the girl, “Why don’t we put this around ye for now until ye can get warmed up, eh?” She threw the blanket around Lilas’ shoulders, then guided the tween into the chair to sit down and eat. Iris uncovered the steaming dishes and poured water into the empty glass. While Lilas began to eat, Iris threw a bit of kindling around the logs in the fireplace and started a fire. “There ye are, now, Miss. I’ll look in on ye later when I fetch the tray. When ye’re done, just lay it out in the hallway.” Iris went over to the door, standing in the threshold she took her leave of Lilas. “Now, if ye won’t be needing anything, Miss…?”

Lilas didn’t understand the woman’s remark. “Needing anything?”

Iris smiled at the guest’s naiveté, “Will ye be needing anything further before I leave?”

“Oh!” Lilas shook her head, “No, mum--and thank ye.” She heard Iris chuckling as she shut the door.

Chapter Six - Many Meetings

Pippin sat at the dining table stirring the squash around his plate with a fork. His eyes remained fixed on his food the entire meal; he did not have the heart to look at his mother. Pippin couldn’t remember a meal so miserable.

Eglantine was quiet for most of dinner unless one of her grandsons spoke to her. She would steal a glimpse here and there towards her own son, sitting between Merry and Pimpernel’s oldest boy, Gelbrin.

Young Gelbrin couldn’t take it anymore; why was everyone so gloomy? “Are you sad, Uncle Pippin?” he asked.

Pippin stopped stirring his vegetables long enough to answer his nephew. He forced a cheerless smile and answered, “Yes, I am, Gelly.”

“Why?”

Pippin took a deep breath, not looking up from his place. “Because I am.”

“Gelbrin,” Pim called to her son, “Since you’re finished with your supper, why don’t we go to the playroom and read a book with Tilby?”

“It’s my turn to pick a book!” the six-year-old exclaimed, slipping down from his chair. With one last glance at her brother, Pimpernel ushered her children out of the dining room.

Paladin saw that Merry, too, was finished with his supper, and motioned for his nephew to leave the room with him. Merry excused himself from the table then accompanied his uncle. Only Pippin and Eglantine remained eating, or at least, sitting at the table.

Still looking down at his plate, Pippin continued to swirl his food around. He snuck a view towards his mother and found that she, too, had not eaten much. Both Tooks looked over to the door when a server entered with a tray on wheels and began to gather the empty plates. Suddenly aware of the two occupants still at the table, the servant observed the sorrowful expressions on each face then began to apologize. He promptly exited, quietly closing the door behind him for their privacy.

“Have you been to see her yet?” Eglantine could not bring herself to look her son in the eyes…not yet anyway.

Pippin looked to his mother, “Seen whom?”

“Her,” She replied. She couldn’t say the lass’s name yet, either. “The lass you…the lass from Hobbiton.”

“I wasn’t told she was here,” he answered, ignoring the first part of his mother’s reply. He took a deep breath; better to get it over with. “I’m sorry I failed you, mother.”

Eglantine thought she had no more tears to offer, but here she was yet again, for the hundredth time today, crying over her only son. She wiped her eyes with her napkin, sniffling, she said, “No, son, you failed yourself. You are a Knight of the High King, future Thain of the Shire. You were raised with love and kindness, and from the time we moved here to Great Smials you were groomed for the position that you would one day inherit. You had your choice of any lass in the Shire you wanted to love for the rest of your life. Your whole life was before you, son, and for the price of one moment of weakness, the wedded bliss you should have known is now gone. I know that she does not love you, Pippin--nor you her.”

Pippin couldn’t deny that he did not love her. “I’m sorry.”

It seemed to Eglantine that Lilas and Pippin would be a difficult issue for some time to come, so she quickly changed the subject. “Pervinca will arrive here tomorrow with Merimas and Brody. I don’t know if Pearl will be here; we haven’t received an answer from Needlehole yet.”

Pippin was not certain he wanted his sisters--especially Pearl--going to such great pains to witness what he considered to be a farce. “Father said earlier that he wanted to speak with me after supper,” said Pippin, standing up and laying his napkin upon the table. “Excuse me.”

“Go and look in on your friend Pippin,” Eglantine called out to her departing son.

* * *

Lilas heard a knock upon her door. I have a visitor? She opened the door.

“I’ve come to see if you’ve been made comfortable,” said the hobbit addressing her. “I’m Pimpernel, Pippin’s older sister.” Pimpernel introduced herself, though made no gesture of greeting.

Lilas opened the door wider, “Come in.”

Pimpernel stayed in the hallway. “No thank you. Do you have enough blankets? Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, for both yer questions,” Lilas answered. “Miss Iris is taking good care o’ me.”

“That’s Mistress Iris,” corrected Pimpernel. “She lives in Tuckborough with her four children. Her youngest child was born without sight, and two years ago her husband died. She works in the kitchens; going home every afternoon and evening after her guests have been fed.”

“Ye--ye know about yer servants?” Lilas was amazed that this wealthy Took knew about the private lives of the subordinates.

“I know what some folks in Hobbiton think--of those of us living here in Great Smials,” replied Pimpernel. “That we’re cold, eccentric, and care little for others in lower standing. I would suggest to you, Miss Lilas, that you keep your ears open. There is much for you to learn here.” Pimpernel could see beyond Lilas’ shoulders that the wood supply in the room was low. “I’ll send Pippin to fetch more wood for you.”

“Pippin fetches fire wood?”

Pimpernel hid her amusement. The wall she had built to keep Lilas out was breaking, although it would be a long while before she would allow herself to warm up to the lass. “Pippin knows how to cut wood, chop it, stack it, and build a fire with it. As I said, keep your ears open. Talk to your…husband-to-be and get to know him.” Noticing the goose-bumps on the lass’ arms, Pimpernel took off her own cardigan and put it around Lilas’ shoulders. “Most of the servants go home after dinner. The few in-mates we have living here see to our needs until bedtime, but generally after dinner we ‘high-and-mighty-folk’ fend for ourselves.”

“Thank ye,” Lilas said, warming up now that she was wrapped in Pimpernel’s sweater. “How long will I be kept in this room?”

“Kept in your room?” Pimpernel shook her head, “You’re not a prisoner, Lilas. You’re free to roam the Smials as you wish, but I would advise that you take Pippin with you because it’s easy to get lost among the tunnels if you’re not careful. A suite is being prepared for you and my brother as we speak--for after you take your vows. Did you bring a dress with you?”

“No,” Lilas answered, a little embarrassed. “Ma only made skirts an’ blouses for me, or I sewed them myself.”

Pimpernel sighed heavily. “My work is cut out for me then. There is no time to make a dress for you, so I will lend you one of my old dresses. We may have to make a few adjustments, but I’m sure that they can be made in time for your vows. Pervinca can assist me when she arrives.” Pimpernel saw the inquiring expression on Lilas’ face and added, “She’s my younger sister.”

Lilas grinned sadly, “Ears open.”

“Very good, Lilas,” Pimpernel took her leave. “I will return tomorrow so we can get started on the dress.”

* * *

In another part of the Smials, Paladin and Merry, joined by Pippin, sat in the Thain’s office discussing the plans for Pippin’s wedding on Sunday. The plans so far were for Merry to ride into Hobbiton to give Deputy- Mayor Baggins a message. Paladin requested that Frodo officiate the vows acting on behalf of Mayor Whitfoot. Moreover, the Marriage Certificate needed seven signatures on it before the marriage could be considered lawful. Pippin and Lilas were not of legal age yet, so neither one could sign officially, but would sign below the others in acknowledgement of their vows. Paladin would sign for his son, but who would sign for Lilas? Mister Silas had already told Paladin that he had washed his hands of his daughter. Perhaps one of the women present at the ceremony could sign for Lilas. The rest of the signatures would come mostly from trusted friends of Pippin and the family. It would be a long day tomorrow for Merry, playing message courier for his uncle, the Thain.

Merry sat in the chair across from the tea table. “I know that Frodo will be here, as will Fredegar. It won’t take much persuasion for Sam, Ferdie, Everard, and Reggie to sign the certificate. I’m of age--I can sign, too.”

“I will ask if Pimpernel will agree to sign for Lilas,” said Paladin, blowing out smoke from his pipe.

“If I will agree to what?” All heads turned in the direction of the door. Pimpernel walked in, “I knocked but nobody answered.”

“Sign for Lilas,” replied her father. “You know she’s not of age, don’t you?”

“I saw that when I visited her a few moments ago,” Pimpernel came and sat next to her father. “I also got the impression that she can’t read or write. I suppose I could sign for her, if no one else is willing to.”

“Splendid,” Paladin said. “When Merimas and Pervinca arrive, they will be the last signatures that we’ll need.”

Pimpernel remembered the real reason for intruding in upon the conversation. “Pippin, you really ought to go look in on Lilas. She’s almost your wife.”

Pippin shifted uneasily in his chair, “I wish everyone wouldn’t refer to her as my wife until it is actually so.”

“I wish you would have thought about that two months ago when you treated her as if she were your wife.” Paladin snapped his reply. “If you have not gone to her room to so much as welcome her, then you will go and do so now.” He watched a begrudging Pippin rise up from his seat and saunter towards the door.

“She needs firewood…,” Pimpernel called to her brother, but the door shut before she got out the last word, “…Pip.”

* * *

Lilas opened the door to see who was knocking. “Hullo?”

“I was told to bring you firewood.” Pippin was quick and straight to the point.

“Pimpernel must’ve sent ye.” Lilas said, observing a wooden cart the hobbit lad was pushing; it was full of chopped wood.

Pippin grabbed an armful and walked past her, walking straight over to the fireplace and began stacking the logs neatly off to the side. Without a word, Lilas watched him make two trips back and forth from the cart to the hearth. On the last trip he brought in a smaller wooden box and set it next to the stack of logs. “Kindling,” was all he said. Looking at the orange embers burning low, he took the hearth rod, stoked the cinders and built another fire for her.

Lilas gazed at the hobbit-lad in his normal, everyday clothes. This couldn’t be the same shining knight wearing the black and silver tunic she encountered at the Green Dragon two months previous. Though this lad was just as tall, he looked no older than she was. He appeared so much older that night. What have I done?, she thought to herself. We’re both too young for this.

“That should take all night to burn,” said Pippin, standing up and brushing his hands together. “Do you need anything else?” His eyes were fixed on the wall behind the lass standing in front of him.

Lilas felt lonely, wanting someone--anyone--to talk to. “Pravinca…is she older or younger than ye?”

“It’s PERvinca,” Pippin repeated his sister’s name, stressing the correct pronunciation. “She’s older. Anything else?” He strode over to the door to take his leave.

She answered meekly, “No.” The sound of the door closing echoed in the large room. Tears filled her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. Silently, she padded over to the bed and lay upon it, curling into a fetal position, sobbing deep and quietly into her pillow.

Hello: this is Pippinfan. Unhobbity Hobbit mentioned Lilas starving herself in her review. I don’t want folks thinking she’s starving herself, so I tweaked that portion of this chapter to show that Lilas is *not* doing that. She’s a bundle of nerves, frightened, and really does not know what to expect *because* her own mother couldn’t bring up the subject, or didn’t have the chance to--as she was pretty much kicked out of the house shortly after her father learned of her condition. I value everyone’s opinion! Doesn’t mean I’m going to change the story every time, but I felt Unhobbity had a valid point. Thank you Unhobbity Hobbit! :- )

Chapter Seven - Beginnings

The ceremony--if you want to call it that, took place inside the private dining room of the Thain. The persons attending were immediate family and those whose signature would be required on the marriage document.

Pervinca, Merimas, and their baby son, Brodimas arrived at Great Smials the day before. Pearl and her family arrived a few hours after Pervinca late in the afternoon. She had traveled all the way from the northern-most parts of the Westfarthing. Pippin thought for certain that his sister might not come at all; the Smials did not hold many happy memories for his eldest sister. He wished that he too could run to the farthest reaches of the Shire or of the High King’s Realm. But no; he didn’t run when it came to doing his part for the Shire before the Black Gate, and he would not run now.

The Bride wore a yellow dress that Pimpernel no longer used, though Lilas thought it may as well have been new. It looked as if no one had worn it yet. Pervinca and Pearl helped their sister to alter the dress for Lilas. Eglantine ordered Pippin to wear a jacket and matching waistcoat. Whether he liked it or not, she would have him dress up for the occasion.

Many eyes were being dabbed when Pippin said his vows--even Pippin was wiping his eyes. There were plenty of tears to go around among the participants and guests, though none were of the happy sort. Afterwards, while the refreshments were being served, the witnesses hovered around one end of the long table to sign the formal document.

Pippin and Lilas sat in opposite corners of the dining room; Lilas sat quietly in her chair sipping cider while Pippin sulked in his own chair, tending to a mug of ale. He caught her looking at him then she quickly turned away when she perceived him glancing in her direction. No words needed to be said; the air between bride and groom was on edge. Pippin’s thoughts were broken when he heard someone sit down beside him at the table.

“You looked like you needed company.” Frodo said, but his expression held no mirth.

“What I need is an arrow shot through my heart,” Pippin replied wryly.

“What’s done is done,” offered Frodo. “I’m not judging you, Pip. I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, let me know. We’re still friends, right?”

Pippin’s lip began quivering. He imagined all of his friends abandoning him when they learned of his indiscretion. Instead, they were all present here at his wedding--planned or not--signing as witnesses. Reaching towards Frodo, he embraced his cousin, “Always--and thank you, Frodo.”

* * *

Pippin and Lilas followed Paladin and Merry through the various halls towards the quarters that had been prepared for their residence. Absentmindedly, Pippin fell into step behind his cousin, who trailed behind his uncle. Lilas was walking behind all three, gazing at all the Thain’s chattel; the decorative brass wall sconces, velvet tapestries that hung in the hallways, large floor vases and well-polished hall tables. Looking over one of the tables, she saw a huge mirror that hung upon the wall. Lilas stopped to touch it’s frame, and as she did so she felt a soft mat underneath her toes. Lilas stooped on her haunches to feel the texture of the runner. Before long, she was entirely lost in the interior design of the tunnel. There were no such luxuries in her father’s home. All of a sudden, Lilas realized she was alone. She stood up, whirling round towards the hallway she thought that they were all headed for, quickly walking in effort to catch up to them.

After a few twists and turns, Lilas still did not meet up with the other three--but she was certain she was headed in the right direction. Then she came upon the end of the hallway--the end of the hallway. Where was Pippin? Merry? Lilas knew she was lost. She was just beginning to panic when she heard a familiar voice--or, at least, somewhat familiar.

“Lilas!” Pippin stood at the far end of the tunnel calling to her. “This way.”

Lilas made her way towards her husband, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I--I’m sorry. I must’ve taken a wrong turn.”

Pippin said nothing, guiding Lilas back in the direction that he came from. When they had walked past a couple hallways, Lilas saw an open door. She tried her best to remember which hallways were where.

“Lilas, this is where you and Pippin will be living,” announced Paladin. “Merry and I have a few things to attend to, so we will leave you two here for the present.”

Pippin gave a surprised look to his father, “But I wanted to visit longer with Pearl and Pervinca. I haven’t seen Pearl in a long time.”

Lilas felt very small and insignificant sitting on the chair. “He doesn’t have t’ stay with me.”

“See?” Pippin implored, “she doesn’t need me here.”

Paladin sensed the lessons to his tween-aged son in being a husband and father were already beginning. “Pippin, the past few days have been long and emotionally draining for your wife. She’s pregnant with your child--she needs her rest. You are to see that she rests for the next couple of hours. Pearl and Pervinca will be here for a few days, so you will have plenty of time for visitation.” With that said, Paladin left the room.

Merry shrugged his shoulders apologetically, “I’ll look in on you both a little later.” He then closed the door, following his uncle down the hallway.

Pippin sank down into the couch with a heavy sigh. Lilas sat in her chair. There was a long silence, and it was deafening.

Lilas knew that Pippin would rather be anywhere but here with her. “I’m sorry.”

“It seems that we both are,” he replied sullenly, then got up and went into the other room.

When Lilas woke up, she was lying on the bed covered with a blanket. She figured Pippin must have carried her in here. Quietly she arose, hearing conversation in low volume out in the sitting room.

“Hello, Lilas,” said Pervinca, bouncing an infant in her lap. “I’m sorry if Brody woke you up. He’s becoming quite the talker these days.” The baby smiled, gurgling his greeting.

Lilas smiled wearily, leaning against the doorway. “Brody is his name? So sweet he is. How old is he?”

“He just turned five months,” answered Pervinca.

“You see, Brody?” Merimas laughed, letting his baby son curl his little hand around his finger. “all you have to do is smile to get a lass’s attention.” Pervinca nudged her husband.

No sooner had Lilas started walking towards the couch that the room began spinning. She stopped, reaching out to grab something that was stable. In one quick motion, Pervinca handed Brody to Merimas and reached out to help Lilas. Pippin also got up to help her sit down.

“When was the last time you ate, Lilas?” Pervinca asked. She didn’t remember her sister-in-law partaking of the finger foods set out after the ceremony in the dining room.

“It was some time ago,” the lass confessed.

“Are you hungry, Lilas?” Pippin asked.

“A little,” she lied. Truth was, she was very hungry. She tried to eat breakfast, but it kept coming back up. She tried nibbling on dry biscuits, but that wouldn’t stay down either. Finally she gave up because the ceremony was due to start.

Pippin walked over to the mantelpiece, took a small bell off the shelf, opened the door to the hallway and rang it. Soon Lilas could hear low murmuring taking place.

“Lilas,” Pervinca chided her, “if you want to have a healthy baby then you need to eat properly.”

“But I only got sick afterward,” Lilas moaned, speaking of the breakfast she tried to eat. “I hated getting sick so much.”

“Probably nerves,” said Merimas observed, a healer at Brandy Hall.

“It’s part of being pregnant,” said Pervinca.

“What other things are gonna happen t’ me?” Lilas wondered out loud.

Pervinca puzzled at the lass’ remark. “What other--? Hasn’t your mother talked to you at all, Lilas?”

She shook her head, “What was my ma s’posed to talk to me about?”

Pervinca took Lilas by the arm, helping her to stand up. “Come along, Lilas. Merimas, will you be all right with Brody for a while?” She didn’t wait for her husband’s answer, continuing with Lilas out the door. “Pippin, tell the server to bring her tray to Pimpernel’s room. It’s time for us women to have a chat.” “What other things are gonna happen t’ me?” Lilas wondered out loud.

Hello friends, rest assured, Pippin’s natural *compassion* will be forthcoming; remember--this is still their first day/night together…maybe.

Chapter Eight - Settling In

“What else did you lasses talk about?” Pippin sat on the couch sipping a cup of hot tea before bedtime. He had been wondering all day as to what he would do when the moment came to share the bed with Lilas. He decided that this little respite would be a good time to learn more about each other and avoid the pertinent issue of wedding night jitters…especially now that they were husband and wife.

Lilas filled Pippin in on what she and his sisters talked about earlier in the day. “Pearl said that me being sick after I eat is normal. I still don’t like it, though. Pimpernel explained how we--I mean, how I was able t’ conceive even though I wasn’t married.” Lilas shook her head, “I only hope Nida learns the truth soon.”

“Is Nida a close friend of yours?”

Lilas nodded, “Yes. Is Merry yours?” She watched Pippin nod in reply. “How long have ye known each other?”

“Well,” Pippin scratched his head, “all of my life. We’re first and third-cousins; he’s older by a few years.”

“I have cousins up in the Northfarthing but I have never seen them. My father doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“I’ve never known a time when I have not lived among or near my kin,” said Pippin. “Merry and I have always been very close.” He drained his cup. “How many siblings do you have?”

“I have three brothers--Milas and Dabo--they’re older, and then Sabo--who’s younger than me. The youngest is, Saborra.”

“Was she with you the night--,” he left the remark unfinished.

Lilas saddened, “No. Saborra just turned twenty last Winterfilth; she was too young t’ be out with me and Nida. The others were older lasses that we had met at the market not long before.”

“Why did…,” he paused, “Why did you…” Pippin had wanted to ask this question for the past few days. “Why me? I had too much to drink that night--didn’t you see that?”

“I saw--and so did I,” she responded, recalling her state of mind that night in early Blotmath. “You could’ve kept on walking, ye know.”

“How could I? You nearly dragged me into the woods.”

Her jaw dropped in surprise. “Dragged ye? I don’t recall hog-tying and hauling ye single-handed out to the woods. Ye followed me!”

“If I followed it’s because you gave signs! You knew that I was drunk and so you took advantage of me!”

Lilas got up and threw a lap pillow at him, shouting her pent-up anger from the past few days. “I didn’t know what I was thinkin’! I only know that I’m sorry I did what I did! I’m sorry I got ye in this, and I’m sorry I got me in this! It’s all my doin’ and now I can’t ever go home!” Tears ran down her cheeks as she ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Pippin sat in his chair fuming. Too upset to spend his wedding night with his bride even if he had wanted to, he opted for the couch. He furiously fluffed the same lap pillow that had been thrown at him and set it under his head. Restless, angry thoughts ran through in his head as he settled down to sleep. Pippin couldn’t find a comfortable position. He was far too awake to get any rest. As he was entertaining the thought of finding Merry for a game of chess--and to talk to--the door to the bedroom flew open. Out ran Lilas with her hand over her mouth to the little ‘convenience’ room where a pail was kept for just that purpose. Pippin grimaced; he could hear what Lilas was doing inside. He hoped he wouldn’t have to listen to this all night. He sat up, praying that his own stomach would stay down.

Just one week ago he and Merry were hosting a Winter Formal party at Crickhollow and flirting with every lass in the room. Now he was suddenly a married hobbit with a child due in less than five months. Would he survive?

* * *

“So how’s married life?” Merry gave his friend a sad smile. He and Pippin were sitting in the common room of the Smials late in the afternoon smoking their pipes and blowing smoke rings. Merry sensed his young cousin needed someone to talk to.

Pippin answered his cousin with a sharp look. He sighed, “We already had an argument last night.”

“About what, if I may ask?”

Pippin shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “I accused her of dragging me into the woods, and of course she flatly denied it, which included a pillow being thrown at my head.”

Merry laughed, “Give her time to adjust, Pip.”

“Her to adjust?” Pippin paused in blowing smoke rings at hearing his dearest friend side with Lilas. “Merry, in the span of a week, my life has been turned upside down. I’m torn from my life at Crickhollow, and forced to marry a complete stranger.” He slipped his pipe between his teeth, saying wistfully, “Will I ever be happy again?”

“Sure you will…eventually,” Merry emptied his pipe, then laid it on the table. “I was going to add that you ought to give yourself time to adjust as well. Whether you like it or not, Pip, Lilas is in your life to stay. Get to know her better--she can’t be all that bad.”

Pippin snorted, his memory of succumbing to the wiles of a pretty lass rose up, “You weren’t with her that night--or last night.”

“I, my friend,” Merry pointed out, “wasn’t inebriated like you were. I was in full control of my faculties.”

Pippin couldn’t deny that. He must have drunk every mug that was bought for him that evening by a host of grateful hobbits. Never again. The two young hobbits sat quietly for some time, contemplating the events of the past week. It was inevitable that the subject would come up, so Merry decided to inform his cousin that his stay at the Smials would be cut short.

“Merry, no!” Pippin spoke in a low volume. Leaning closer towards his friend, “Don’t leave me here alone!”

“You’re not alone,” Merry reminded him. “Pimpernel lives here now while Merimas and Pervinca plan to stay a few days more. I have to go; Uncle Paladin has asked me to give the recent news personally to my Mum and Dad.”

Pippin shook his head in disapproval, “Auntie is going to be angry with my father for not sending her an invitation.”

Merry replied, “Your dad was wise in not doing so; it’s one thing for Pervinca and Merimas to visit Great Smials on a whim, but for them and the Master of the Hall to do so would attract unwanted attention--attention that the Thain didn’t necessarily want.” Then he started to chuckle, “Now do you see why I’m not exactly looking forward to going home?”

“When are you coming back?”

Merry smiled, “I’ll return in a few weeks to see how you’re doing. In the meantime, Pip, get to know her.”

* *

Pippin wandered the tunnels of the Smials in effort to avoid going back to his quarters. Lilas would be there. He admonished himself--what was he so afraid of? He had been walking for over an hour after he and Merry parted ways. His cousin was meeting with his father at this time and then would join the family later for supper. Merry liked rising early, so more than likely he would get an early start on his trip back to Buckland in the morning.

Pippin decided to proceed on to his and Lilas’ rooms at which point he drew near to the Thain’s dining room. He could hear laughter echo throughout the hallway. He peered around the door to better see who was having a merry time.

“Pippin!” Pervinca called, still laughing from somebody’s jest. “Come in and enjoy some of this lovely apple pie!”

Pippin was always game for apple pie, so he strolled inside. He startled to see Lilas sitting on one side of his sister, while Merimas sat on the other. “Hullo, Pervinca…everyone,” Pippin quickly recovered from his surprise. Looking around he asked, “Where’s Brody?”

“Mother is with him--she’s busy rocking him in the same rocking chair she rocked you in as a babe.” She slid a plate with a piece of pie on it over to her brother, “Try some--Lilas baked it. It’s delicious!”

Sitting across the table from the group, Pippin marveled at how quickly his sister always warmed up to people. It appeared Lilas was no exception. He looked over at his wife, “You baked this pie?”

Lilas nodded meekly, “It’s one of the few things I’m not real bad at.”

“Lilas,” Merimas piped in, “you’re not ‘bad’ at things; every hobbit has a talent. You’re still a tween, so you have plenty of time to discover your other hidden abilities.”

In an instant, young Lilas recalled the many times in her life when she had fallen short of her father’s expectations…or her brothers’…or her mother. For the first time in her life, she felt approval. “You mean I’m not horrible at everything I do?”

Merimas smiled at her simplicity, “Of course not, Lilas.”

Pippin felt uncomfortable. He listened as his brother-in-law encouraged his wife--something that he, as her husband, ought to be doing. Pippin became aware that the room had suddenly grown quiet. All eyes were upon him. The lad realized that they were waiting for him to take a bite of the pie. He silently picked up his fork and sliced off a nibble, slowly lifting it to his mouth. He swished it around inside his mouth as if seeking the bouquet of a fine wine, teasing the waiting crowd. Being an authority on apples, Pippin detected nothing new on his tongue; it tasted average. Though, Pippin understood that any comment other than praise would crush his poor wife. He looked at Lilas, “It’s absolutely delicious.” He wasn’t being deceptive--it did taste…good.

Lilas was almost beside herself, grinning from ear to ear. “Ye really like it?” It was just what the tween needed to hear. She felt it had been a long time since she had done anything right.

* *

Lilas had grown tired after the little gathering in the dining room, so Pervinca offered to walk her sister-in-law to hers while Pippin and Merimas stayed in the dining room cleaning up--or rather eating up, the last of the apple pie. A half hour had past when the lads, too, felt weariness descending upon them. They each decided to take a nap before dinner in their own quarters.

On his way, Pippin passed his old bedroom. The door was open. Going in to investigate, he found his mother softly humming a lullaby and sitting in his rocking chair. Without taking her attention away from the sleeping babe in her arms, Eglantine stopped singing briefly to address her own son, “Come in, Pippin. Come and see your newest nephew.”

Pippin had seen Brody before at Brandy Hall, but he stepped further inside, looking over his mother’s shoulders at the small infant. “He’s grown.” The last time Pippin had seen the baby was during the Yule season.

“Why don’t you hold him?”

Pippin hesitated but a second, then reached down for his mother to lay the child into his arms. He sat down in the chair across from Eglantine. Pippin observed the peaceful little face. He never felt the reality of his pending fatherhood clearer than at this moment. Brody was soft and warm, all wrapped in his little blanket. Pippin smiled to think that in a couple of years, this same small babe would be running his sister ragged at Brandy Hall with his bundle of ceaseless energy.

Eglantine watched her son cradle his nephew in his arms. He reminded her of a young Paladin holding their baby daughter for the first time. Pippin was just a lad himself. Eglantine laid aside her own hurts and fears for her boy, and then smiled thoughtfully. “You look frightened.”

Pippin looked up at his mother. “No,” he said, “not frightened…petrified. But…I just wonder.”

At least his humor was filtering back into his conversation. “Wonder about what?”

“Will I be a good father? I mean, as good as my father?”

“I think that you will. You have plenty of family to help you through all of this.” Then the awful loneliness Lilas must be feeling of being discarded by her family crossed Eglantine’s mind. She added, “You both do.”

* *

Later, as Lilas made ready to get under the blankets of their bed, she sensed another presence in the bedroom with her. Looking up, she saw it was Pippin, dressed in his nightshirt. Without a word, he slipped under the covers, lying on ‘his’ side of the bed.

Chapter Nine - Discovering

“I can’t take this--it’s…so beautiful!” Lilas stood in Pervinca’s old bedroom along with her sister-in-law, holding a pretty green frock up against herself. She turned to look at herself in the mirror.

“Yes, you can,” Pervinca said, turning Lilas this way and that to ensure it would be a good fit. “It was my favorite dress; I must have left it behind by accident.”

“Don’t know what t’ say, except thanks.”

“And that’s enough,” replied Pervinca, picking up a crying Brody. “You don’t mind sitting and talking with me for a while do you?” she asked. Unbuttoning her bodice, she sat down on the couch to nurse her baby.

Lilas watched the hungry babe latch onto his mother, then glanced at her own inadequate bosom.

Pervinca caught Lilas’ movement, “Oh, trust me, they’ll get bigger!”

As they spoke, Lilas gazed around Perivinca’s room. This is where she grew up, she thought to herself. “Where was Pippin’s room?” she asked.

“Across the hall next to Merry’s. Mother always wanted a sort of order to our rooms; lads on one side, lasses on the other. It was like that at Whitwell, too.”

“Whitwell? Where’s that?”

Pervinca went into where their little farm smial was located just east of Tuckborough. “We grew up there. Well, until I was about sixteen or seventeen…which made Pippin about twelve at the time we moved here.” She saw Lilas’ expression. “You didn’t know that?”

The young lass shook her head. “Ye grew up on a farm? I thought ye lived here all yer life.” Lilas knew that farm life was not an easy one. Lilas realized then that she didn’t know much at all about her husband.

“What was Pippin like when he was a boy?”

Pervinca laughed, “He still is sometimes!” Her laughter died down when Lilas only looked at her with blinking eyes. “Um…well,” she sighed, digging into her not too distant memories. “He was definitely a mischief maker--and oh, you get him and Merry together! I’m amazed mother and father didn’t go mad. Not that the lads were malicious in their tomfoolery, but they certainly kept our parents on their toes.”

“I only remember Pippin once at the Hobbiton market,” Lilas began the same tale she told Pippin once before. “We were probably thirteen or fourteen years old. I had too much in my sack and it slipped from my hands. Everyone laughed except him. I don’t remember anyone else with him, but the look he gave t’ the other lads made even me cringe. He helped me t’ pick up all that I dropped and put it back in t’ the sack.”

Pervinca smiled at the revelation. “And that’s the very same Pippin whom you married a few days ago. For all of his mischief, he’s a sweet lad, too. You’ll see.”

* * *

Pippin came hurriedly inside his and Lilas’ door, “Lilas! Supper is almost ready--we need to start walking towards the dining room.” He stood for a minute in the sitting room watching his young wife work out a snarl in her knitting. She then hastily unraveled it apart, then threw her knitting needles down on the floor in frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it!” she sniffed.

“I didn’t know you could knit.”

“I can’t! Didn’t ye hear me?”

“I heard you; you said you couldn’t do it--I took it to mean you couldn’t,” he waived his finger at her pile of yarn, “do that--whatever you were knitting.”

“I was knittin’ a blanket. A baby’s blanket, if ye must know.” She picked up her scattered needles and rolled up her yarn. “Yer ma’s teaching me t’ knit. I wanted t’ surprise her t’morrow.”

“My mother isn’t one to demand excellence from the very start of one learning a new task. Did she know that you didn’t fully understand the steps she gave you to practice?”

“No, and I wasn’t going t’ tell her. She already explained ’em t’ me four times--I didn’t want her t’ think I’m stupid, too.”

“Too? Who is it that you believe thinks you’re stupid?” When he opened the door to allow her to exit first, he saw her glance in his direction. “Lilas! You know I don’t think you’re stupid!”

She walked by her husband, “I wasn’t going t’ name ye, but I wanted t’ be sure.”

Pippin strolled beside his wife as they made their way to the dining room, rather amused that Lilas was going to such great lengths in order to impress his mother. He had an idea to ask Pimpernel to help Lilas out after supper.

“Well? Who is it?”

“Who I think thinks me stupid?

Pippin had to take an extra second to decipher her speech. “Yes.”

“Me.”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons.” Was all that she would say, though first and foremost in her mind was that both hers and Pippin’s lives were never going to be the same again.

* * *

Lilas held the long needles close to her face in the dim candlelight. It was after midnight, and she was well on her way to knitting her first couple of rows in her baby blanket. Pimpernel had tutored Lilas after supper in what Eglantine instructed her earlier in the day. Pimpernel laughed when Lilas told her about all the stitches she unraveled--which mortified the lass.

“Oh, Lilas--I’m not laughing at you,” Pimpernel responded. “My mother did the same thing to Pearl and I when she was teaching us to knit. It’s just the way my mother explains things. If you have any more trouble with understanding her instructions, just come to me and I’ll interpret them for you.”

As her husband slept on the other side of the bed, Lilas continued to knit into the wee morning hours. She was determined to knit enough rows to present to her mother-in-law after second breakfast. Her hands and wrists were beginning to ache with the rhythm of the slips and purls.

“Stop it, Pippin.” Lilas spoke in a soft voice, feeling the bed jar as he turned over. She chuckled to herself, What am I saying? He can’t help it, he’s asleep! She resumed her knitting hoping it was the last of his bouncing. After a couple minutes, she heard him grunt then turn over again--and not so gentle this time. “Pippin! I’m trying t’ knit!” She listened over the course of a few minutes as Pippin’s breathing increased. He turned over again and this time pulled on the blankets and her knitting. “Pippin!” She reached over to wake him, but suddenly with a loud, mournful cry he bolted upright in the bed. She cried out when he did, but he only stared straight ahead; seeing nothing. “Pippin?”

Pippin took hold of her wrist in an icy grasp, sneering, “We shall meet again soon! Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand?” he said, jerking her arm, “Say just that!”

Lilas dropped her knitting needles, struggling to free herself from her mad husband. Finally Pippin let go and began to weep. Lilas ran out into the hallway knocking on doors. “Help! Somebody! He’s having a fit!”

Eglantine and Paladin were the first to open their door. Paladin shielded his eyes from the bright light in the hallway, “What is it, lass?”

Lilas was franticly imploring them, “Come quickly! He’s in a bad way!”

* * *

Pippin sat with his knees drawn up under the covers, his arms folded on top. He rested his forehead on his arms to hide his tears. Paladin sat on the edge of the bed offering his son a glass of water. Wiping his eyes on his nightshirt, Pippin took the glass and drank all of the water. He felt humiliated. “I’m sorry, Father.”

Paladin grinned sadly, “This is why you lived at Crickhollow, isn’t it?” It was as close to an apology for dragging the lad away as Paladin would get. He opened the drawer of Pippin’s night table and handed his son a handkerchief.

Eglantine sat with Lilas, also in tears, on the other side of the bed, “Try to get some sleep, Lilas. You need it for the baby.”

“Yes, mum.” Lilas gathered her bundle of yarn and the needles, putting them inside the knitting bag Pimpernel had given her.

Eglantine noticed the many rows of stitching already accomplished by her daughter-in-law. “You knitted all of that?” Lilas nodded. “Very nice stitching.”

“Thank ye.” Lilas was in tears again, being paid a compliment from her tutor.

Eglantine sensed the lass probably received few words of praise in her young life. She reached out and gave her a tender hug, then held her as the girl sobbed. After a minute Eglantine released her, admonishing her, “Now get some rest. You and Pippin are overdue for a long talk with each other.”

After his parents had left, Pippin lay for some time on his back trying to relax. In the silence he listened for the deep breathing of his wife lying next to him.

“Pippin?” she spoke softly.

“What?”

“Are ye all right?”

“I’m fine.” he lied. He was making every effort to not fall asleep again. Still feeling humiliated, he turned away from her, rolling over further on ‘his side’ of the bed.

Chapter Ten - Shadows from the Past

Pippin slowly sat up and made his way out of the bed. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning. Lilas was already up and dressed--knitting again in the sitting room. “How long have you been up?” he asked, his voice husky with more sleep than he wanted.

Lilas paused in her stitching, “Not long. I think we’re late for breakfast.”

“I think we are, too.” Still in his nightshirt, Pippin sat down in the couch across from Lilas.

“Pippin?”

“Hmm?”

“What were ye dreaming about last night?”

Pippin made an attempt to evade the issue. “Lots of things.”

Lilas put her knitting aside. “Did any o’ them have t’ do with ye being away for so long?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do ye have dreams like that a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

Lilas stood up, tossing her knitting onto her chair, “Fine! Be like that.”

Pippin sat deep thought as his wife made her way to the little room in the back. He could hear her again. Fortunately, he knew his wave of nausea would pass easier than hers would.

He sat on the couch thinking about his sister Pimpernel and her husband, Hilfred. Pippin laughed to himself to think that she and his brother-in-law actually hated each other before they formed a warm friendship. Then out of the blue, Hil began to court his sister. Soon after that, love blossomed and eventually Hilfred asked Paladin for his daughter’s hand in marriage. It all seemed so natural to Pippin; friendship, courting, marriage, children. Not for him though. For him it had been children then marriage. The friendship and courting were markedly absent. Perhaps neither one would ever develop. The resentment may always be near at hand, but Pippin wanted to at least try to be affable towards Lilas. He wasn’t used to all this fighting and indifference. Pippin learned during the War to make the best of life--in spite of what his circumstances were. He arose from where he sat; once again taking the bell out to the hallway he arranged to breakfast in his quarters…with his wife.

* *

With a deep sigh and a quiet little belch, Pippin pushed away from the table a bit. He and Lilas shared a soothing breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hot buttered mushrooms. Pippin observed with wonder that Lilas was still going strong; she had just cleaned the egg platter and spooned the last of the mushrooms onto her plate. He had forgotten just how much a pregnant hobbit could put away.

“Shall I order more?”

Looking around at the empty platters, Lilas actually considered his offer, then relented, “No…I think I’ll save room for luncheon.” She looked up with a grateful smile, “Thank ye.”

Pippin retrieved his pipe from the mantelpiece and lit it. “It was about the Dark Lord,” he said, puffing on his pipe, then sat back down at the eating table.

Lilas had no idea what her husband just revealed to her, but she understood that it must have had something to do with his dream. “A dark lord? Ye saw one in yer dream?”

“I met him,” was Pippin’s simple answer. “Through a seeing-stone.”

“And ye now have night terrors over it? It must’ve been horrible.”

“It nearly killed me--among other things.” Not far from the truth, but he wanted to see what her reaction would be.

Lilas was speechless. “I’m sorry--to bring up dreadful memories like that. Ye don’t have t’ talk about it anymore if ye don’t want t’.”

Pippin blew out a couple smoke rings; Lilas watched them float up towards the ceiling then dissipate. “Lilas, if we’re going to be together--or perhaps even be friends, then we need to get to know one another. Right now, we’re complete strangers.” Then she listened as he continued on with his account, “When I saw the Dark Lord, it felt as if pure evil was penetrating my very soul. The words last night that you said I spoke to you--were spoken to me by Sauron.” Pippin shuddered at the not too distant memory. “It was Gandalf who called me back.”

Lilas realized there was more to his night terrors than what he was revealing here. “Pippin,” she began, “I’m a simple lass from Hobbiton. I don’t know what ye or Mr. Merry did yonder, but I do see that it was somethin’ bigger than me--bigger than Hobbiton, even. I’d like t’ hear it all.” She took notice of an unnerved expression on his face and said, “When ye can.”

There was a long silence as Pippin decided if he would be able to speak further of the other atrocities he experienced on his Journey. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Who is it?” he called.

“Your ever-loving sisters--its past Elevenses--now open up!”

Pippin recognized the voice of Pimpernel. He winked at Lilas to show he was about to have a jest. “Ever-loving sisters? Since when are my sisters ‘ever-loving’?” Pippin stood up and went to open the door.

“We have always been nothing but loving towards you, Pippin--you know that,” Pimpernel smirked as she walked past her brother. “Gracious me, he’s still in his nightshirt, Pearl! Are you ready, Lilas?”

“Loving to be bossy,” murmured Pippin. “Where are you lasses going?” he said aloud.

“We’re stealing Lilas away for the day,” answered Pervinca. “A lass’s outing--no lads allowed.”

Pippin grinned mischievously, “Then why do Hilly and Brody get to go along?”

Pervinca chuckled at her brother, “Well, Pippin, if you think you can nurse them better than us, then here!” She handed her baby son over to him.

Lilas rose up from her seat, grabbing her knitting bag. “They’re taking me t’ see the midwife. Will ye be all right while I’m away?”

“Of course I’ll be fine, Lilas,” he said, cuddling his sister’s baby. “We lads will have a fine day, too. I’m going to teach them how to blow smoke rings, drink a pint, and filch apples from the larder without mother knowing about it. You know--lads stuff.”

“No you won’t--give me back my son,” Pervinca teased, gently taking Brody back in her arms.

The girls started to leave when Pimpernel lingered behind a moment. “Gelbrin and Tilby are with their nurse in the north garden--it would be nice if their uncle spent some time playing with them this morning.”

“As I said,” Pippin smiled for effect, “smoke rings, pints, and apples.”

Pimpernel laughed, “Just keep them away from too many apples!”

* * *

“No, Gelly, we’re not playing Shirrifs and Ruffians today.” Pippin carried three-year-old Tilby in one arm while holding the hand of the six-year-old walking beside him down the hallway in the Smials.

“Why not?”

“First, because you always get to be the shirrif,” answered Pippin, “Second, because last time we played that game, you tied me to a tree and then left me.”

“It was an ac--ac--”

“Accident,” Pippin helped the boy.

“Yes--an accident, Uncle Pippin,” the boy explained, “Momma called me and Tilby in for lunch.”

“Well, either way, no more trussing. Uncle Pippin doesn’t like it, all right?”

“All right,” Gelly gave in. “Then what are we going to play?”

Pippin thought to teach the boys a game he learned in Gondor while in the company of Bergil. “Do you have a penny with you, Gel?”

His nephew shook his head, “Momma makes me put them away.”

“Very well, then, we’ll share,” Pippin dug into his pocket, pulling out several coins. “Here, take two,” he said, holding his palm in front of Gelbrin, and then told Tilby to do the same. He next set his younger nephew on the ground, then dug into his pockets for two more pennies for himself. “Let’s go to my quarters; we need more room and a sort of wall to play this game.” Off they headed to Pippin’s room.

* * *

The hallways resonated with the chatter of five women strolling at an easy pace from one end to the other of the Smials. Lilas was overjoyed that she was getting to know each of the Took sisters and her mother-in-law.

Pearl was inspecting Lilas’ efforts in knitting. “Before you know it, you’ll be finished with the baby’s blanket. What will you start next?”

“Haven’t thought about that yet,” she answered. “Does a baby need more than one blanket?”

“Yes, he will--that is, if the baby is a he,” said Pearl. “But leave us a few things to make for your baby.”

“I believe Lilas is ready to learn how to stitch a baby’s sweater,” piped in Eglantine. She knew that Lilas was trying very hard to please her, so she also felt a bit of encouragement would go a long way with the lass.

“Do ye think so?” Lilas’ eyes became wide with enthusiasm.

As the quintet entered Pippin’s and Lilas’ quarters, Pimpernel was shocked at the sight before her. “Gelbrin and Tilbrith Brownfield!”

Gelly froze mid-toss when he heard his mother’s voice. Tilby didn’t see the harsh look on Pimpernel’s face. “Wait, Momma--Tilby try again!” Then the three-year-old let the copper coin fly from his hand.

His cousins, standing in a half-circle around the young brothers and eagerly watching the coin replied in unison, “Aw!” Tilby’s penny landed the farthest from the wall.

“What are they playin’?” Lilas thought the game looked familiar, but couldn’t see around Pervinca.

“You lads both know that I don’t approve of you tossing pennies, don’t you?” Pimpernel admonished her sons. “Let us go and find Miss Morella.” She looked apologetically at her sisters and mother, “I’m sorry, but I don’t care for my boys playing the same games that the ruffians did; standing around all day and doing nothing except making life miserable for hobbits and tossing pennies.”

Pippin didn’t understand his sister’s reprimand until she mentioned ruffians. As she left with her children he called out to her, “I’m sorry, Pim. I didn’t know.”

“Delia…April,” Pearl called to her children. “Will…Juniper. You children go to the playroom--read a book or find something quiet to do.”

“Yes, Mum.”

Young Juniper, the same age as her cousin Tilby, looked up at her mother and smiled, “I got pennies, Mummy. I winned it from Uncle Pippin.”

Pearl smiled at the one penny in her daughter’s palm. “You have one penny, my dear, and you won it from your uncle.”

Juniper put her hands on her hips, “That’s what I said!”

“I’d better go, too,” Pearl followed her youngest out of the room.

Pervinca explained to her brother, “Pim doesn’t want her boys to take on any of the ruffians’ habits. She has her reasons, and I agree with her.”

“But I didn’t learn the game from any ruffians,” Pippin replied, defending himself. “I learned it from a friend when I lived in Minas Tirith. I understand, though.”

“Pippin,” Eglantine joined in, “how many pennies do you have left?” With a wry smile, Pippin pulled out the insides of his empty pockets.

Once Eglantine and Pervinca had left Lilas in capable hands, Lilas began unpacking her bag onto their eating table. “What’s all of that?” Pippin gawked at the array of vials.

“Chamomile and Ginger to add t’ my tea, and something called Passionflower--”

“I think I know that one’s purpose!”

Lilas laughed, “No--it’s for when I can’t sleep. The midwife gave them t’ me.”

“I didn’t know you were having trouble sleeping.”

“I haven’t so far,” she said. “I told her I was askin’ for me, but it was ye I had in mind. It’s for when ye have more night terrors.”

Pippin was touched by his wife’s thoughtfulness. “I don’t think I’ll ever need any, but thank you.”

A/N: This next little scene was actually inspired from my own marriage long ago. I once read where Lynn Johnston did her take on it in her cartoon strip, For Better or For Worse, so I figured women everywhere suffered from this malady. 

Chapter Eleven - The Inevitable

Over the course of the following few days Pippin said nothing further of his nightmares, though there weren’t many. There were times that Lilas tried to bring the subject up, but he would change it every time. He wanted to tell her, but it unnerved him so. Pippin was beginning to wonder when this particular bout would stop. Usually, his night terrors came and went in spells, as would Merry’s. When the dreams did appear--or he thought that they might, he would get very little sleep, making him ill-tempered all the next day, snapping at those he loved. One night, as he was contemplating his inevitable conversation with his wife, he felt her climb into bed.

Lilas buried herself under the covers, having felt chilled for the past hour. She looked at the fire in the hearth and saw that it was crackling with new wood. Pippin had tended the fire himself before going to bed. With a sigh she slid further under the blankets, which this night she thought were too thin. She lay under the covers considering whether or not she should get another blanket from the wardrobe, but the longer she laid there, the warmer she felt. Minutes later, her feet were still cold. Lilas felt Pippin roll over; looking over her shoulder, she saw he had rolled to the edge of ‘his’ side. While she was looking over her shoulder, she felt the warmth his body had left behind on the bed linen. Cautiously, she scooted back some. Then little by little she slid her feet back towards where the warmth emanated…

“Yeeooow!” Pippin cried, jumping up out of bed. “What was that?!”

Lilas turned over to face Pippin, giving him her most innocent look, “What was what?”

“You know very well what I’m speaking of! Those were your furry-ice feet, weren’t they?” he demanded, rubbing warmth back into his legs.

“I’m sorry, Pippin. I get cold sometimes.”

“Well just keep your little ice-blocks on ‘your’ side of the bed and we’ll get along nicely,” he said, striding over to the fireplace. “That’s what they make bed warmers for.” He stooped down, using the tongs, he pulled out two of the bricks kept just within the grating and placed them inside a brass pan with a long handle attached to it. He flipped the lid shut and locked it. Lilas watched with fascination as he walked back over to the bed, carrying the pan with steam billowing from the vents.

Pippin lifted the blankets and shoved the warmer between the sheet and the blanket; he would not want his wife burning her feet. Lilas jerked her feet away, never having seen the likes of a warmer. Pippin puzzled at her reaction, “It won’t bite you!” he teased.

“I thought…,” she started, then trailed off.

“You thought what?” Pippin took her feet, nearly forcing them near the steam rising from between the covers. He realized her feet were indeed very cold. Once Lilas felt the heat, she relaxed, allowing the warmth to seep it’s way into her toes, feet, and legs.

“You’ll think it’s silly,” she replied.

“Try me.”

“Well…I thought it was a cooking pan, though I didn’t know why it would be in here because we don’t have a pantry. I almost made ye a ’tater stew in it the other day.” Pippin snorted, then snickered. Then Lilas began to laugh.

“I wouldn’t have been the wiser, either. I probably would’ve eaten it!” Pippin got up, going to the wardrobe, he pulled out a blanket. Folding it in half, he brought it over to Lilas and threw it over her. When he finally got back into bed, he hesitated for a second, but then conceded. “Come on,” he said, inviting her to the middle of the bed to share body warmth. “Just remember where to keep your feet.”

Lilas snuggled closer to her warm husband, her back to him. This felt so much more like being married than sleeping alone--each on their own ‘side’ of the huge bed. Her new question that she kept to herself was when they would consummate their vows. She decided she would leave that up to Pippin; whenever he would feel comfortable--or, if ever he would feel comfortable with her.

“Pippin?”

“Hmm?“ Here it comes, he thought. However, this time, Pippin didn’t want to change the subject. Out with it, you ninny hammer!, he chided himself, using Sam’s favorite label for himself. You’re the one who said we were strangers that needed to open up to each other. Pippin braced himself to bare his emotional journey to his wife.

“How did ye come t’ meet that dark lord? Was he the reas’n ye left the Shire?”

“Yes…and no,” he answered, forging on with the account of his tale. He told her about Bilbo finding the one Ring of power, then bequeathing it to his adopted heir, Frodo. Of their conspiracy, and then all the way to Rivendell.

“Ye lived with the elves?”

“Don’t interrupt, Lilas, or I may not start up again.” On he continued about the Nine members of the Fellowship and their entire journey from beginning to end. Throughout most of his tale, Lilas would nod or say something to indicate she was listening, but Pippin hadn’t heard anything from her in a while. It was when he leaned forward that he saw her eyelids were closed and breathing deep in slumber. Just as well, he thought, though curious as to when she left the story.

* * *

Upon seating themselves for breakfast in the Thain’s dining room, Pippin saw small, white envelopes set next to the plates of where the ladies normally sat. Pimpernel and his mother had one as did Lilas. He watched as Lilas set hers off to the side then commenced to fill her plate to capacity with food from nearly every platter within her grasp. First it was a mound of flat-cakes, then two huge scoops of fried taters, three links of sausages with sausage gravy poured over them. Pippin turned his attention back to his own plate.

Pimpernel had read and set down the little note she received. “Lilas, we’ve been invited to have tea with Cousin Rosamunda on Trewsday.”

Lilas barely paused in her eating, “I can’t go--I’ve got nothing proper t’ wear at a tea.” All she had was the one dress that Pimpernel had given to her for the wedding, and the one she was wearing today; the green one that Pervinca had given her a couple days before she and Merimas returned to Buckland. The rest were work frocks from when she had worked for her father that now felt too snug to wear.

Pim sighed; she saw nearly everyday what Lilas wore. “Pippin, you really must take Lilas to market today and purchase her a few new dresses--ones that will fit her in the coming months.”

Pippin understood that Lilas would start to expand as the baby grew inside her, but he detested when Pimpernel felt she could order him around--especially now that he was an older tween. “Father, Pimpernel thinks that she tell me what to do again.”

Paladin sighed. “Pippin,” he answered, “you will take your wife to the market and purchase her several new frocks and anything else she is needing. Pimpernel, you may accompany them to assist Lilas.” It had always been so easy for him to think of these things when it came to his dearest Tina, but Paladin often had to remind himself that Pippin was still a young lad, not happy with his situation, and needed to be reminded of these particulars.

Pippin slouched in his chair, “I knew someday that I would regret having older, bossy sisters.”

Pim chuckled, “I think you’ve been regretting it since the day you were born.”

Chapter 12 - To the Market

Pippin had avoided excursions such as going to the market ever since his father called the disastrous meeting with Mister Silas earlier in the month. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he now had a father-in-law. Pippin wondered what sort of hobbit Mister Silas was in order to have raised the sort of daughter that Lilas became. As Pippin continued to muse on Lilas’ life--what little he knew of it, he started to feel somewhat disconnected from his own life as a married hobbit; he felt the bitterness resurfacing again. He did his best to squelch it, then the words Lilas spewed at him on their wedding night the week before came to mind. “I didn’t know what I was thinkin’! I only know that I’m sorry I did what I did! I’m sorry I got ye in this, and I’m sorry I got me in this! It’s all my doin’ and now I can’t ever go home!”

‘…can’t ever go home’ echoed in his thoughts. Pippin gazed at his wife sitting across from him in the carriage, knitting away at a new baby blanket. He realized while observing her that he would never know what sort of hobbit his father-in-law was, let alone get to know him--or her mother, brothers, or younger sister. His own father and mother, though hurt over his thoughtless actions, had been there for him--he still lived at home. His sisters and friends still loved him.

How did Lilas feel about all of this?, he thought. How did she feel about being abandoned by her family? Pippin had never known rejection of any sort from his. His pity overruled his bitterness towards Lilas.

He watched how Lilas matched up the line of stitching against her first blanket. Then he remembered that she didn’t know how to count. He recalled how at breakfast she so deftly laid her invitation off to the side. He remembered that she didn’t know how to read, either. The future Thain’s wife couldn’t read or write! He shook his head, I need to fix that.

For her part, Lilas knew that Pippin was looking intently at her, yet she continued to focus on her knitting. She wondered what was on his mind to be watching her. She looked at him inquiring, “What’s wrong? Have I done somethin’ again?”

Pippin shook his head, looking out the window at the town square, “No.”

Lilas too saw that they were drawing near the market, so she put away her knitting. She had been doing her own thinking during the ride to town. It was nearly two weeks since she and Pippin were married. Lilas never anticipated Pippin or his family to ever be friendly towards her; she fully expected to live the rest of her life in utter loneliness, with the exception being her child. Pippin had absolutely no reason to even like her, let alone be a friend to her, yet in spite of the ups and downs of their circumstances, Pippin was still a caring hobbit. Of course, there were days--like today--that she still was unsure as how to approach him; was he in a good humor or was he dour? However, Lilas was sure of it--she was warming up to Pippin’s inherent friendly personality. Another question to add to the first one; would this be their only child?

When the carriage came to a halt in front of the dress maker’s shop, Mat, the carriage-driver, came up and opened the door. As the three stood outside the carriage, Pippin noticed for the first time since meeting Lilas that she had lovely brown eyes--to match the reddish highlights in her auburn hair. Both sparkled in the afternoon sun. As pretty as she looked today in the late January sunlight, neither her eyes nor her hair made him love her. Pippin felt he needed to talk to someone; more specifically, Merry, though his cousin wouldn’t be arriving for a couple more weeks to visit. Pippin didn’t think that he could wait that long.

He glanced towards the dressmaker’s shop and saw a group of lasses perched near the doorway. Pippin winced; this was a place where all lasses gathered. He sighed, “I’ll be at the inn if anyone wants me.” He began walking in the direction of the local pub.

Pimpernel took her brother by the shoulders, gently turning him round in the direction of the shop, “You’ll be at the dressmaker’s--and we will be wanting your opinion of your wife’s new dresses!”

“Good afternoon,” Pippin addressed the lasses that crowded around the doorway. They smiled and curtsied to the tall, handsome Took.

“Good afternoon, Master Pippin,” they answered.

“’Afternoon, Mistress Pimpernel,” they chorused, greeting the young widow. Pimpernel nodded as she passed through the door, “’afternoon, ladies.”

When Lilas approached the doorway, she became aware of the cold stares from the same group. “Hullo,” Lilas said, nervously meeting their harsh gazes. Next thing she knew, she was pitching forward onto the wooden floor. She heard some giggling as she landed.

Pimpernel and Pippin turned at the sound of a dull thud behind them. “Lilas!” Pim was at her side, “Are you all right?”

Lilas quickly assessed herself, instinctively holding her abdomen. “I think so. I’m not hurtin’ at all.”

“Are you sure?” Pimpernel asked. Lilas nodded.

Pippin may not be happy with his life at this point, but he wasn’t going to stand for any mischief against Lilas…or his child. Stepping towards the doorway, he spoke low and menacing, “I will not ask which one of you tripped her, but I am telling you all to leave. Now!” The last word was almost a roar. Seeing his severe countenance, hobbit-lasses scattered before him.

Most of the afternoon was uneventful, though Pippin kept mumbling and pleading to be allowed to be with other lads--at the inn. Pimpernel forced him to endure the choosing of the fabrics, but once all of that was done, she willingly set him free. The only thing left now was for the seamstress to take Lilas’ measurements. She hadn’t seen her brother move so fast out of a room in a long time.

* * *

While the seamstress was taking Lilas’ measurements, Pimpernel occupied herself with choosing new fabric for couple new dresses for herself. The seamstress already took her sizes when Pim first returned with her husband to live at the Smials nearly a year ago. The material that she was admiring the most was a thin, cotton design material that would look pretty underneath an apron of similar solid color. Then she spotted a lovely pink satin material that she knew had to come from a place far away from the Shire. She lifted the price tag and nearly choked. They think the Tooks have a bottomless well of money!, she said to herself. Pimpernel looked over to the little room where Mistress Flora was taking Lilas’ measurements. She could see through the open doorway that Lilas had sat down in a chair.

The seamstress came to the door and spoke at Pimpernel, “Mistress, I can’t measure the lass unless she stands still.”

Pimpernel sighed. Perhaps Lilas did not realize it was important to remain motionless for just a few minutes. “Lilas, you really--” then Pimpernel noticed Lilas was holding her abdomen. Pimpernel dropped the bolts of cloth she held, running up to her sister-in-law. “Lilas, what’s wrong?” she asked. Lilas looked as if she was on the verge of tears. Pimpernel stooped down next to the chair where she sat.

“Don’t know, Pim,” Lilas was starting to get worried. “It hurts.”

“Lilas, when did it start hurting? Is it your belly?”

“A few minutes ago,” she nodded at Pim’s second question. “It wasn’t bad at first, but now it is.” Pimpernel made the lass stand up, checking the back of her dress for blood. She thanked the heavens there wasn’t any. “Please don’t let it be the baby,” she heard Lilas whisper.

Pim rose up on her feet, quickly addressing Flora, “Can you sit with her for a moment while I fetch my brother and the carriage?”

“Of course, Mistress--I didn’t know she was in pain. I’m dreadfully sorry!” By the time Flora apologized, Pimpernel had already disappeared out of the front door.

* * *

“Pippin!” Everard called to his young cousin, seeing him enter the pub. “Over here!” He waved his mug in the air. He brought it down for a draught when he saw Pippin walking towards his table. “Frequenting taverns now?” he jested.

“Only when I’m forced to,” Pippin quipped, remembering his distress in the dressmaker’s shop.

“Aye, I know the feeling,” said Everard, setting down his mug. Then he yelled, “Hollis! Another beer--and one for my cousin!”

“You seem happy today,” observed the tween. “What are you celebrating?”

Pippin smelled the beer on his friend’s breath as he leaned in close, “Laurel and I have been married one whole year!” With that, he laughed, raising the new mug he just received.

Not one to ruin a merry mood, Pippin raised his mug to meet he cousin’s, but he had to ask, “Shouldn’t you be home celebrating with Laurel?”

“Oh, I have!” he winked dramatically, “but now she’s busy with the wee one, getting ready for the name-blessing next week. Are you going to be there?”

“Of course,” Pippin replied. He grew quiet as he thought about the happiness he was missing. The words his mother spoke to him at the dinner table two weeks ago came back to him. “…Your whole life was before you, son, and for the price of one moment of weakness, the wedded bliss you should have known is now gone.” Would he ever be happy with Lilas, or was it all truly gone now? Pippin sat at the table fantasizing about celebrating his first wedding anniversary with a lass he had chosen to share his life with.

Everard saw the distant look on his friend’s face. “It will get better, Pip.”

Pippin took a long draught from his mug in response to Everard’s remark, “Maybe.”

No sooner had pippin put down his mug that he saw his sister running into the pub…alone.

Chapter Thirteen - Providence

“Pip!!” she yelled out, but was too out of breath to speak. “Li…Lilas…”

Everard stood up along with Pippin, seeing her panic-stricken face. “What about Lilas?” Pippin asked, setting Pim down in the chair next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Pimpernel took a couple deep breaths, then went on. “It’s Lilas--she’s…she’s in pain.” Another deep breath, and she spoke somewhat easier. “She’s in the dressmaker’s shop, in terrible pain. We must get her back to the Smials to see the midwife.”

Pippin blanched in the face. “is it the baby?” he asked.

“Come on, lad,” Everard pushed his young cousin towards the doorway while Pim followed behind. “I’ll help you.” The last thing needed was for Pippin to start becoming unraveled.

* *

Lilas lay across one of the benches in the carriage with her head in Pimpernel’s lap. To Pippin, she appeared to be asleep, then he saw her move her hand away from her belly to brush away a strand of hair that blew into her face, then back it went to her belly. Pimpernel combed away the remaining errant locks as they continued to ride home.

“How are you feeling now, Lilas?” Pippin asked her.

“Still hurts some,” she answered wearily, “but not like in the shop.” Pippin breathed a sigh of relief.

Everard had run to fetch Mat and the carriage nearby while Pippin and and his sister went back to the shop to get Lilas. Pimpernel glanced at the back of Lilas’ dress once again. Still nothing--a good sign. Pippin swept his wife into his arms and carried her outside to the waiting carriage.

As they stopped at the Main entrance, Pimpernel began to bark orders, “Everard, please run and find my parents. Pippin, you will take Lilas to your quarters while I find the midwife.” Pippin admired his sister’s ability to think straight in a dire situation. Pippin recalled that even as children she had carried a certain strength within her character. He decided that he wouldn’t be so quick to complain the next time she bossed him.

* * *

Paladin watched Pippin sitting in a chair near his; one leg crossed over his knee as the leg beneath it quaked, while biting his nails. What in the Shire is the lad going to do when her time has truly come? “Son, you have to calm yourself down.”

Pippin stopped biting his nails, but his leg continued to shake until Paladin thought he was going to be dizzy. He leaned forward, laying his hand upon his son’s crossed leg, forcing Pippin to still the other one. “Father--” Pippin started, however, just then the midwife appeared from the bedroom. Both Paladin and Pippin quickly stood up to hear the news.

“Is the baby all right?” Pippin blurted out. “And Lilas?” It wasn’t lost on Paladin which order his daughter-in-law fell into.

“Your wife and child will be fine, Mister Pippin,” she answered. “She took a bad fall, but it seems fate is on her side today. I gave Mistress Pimpernel a little mixture to administer into your wife’s tea to ease the pain and help her to sleep.”

“Thank you,” said Pippin. “May I go in to see her?”

The matron smiled, “Give her a few moments to gather herself and then you may go inside--for a short while. She is needing to rest; in fact, I would like your wife to remain abed for the next three days.”

Paladin saw a huge weight lift from Pippin’s young shoulders. He reached over and gave Pippin a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.

Pippin felt the concern in his father’s gesture, “I will stay near her, Father.”

“For the entire time?”

Pippin nodded, “For the entire time.”

“Well then,” Paladin said, delighted that Pippin had taken the caring of his wife to heart. He turned to leave his son’s quarters, “I guess I’m not needed here.” He winked at the lad. “I will see that yours and Lilas’ meals are brought here.”

“Thank you, Father.”

* * *

The next morning, Pippin was sitting up in the bed next to Lilas quietly reading a book while she continued to sleep, then felt it wobble as Lilas turned over onto her back.

“What are ye reading?” she whispered, still weary from sleep and her ordeal the previous day.

Without looking away from the pages, he replied, “It’s a book about infants; what happens when they’re born and then how to care for them afterwards. It was written by my great-great-grandmother, Adamanta Chubb.” Then Pippin looked at Lilas and grinned, “She ought to know--she had twelve children.”

“Goodness!” Lilas gasped, sitting up.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right--just a bit hungry.”

“Just a bit?” Pippin gave he sideways glance.

If he felt like jesting then so could she. Lilas slowly sat up, “Just take me t’ the trough, will ye?” Pippin quickly laid down his book to assist her.

“The trough has found you,” he remarked, rising from the bed, he went over to the private supper table in their quarters and returned with a large tray of food.

Lilas saw that the “trough” had indeed come to her. “We won’t be goin’ t’ the dining room?”

“Until you’re allowed to get out of bed we’re taking meals here in our own quarters. Orders of the Thain himself, and we dare not disobey him.”

As her husband set up her tray, then prepared her tea--just the way she liked it, Lilas couldn’t help but be drawn to the warmth of his deep, green eyes. Her own eyes were still fixed upon his when he caught her gaze, then quickly put his attention elsewhere.

“Here--eat your breakfast, and I’ll be right here reading my book if you need anything.”

“Ye’re not gonna eat with me?”

Pippin was back on “his” side of the bed, picking his book up to begin reading again. “I already ate earlier. It’s almost Eleven o’clock.”

“Oh, my,” remarked Lilas, digging into her meal. After a few mouthfuls, Lilas decided that it was too silent between them. “Pippin, read t’ me what ye’re reading, please.”

Without a second thought Pippin began summarizing what he had read so far. Then he had another idea; instead, he offered it to her. “Here, why don’t you read the book yourself? We can share it.”

Lilas paused in eating, thinking her husband was having a jest at her expense. “Ye know I can’t read.”

“I won’t read to you anymore like this, Lilas,” replied Pippin. “

Today we’re going to begin your first lesson in learning your letters.”

“I can’t learn my letters.”

“Why not?”

“My Pa said he tried t’ learn my numbers t’ me when I was a wee lass, but I was too hard headed. I can’t reas’n, he says.”

Pippin was ever so glad that his parents never uttered a word to him or his sisters to make them feel stupid. “That’s too bad, Lilas. Fortunately, I feel differently. I believe you can learn your letters and your numbers.” Pippin wanted to laugh; the expression on her face was priceless. “Mistress Claypot said that you must stay abed for the next couple of days, so we’ll begin your studies after your breakfast. Today is as good a day as any.” Pippin chuckled as he reached over and gently pushed up on her chin where her jaw had dropped.

By early afternoon, husband and wife were singing a child’s tune that encompassed all the letters of the Westron alphabet. As they sang, Pippin would point to the letter they were singing which he had wrote for her to study on paper.

By week’s end, Lilas was putting together syllables and vowels, reading simple words. There were times when Pippin had to repeat a lesson, or review earlier ones, but all in all, he felt Lilas was an eager and willing student.

The following week, one particular afternoon--after Lilas’ knitting lesson with Eglantine, Pippin read along with her as she read an elementary book for the first time. Two pages into it, Lilas stopped reading. He looked at her and saw a tear run down her cheek.

“What wrong, Lilas? You were doing fine.”

“Pippin,” she looked at him, “I just read from a book.”

Pippin smiled, “I know--wasn’t that grand?”

She wiped the tear away, “I’m the first person in my family to learn my letters.”

“The very first?”

Lilas nodded, then looked at him mournfully, “they’ll never know, will they?” She was referring to her family in Hobbiton.

“But we’ll know,” he said, trying to cheer her up a little.

Lilas leaned over to him and gently kissed him on the cheek. “Thank ye.”

Pippin smiled, “You’re welcome.”

Later that night, as Lilas snuggled up to him in bed, Pippin lay awake wondering that if friendship was possible, was love also possible? They had been getting along quite well this past week, so Pippin felt comfortable knowing there was a familiarity developing between them. Did this mean that love was budding too--or was it mere infatuation? As she nestled close to him for the night, without a thought he casually put his arm around her. He inhaled the fragrance of her hair; it took him back to the night behind the Green Dragon. He sighed. Did he want to love Lilas? Pippin couldn’t answer that question.

For her part, as Lilas lay next to Pippin--also awake, her thoughts ran just as deep. She rather enjoyed these moments with Pippin; him allowing her this near to him. She felt his sensitivity as his arm draped around her protectively. Her eyes welled as she was overcome with emotion. Was he aware of her staring into the depth of his lovely green eyes? Or the slight touch of their hands as he was teaching her to write her name? Did he notice that she splashed fragrant water on herself just for him?

In the deep of night, as husband and wife quietly reflected on their circumstances, sleep crept in and stole husband and wife away to slumber.

Hello friends! My apologies for not answering reviews like I normally do; life has been hectic this week for me. And Pearl--bless her, her computer has been acting up; 13 and 14 have not been edited, so 14, at least may get tweaked when Pearl gets a chance to catch up. Again, if not for her and Mysterious Ways--and friends like you, this story wouldn’t be where it is. I’d like to thank loveofthering, Carcilwen Greenleaf, Merrymagic26, Pipwise Brandygin, Mistress Holbytla, Pervinca (bra_chan90), Grey Wonderer, Rosie Ann, Bluegrass Elf, Melilot Hill, Lady Jaina, Pipkinsweetgrass--and please forgive me if I’ve overlooked someone--it’s not intentional. If I have, let me know, and I will thank you as well in Ch. 15. Thank you all for reading this story and for your gracious reviews. - PF

Chapter 14 - Dear Friends

The Thain, his wife, his young assistant, Peregrin and his wife stood before the door of the quarters that belonged to Everard and his growing family. Paladin used the brass knocker, rapping upon the heavy wooden door. Upon the door hung a placard, “Everard and Laurel Took”. It was their first babe’s Name-Blessing day. Pimpernel and Pervinca, along with their combined brood had arrived earlier.

Lilas squeezed Pippin’s hand in her own, then whispered as close to his ear as she could get, “What does the sign say?” Lilas had lagged behind again while admiring the ornate décor of the various hallways she had not seen before, so Pippin took her hand so she would not become lost as she did not too long ago in the Thain’s tunnels.

Pippin didn’t want the door to open up while his wife was sounding out the consonants, so he whispered in return, “It has their names on it.”

Lilas watched Eglantine brush the back of Paladin’s jacket then straighten out one of his sleeves. She whispered again, “Why don’t we have our names on our door?” Lilas took her mother-in-law’s cue and began brushing off Pippin’s jacket.

“Lilas!” Pippin reproved her, “I’m nervous as it is. Stop fussing over me.”

“Pippin,” Eglantine pointed out, “Lilas is trying to help you look your best.” When she turned away, Eglantine didn’t see her daughter-in-law stick her tongue out at Pippin. Pippin didn’t have a chance at a volley because the door opened up.

Once inside, Paladin took his son and met up with Everard to discuss the blessing ceremony. Eglantine noticed Lilas’ bemusement. “Pippin is in training, Lilas. He must shadow his father for when the time comes that becomes the Took and Thain. You, my dear, are going to shadow me today. You, too, will be learning how to be the Thain’s wife.”

Lilas swallowed hard walked timidly behind Eglantine, “Yes, mum.”

Just before the blessing began, Laurel handed her baby over to the Thain. Paladin cooed and cradled the tiny form in his arms. “She’s beautiful, Laurel. Reminds me of when I held my daughters for the first time.” Everard stood to the side beaming with pride. Then Paladin saw the eager look on his son’s face. “Would you mind if Peregrin holds her?”

“No--not at all!” Everard smiled at his younger cousin. “He needs the practice!”

Pippin took the tiny babe, careful to hold her as Laurel instructed. He was taken by the peaceful, little face. He smiled, “She’s as lovely as a new spring flower.” Then the baby stirred, whimpering a bit. Pippin gave the baby back to his father.

Paladin chuckled at his son’s reaction, “What are you going to do when the baby is yours?”

Pippin answered simply, “Love her.”

* *

After the ceremony, Eglantine was demonstrating to the inexperienced Lilas the finer points of mingling. Lilas watched intensely as her mother-in-law easily passed between couples and children, shaking their hands or rendering a simple, but sincere, gesture of kindness.

“Tina!” Rosamunda smiled at her close friend. “I’m so glad to see you!” She leaned in and kissed Eglantine’s cheek. “You look wonderful, my dear!”

Eglantine smiled in return, “You should know that I wouldn’t have missed this! You know that Laurel is a Banks on her mother’s side. I do believe we’re first cousins, thrice removed.” On and on the chatter went. Lilas tried her best to keep up, but was soon lost amid the counting of cousins, marriages, and babies. Her attention wandered over to a table of four tween lasses giggling among themselves.

“Lilas,” called one, “Come over here and introduce yourself to my friends.”

Lilas was eager to try out her newly acquired skills. She walked over to the table and curtsied, “Hullo, my name is Lilas Broa--, I mean, Lilas Took.” More giggles.

“Lilas,” one of them cooed, “my name is Saffron Took. Please be a dear and fetch us a tray of cider.”

This wasn’t in Eglantines instructions, but Lilas was thrilled to have new friends. “Certainly.” Lilas did as was bid her, returning with a tray holding a carafe of cider and five glasses.

“Lilas,” Saffron spoke again as Lilas placed the tray on the table, “we need biscuits to go with the cider--will you be a good lass and bring us some?”

Lilas thought to at least sit down and share in cider and conversation, but…these were her new friends. “Of course.” Off she went in search of the biscuits they requested. When she came back, she had a tray with a variety of tarts, biscuits, and sweet bread.

Out of nowhere Eglantine appeared and took the tray out of Lilas’ hands. “Lilas, you shouldn’t be lifting heavy items.”

“Yes, mum.”

Eglantine turned to the four tweens at the table, “Saffron, I believe the guests might like a biscuit or two. Would you please see that the guests are served?”

“But--”

“Or would you rather that I spoke to your mother?”

“No, ma’am.” The lass got up and accepted the tray from Eglantine.

Eglantine took the carafe and poured two glasses of cider. “I’m certain one of you lovely lasses can get another glass?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

Keeping one glass of cider for herself, Eglantine handed the other one to her young daughter-in-law. “Come along, Lilas, we have more mingling to do.”

* *

“I thought they were being my friends,” a chagrined Lilas remarked.

Eglantine sighed. “Most lasses do want to be your friend--though they want to get to know you first. But Lilas, my dear, you must be more discerning when choosing who your friends are. I’ve taught this to my own children while they were growing up.” She and Lilas had done a bit more socializing with the guests and then decided to finish their cider sitting together on the couch--in a more private setting. “And there are some lasses who are just as unhappy about you being married to Pippin as you are.”

“I--I’m not all that unhappy anymore, mum,” Lilas confessed. “Though I don’t think Pippin will ever be.”

Eglantine smiled, “Give him more time, Lilas.”

Lilas mulled this over. “Thank ye, mum. I’ll try not t’ be so quick t’ help next time.” Though Lilas wondered how she was going to manage that--she liked helping others.

Patting the girl’s lap, Eglantine replied, “Somehow Lilas, I don’t think that’s within you. I have a feeling that you’ll always be wanting to help in some fashion, but I fear it will be out of wanting approval.” She gazed at the young girl, “I may always possess a smidgen of anger and hurt over how you and Pippin were married, but Lilas dear…you have my approval.”

The sting of holding back her tears made Lilas blink. She put her head on Eglantine’s shoulder, “I miss my Ma somethin’ fierce, but if I can’t have her, then I’d rather have ye.”

* *

“Saffron!” Merry exclaimed, “are you offering me a biscuit?” He knew his distant, but willful cousin had to be paying off some sort of penance.

“Just take one!” she scowled.

Merry took a bite, making a face of sheer ecstasy, “Delicious! Too bad you’re serving, or I’d offer you one.” He smiled to watch her walk off in a huff, but not before grabbing a few more biscuits off the tray.

“You’re terrible, Merry!” Pippin laughed.

“I know,” he said between chews. “but she brings it on herself.”

Pippin couldn’t argue with that logic. “So how long are you staying this time?”

“For as long as you need me, cousin,” he replied, then swallowed a bit of tea to wash down the biscuit. “Where’s your wife? Or have you lost track of her already?”

“She’s with mother.”

“Well?”

“Well what?” Pippin asked.

“You two haven’t managed to kill one another yet, so I imagine you both are getting on quite well?”

“Well enough,” Pippin answered evasively.

“Pim told me that you introduced Lilas to your nightmares a couple weeks ago.”

Pippin slid his hands in his pockets, walking alongside his favorite cousin, “Pim shouldn’t be talking, Merry, and you shouldn’t be indulging her.”

“I’m glad that she did tell me,” Merry countered. “I, for one, would like to know what you told Lilas.”

“What do you mean?” Pippin gave Merry a puzzled glance.

“What did you tell her?” he asked. “I often wonder what I will say to the lass I marry. How do I explain them?” Merry chuckled, “Here I am asking for your advice! This is a real turnabout.”

“And a pleasant one, I might add,” said Pippin. “asking for my advice. But that’s just the thing, Merry. I didn’t say anything for days. I was too afraid to. Finally, one night while we were in bed it all just came out.”

Merry didn’t like dwelling on the night terrors for too long. He changed the subject in a jest, “Please--you don’t have to go into any more detail--especially of the part while you both were in bed.”

“Trust me, cousin, there’s nothing to talk about on that subject.”

It took a second, but Merry was a bright lad. “You mean…?”

“That’s right. Nothing, nil--as in not there.”

This revelation concerned Merry greatly. “I was only jesting, Pip. But are you serious?”

“Very.”

Merry leaned in close to his cousin for privacy, “Pippin! You can’t just refuse relations with her.”

“Merry, you must remember she was a complete stranger to me when we were married,” said Pippin. “Besides, I haven’t refused, and she hasn’t asked.”

Merry shook his head, “I don’t believe this. Pippin, she was a complete stranger to you when you two proliferated in the shadows behind the Green Dragon! What’s truly stopping you now?”

“Since when have you become an expert on relations with the lasses?”

Merry took his cousin buy the shoulder, “Pippin, I know I’m sounding a bit harsh when I say this, but some folks take consummating wedding vows very seriously.”

Pippin had never looked at it that way; he had much to think about.

Hello once again! As I said in Ch. 14, I would name those who I accidentally missed in thanking for their lovely reviews: Voldie On Varsity Track and hobbits soul--you guys are all terrific! Thank you.

Chapter Fifteen - Heart to Heart

Several days later, Lilas saw Pippin pounding a nail into their door. “What are ye doin’ Pippin?”

“It’s a little rustic, but it’ll do for now.” He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Carved into the wooden placard that now hung upon the nail was “Peregrin and Lilas Took”. “I did it myself,” he added.

Lilas smiled with pleasure. “It has our names on it!” She saw this as her chance; she stepped up on her toes and gave Pippin another kiss on the cheek. “It’s beautiful.”

Pippin remained standing towards the door, but there were other things on his mind.

“Are ye comin’ t’ bed now?” Lilas asked over her shoulder, “It’s almost mid---” she yawned, “midnight.”

Climbing into bed, Pippin felt a little nervous, but he wanted to proceed as he had planned. He lifted the blankets a little so that Lilas could snuggle up as now was her custom. He moved in a way that brought Lilas onto her back. With a slight hesitation, Pippin kissed her; a deep and passionless kiss it was, but Pippin ignored that. He pressed on.

Lilas was surprise by Pippin’s advances, but was delighted that he was finally acknowledging her as his wife. She shifted a little to help him slip her nightgown over her head. She followed by pulling up on his nightshirt. Just as things were getting started, she felt him hesitate. Then it occurred to her…

“Pippin…stop.” Lilas knew she was going to rue this moment, feeling very aroused, but she didn’t want their first affair as husband and wife to feel--or be this way.

Though it all felt obligatory to him, Pippin continued to kiss her neck, her shoulder; working his way downward. “What?”

“If ye don’t stop now, then I won’t be able t’.”

Pippin stopped kissing her for a brief moment, “Lilas--what are you saying?” Then he resumed his where he left off.

“I can feel it, Pippin--this isn’t how ye want it, and so neither do I.”

Pippin sighed. Then for a long minute he sat up in silence, scratching his head in the low light of the fireplace. “I didn’t think you would notice.”

Using the bed linen to cover herself, Lilas also sat up. She felt offended that her husband thought he could fool her with his contrived passion. “Ye didn’t think that I would notice? I may be simple, Pippin Took, but I’m not without feelins!” she said. “My heart breaks just as easily as yers.”

He let out a long breath in frustration, “What do you want from me, Lilas?”

“I want yer love, Pippin, but I want it given t’ me freely--without pretendin’ and no holdin’ back.” Lilas’ hand quivered as she placed it tenderly upon the bare skin of his back. “I want ye to be wantin’ it just as much as me. Until then, will ye allow me t’ just snuggle up t’ ye, kiss yer cheek, or hold yer hand. Would ye allow me that?”

Pippin wiped a wayward tear running down his cheek before he turned towards his wife, “Yes.”

* * *

Paladin looked up as he sensed a presence enter his office. It was Pippin, and Paladin hadn’t seen his son look so mournful in a long…well, a while. “What is it, Pippin?”

Pippin merely shrugged. “I just wanted to watch you for a bit.”

“I know you better than that, son.” Paladin knew that watching him sign deeds and bartering trades was the last place in Middle-earth that Pippin wanted to be. Paladin laid down his quill-pen, observing the lad traipse restlessly in his office, he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Pippin sat down on the couch, looking off through the windows, he said nothing. Paladin took note of the behavior; getting up from his desk, he walked over and sat down next to his son. “Talk to me, Pip.”

Pippin swallowed hard, but the lump remained in his throat, threatening to jump out at the first opportunity. It was a few seconds before he responded. “I tried, Papa.” he said, reverting back to the childhood endearment he used as a boy. “I’m not a good husband…and I’ll probably fail as a father, too.”

Paladin offered a cup of tea to Pippin, “Drink this. I find it helps when the boss reproves me for something that I did.” He smiled at Pippin’s inquiring expression, “Your mother.”

Paladin watched Pippin drain the cup. “Tell me what’s on your heart, lad.”

Pippin related to his father what Merry had told him and then what transpired between him and Lilas the night before. “I’m no good. I can’t hide my feelings, and she rejected me because of it.”

“No, Pippin,” Paladin assured him. “Think about it--how would you feel in her situation? Seems to me Lilas would rather have your sincere affections rather than ones you make up. A bright lass, I should say.” Then Paladin asked more covertly, “Are you feeling a need to share your passions with your wife?”

Pippin held his head in his hands, attempting to hold his emotions in check. “I’ve been needing ever since I “needed” the first time. But it’s never with Lilas. In my dreams, I can feel her and even touch her--but she’s not Lilas. I feel as if I’ve seen this lass before, yet I don’t recognize her face.” Then he looked at his father, “But should I one day share my love with Lilas, I want it like how she wants it--to be a loving experience; not something that happens behind an inn. But it makes no difference what I do…I don’t love her and she feels it. And that’s what’s so exasperating.”

Paladin sighed. His heart went out to his young son. “My advice, Pippin, is to find something loveable about your wife or you will be in for a long and lonely marriage.”

* * *

“Race you!” Merry called to his friend, riding alongside him.

“Nah. Don’t feel like racing.”

Merry was surprised by his cousin’s response, “But you always like racing. It’s what helped us get back so quick to the Shire last year, though I think Gandalf was getting a bit irate with us.”

“Merry?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you look for in a lass?”

“Now where did this come from?” Merry asked, though he could feel his dearest cousin watching him, which meant he was expecting an answer. He let out along breath. “What do I look for in a lass? I suppose her looks are important…no good courting a scruffy lass,” he jested, but Pippin only stared at him. Merry cleared his throat for another example. “In all seriousness, Pip, I look for sincerity. I want her to like me because I’m me--not because I’m a Knight to a far away king. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to know.”

“Lilas?” Merry queried.

“I can’t let her take the entire blame,” Pippin answered morosely. “It’s more like…Lilas and I.” He looked up at the blue sky between the high treetops. “I wonder what lasses look for in lads.”

Merry felt Pippin was now treading in a foreign realm. He shrugged, “Don’t know, Pip. I suppose we could ask Pimpernel.”

Pippin shook his head vigorously, “No.”

“Well,” Merry said, “either way, lasses are a mystery to me. Take your cousin for example.”

Pippin snorted a laugh, “Which one?”

“The one at the Blessing--Freddie’s sister, Estella. The one who kept offering me strawberry tarts every time Saffron offered me biscuits. I was a very well-tended hobbit that afternoon.”

“My understanding is that Saffron was the only cousin employed to serve crumpets and tarts at the blessing--and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“No, I don’t believe she was,” Merry agreed. “But I distinctly remember that Estella was employed as well, though she seemed quite happy in her endeavors.”

In his head, Pippin went back a few days. A memory struck him of seeing his cousin in passing holding a small tray with a few pastry items on it. A smile spread across Pippin’s face, “No, my friend, there was no other--mother told me so. It seems, dear Merry, that a certain lass is sweet on you!” Pippin had a good laugh at his cousin’s stunned expression.

Chapter Sixteen - The Bitter Cold

Lilas pushed her hands inside the muff she wore; the mid-Solmath breeze wafted straight through her coat clear to her bones. She sat on the cold, stone bench, gazing at the bare garden path; dried leaves from the autumn before danced before her in a circle within the soft evening wind. She imagined lovely blossoms and buds of every color on the rose bushes in the garden, now pruned down by the gardener for the winter. She smiled at the simplicity of a flower’s life. Lilas heard soft footfalls approaching.

“Lilas?”

Lilas continued to look at the desolate garden. “I’ve been here for a while, Pippin,” she answered, then broke her stare, looking at Pippin. “Since second breakfast. I suppose I should be getting back inside.”

“May I?” Pippin motioned to the space on the bench. Lilas moved over. Pippin sat down next to her then folded his arms together to ward off the chill. “You really ought to let someone know when you leave for an extended amount of time. Everyone is out looking for you.”

“Then maybe I should go back inside,” Lilas made to rise up, but was hindered by Pippin’s arm that guided her to sit back down.

“A few moments of us talking out here won’t hurt them, but we should be quick about it.” He watched Lilas relax a bit on the stone bench. He could feel the gaze of her soft brown eyes, but Pippin’s gaze was elsewhere. “I’m sorry about last night. It was thoughtless of me to assume you wouldn’t…notice…you know.”

“Pippin…,” Lilas began, “I wanted it more than ye know. I wanted t’ just let ye go on; t’ feel ye touch me in a way that I thought would never happen. But, I know ye don’t…well, ye’d rather have someone ye loved. I understand that.”

Pippin winced at the stark truth in her words. “Lilas, I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re hinting at. When you first came to Great Smials, I was a…tad resentful. If it helps at all, I do think,” he gazed about the garden, searching his mind for the right words, “I think that you’re a good friend.” He took her hand in his to emphasize his statement, then gave her a hopeful grin. However, instead of a reciprocating smile, a tear started down her cheek. Poor Pippin didn’t know what to do or say. Then suddenly she did grin, in a solemn way. She took his hand, clasped in hers and kissed it.

“And ye’re a good friend as well.”

* * *

Two weeks had passed by swiftly with no more overtures than Lilas seizing every opportunity to hold her husband’s hand, or to touch his shoulders in love and support. It was the 22^nd day of Solmath when Lilas heard Pippin sneeze for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

“Achoo!”

Lilas handed Pippin another handkerchief. “My, ye’re full of sneezes t’day!”

“I’ll be fide later--after my dose stops itchid.” Pippin promptly blew into the fine cotton cloth, then sniffled inward to see if he could clear his nose and ears.

Lilas shook her head, having heard that same story before from her brothers and sister when she lived with her parents. Pippin’s cheeks and nose were turning redder with every sneeze and wipe. “Let me decide for that.” She drew closer to where he sat at his desk and felt his forehead. “Ye’re warm.” She shook her finger at her husband, “Pimpernel warned ye ’bout handling a sick babe. I won’t tell ye what yer mother said.”

“You dote have to,” Pippin replied, “I pretty much remember what she said.” Pippin winced at the memory of helping his sister with three sick children the past week. He had to admit it to himself; he was feeling rather achy, but was too stubborn to allow Lilas to care for him. He took his pipe out from one of his desk drawers along with a pouch bulging with pipe weed. “I’m goig to fide Merry add have a smoke.”

Lilas gently steered her husband towards the bedroom, “Oh, no ye’re not,” she answered, taking the pipe and pouch and setting back onto the desk, “Ye’re going t’ find some rest in the bed.”

“Lilas!” Pippin snapped. As the day progressed, the more Pippin was feeling out of sorts. “I’ve growd up with three sisters who would ofted get away with tellig me what I could and could’t do! I’m goig to the commod room add have a pipe with my cousid!” Then he saw the pitiful expression appear on Lilas’ face. She was only trying to help, you ninny!, he told himself, yet he swiped his pipe and pouch off the desk and then headed towards the door. As he swung it open, he caught sight of the sign he had painstakingly carved their names into: “Pippin and Lilas Took”, it read. He sighed, then swung the door shut again. He then turned around--his own mournful countenance showing the resign of his stubbornness. “I suppose wud dap could’t hurt.”

Once Lilas had her husband tucked in bed and fast asleep, she realized that tea had arrived--and she was growing very hungry. Lilas stood before the mantelpiece, staring at the ominous bell that Pippin would use to call for the servants whenever they took their meals inside their own apartment. Finally, she got her nerve up and took the bell off the shelf, then did as Pippin would do; she went to the hallway and rang it. Not thirty seconds later, a hobbit server arrived.

“May I help you, Mistress?”

Lilas was dumbstruck; she had never used the bell before. “Um…if ye please, I’d like to make my husband a bit of broth; do ye mind if I use the kitchen?”

About an hour later, Lilas--accompanied by the server--wheeled a small tea trolley into the apartment. “Thank ye, Willym. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Very well, Mistress; ring the bell if ye need anything else.”

Lilas opened the crock that was set upon the trolley and poured a bowl of the steaming, aromatic stew for herself. She took a whiff of it and smiled, then set it aside. Next, she carefully tilted the ladle so as to only scoop the broth. This bowl was for Pippin. Once she had poured ice bits into a glass, she uncovered the plate of toasted bread, lightly buttered, and placed it with the bowls of stew, and glass of ice, taking it slowly into the bedroom.

Pippin was fast asleep; snoring softly as his stuffed nose would allow him to breath. Lilas placed the platter on Pippin’s bedside table and let the steam do its work while she ate her own bowl. By the time Lilas had finished her own stew, she could hear Pippin stirring about in bed.

“What’s this?” Pippin asked her as she entered the room.

“Chicken stew,” she answered. “I made it for ye. It’s my grandma’s recipe.”

Pippin rubbed his eyes and aching head, “Oh, Lilas--I dote wat to eat adythid so fillig right dow.”

“It’s only broth,” she said. “Well, broth and toasted bread. It’s good that you eat--if only just a little.”

Pippin was hungry, but his stomach wasn’t quite feeling up to a thick broth, yet he relented. Lilas was right; he should eat something. “All right--just a little, thed.” He waited while she sat down, holding the hot bowl with an oven pad, cooling it by blowing on the broth, then spooning it up to his mouth.

“I cad feed myself,” Pippin said, then took the bowl and spoon from his wife. After a minute, the bowl seemed to lower and tilt as Pippin grew more tired.

“Why do ye have to be so stubborn, eh?” Lilas gently took the bowl back and resumed her duties. “Just a few more spoonfuls, and then I’ll let ye sleep a bit more.”

Pippin obliged by opening his mouth; allowing Lilas to feed him the broth. “You said it’s a chicked stew?”

“Yes--with a few other ingredients thrown in,” Lilas spoke softly; setting bowl down for a minute to break the toast into pieces her husband could easily chew. “A couple of these, then I’ll give ye some water to wash it down with.” She saw that the ice pieces in the glass had melted enough for him to munch on.

“The stew is delicious,” Pippin mumbled. The warmth of the broth was doing it’s work.

“Thank ye,” said Lilas. Smiling, she combed his hair away from his face. She knew he was far too sleepy to protest her affectionate deed. Without warning, Lilas heard the entry door open up with a very brief knock.

“Lilas! What are you doing?” Pimpernel demanded. “You should have said something if Pippin was sick.”

Lilas set the glass of ice water down, standing up to face the commotion. Behind Pimpernel stood Eglantine and Paladin; both with concerned expressions. “It’s just a common cold, Pim. Pippin will be well again in a few days.”

Pimpernel walked up and felt her brother’s forehead, “No illness is common when Pippin catches it.” She let out a breath of relief, “He’s not very hot, but I’m certain he will be in due time.”

“Lilas, dear, why don’t you come with me?” offered Eglantine.

“No, thank ye, mum,” Lilas backed away. “Pippin needs me right now.”

“Lilas--Pimpernel will watch over her brother while you and I have a bit of a talk. Would walk with me in the hallway?”

Pippin startled at the cool touch of his sister’s hand and woke up. “Why is everywud starig at me? Where’s Lilas?”

“She’s right here, Pippin,” Eglantine said to her son. “Lilas and I were just going out for a walk.”

Satisfied with that answer, Pippin lay comfortably back upon his pillows, “All right.” He promptly fell back to sleep.

“Come along, Lilas,” Eglantine gently pulled her daughter-in-law towards the door.

* *

Lilas and Eglantine traveled the perimeter of the Thain’s tunnels. There was much that she wanted to ask, but for now, only one spewed forth. “Mum, why is everyone fussing over Pippin? ’Tis a common cold; I get them all the time.”

Eglantine quickly replied, “Well, let us hope you don’t get one now--of all times to get one.”

“My Ma cared for me when I was sick once--and she was pregnant with my sister Saborra at the time. So I thought it was all right if I took care of Pippin.”

Eglantine walk slowly alongside Lilas, “That’s fine, sweetie, if you have no one else to help you care for a sick husband or worse--a sick child. I feel for all the hobbit women who have no other option, but here at Great Smials, Lilas, you have all sorts of help. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. For starters, you have Pimpernel and myself to help you. If you get sick, then I can’t tell you enough just how miserable you will be. And if you should become ill, we don’t know how your illness will affect the baby.”

Lilas sighed, “I understand, mum.”

“Now about Pippin,” Eglantine went on. “When Pippin was born, I hadn’t carried him for the full term. Afterwards, he struggled some, but he’s a Took, through and through. The poor babe suffered many illnesses during his first year. The impairment the illnesses left upon him allowed Pippin to catch more illnesses that most other children were able to ward off. There were many times, Lilas, that as a child, your husband was near the brink of death with fever, then spent weeks in bed recovering. Pippin was only out of another long illness a few weeks before he took off with his cousins on their far away journey. That is why we fuss over Pippin so.”

Lilas took Eglantine’s hand in hers. “A few days ago, when I saw the midwife, she told me that my baby might be born early--because I’m so young. Is that true?”

Eglantine drew the girl into her arms as they walked, “I don’t know, dear--I’m not a midwife.” But Eglantine knew Lilas’ age wasn’t working in the girl’s favor. “I wouldn’t dwell on that just now. You’re not quite four months along yet; we’ll worry about that when--or if--that situation ever arrives.”

“Yes, mum.”

She saw Lilas’ downcast face then had an idea of her own. “Would you like to use Pippin’s old bedroom for a few nights? I’ll have one of the servants give it a quick dusting before you bed down this evening.”

Lilas put her hand to her slightly swelling belly that few besides her and Pippin could readily see yet. She braved a smile, “I suppose if I can’t sleep next t’ him, then at least I can stay where I know he did at one time.”

Chapter Seventeen - Unlikely Companions

It had been a rough night for Merry; between the restless sleep and his nightmares, he ended up in the common room well before first breakfast. He had the entire room to himself as he quietly lit his pipe for a peaceful smoke. In the silence of the pre-dawn Smials, his thoughts wandered far and near; to life before the Quest, and then life after. He laughed inwardly, thinking of how life rarely turned out as one figured it from a safe distance in childhood.

Without warning, a dark, silhouetted shadow appeared in the doorway. Merry startled, then jumped up from the chair he sat in.

“Mornin’,” said the shadow.

Merry breathed a sigh of relief, “Good morning, Lilas.”

“Didn’t mean t’ startle ye, Mister Merry--I thought the room was empty.”

He smiled, “Well, it seems it’s drawing a bit of a crowd at the moment. And please, call me Merry.”

Lilas looked warily around the sitting room, “Perhaps ye want t’ be alone,” then she turned to leave.

Merry realized that after the unnerving dreams he had experienced earlier that he would rather not be alone. “No--don’t leave,” he called to her. “Not yet, anyway. Please?” When he saw her turn back in his direction, he quickly scanned the room for the game he sought to occupy them both. “Up for a game of Draughts?”

“I suppose so,” she answered. “There’s nothin’ else going on right now. It’s still too early for breakfast.” She was curious as to why Merry was up at this hour. “Are ye always an early riser?”

“Yes…and no,” he replied, setting up the board and game pieces. “I was an early riser before the Journey, but since then, I’ve managed to sleep clear through to second breakfast.”

Lilas sat down in the chair across from Merry. “Pippin always gets up well before breakfast when he’s had a bad dream.”

Merry did his best to avoid discussing his or Pippin’s nightmares with anyone other than his closest friend. “I forgot to ask which color you wish to use,” he asked.

Lilas frowned, “Doesn’t matter--you’ll win the game anyhow.”

Merry looked up, “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve never been good at Draughts,” she replied. “My brothers liked t’ play with me because they knew they’d win.”

“Well,” he grinned, “as Pip can tell you, I’m a wagering hobbit, and I wager that you’ll be playing a fair game by the time we’re finished. I’ll use the white pieces because they go first, then that will allow you to try and follow some of my moves.” Merry imagined a sadness come over his game partner. “What’s the matter, Lilas?”

“I was just thinking ’bout Pippin, is all. After what mum told me, I’m beginnin’ t’ worry.”

Merry got word late last night that his young cousin had taken ill. “Yes, Pippin does have a way of growing on a person. Like a leech,” he added the last teasingly.

“Ye don’t mean that, do ye?”

The look of shock on her face was priceless. “No,” he chuckled, “I was only jesting. Pippin and I have always been close.” Merry watched her next move on the board. “Don’t move those pieces yet, Lilas. You have one other draughtsman you can move to capture one of mine--see?” he pointed out the obvious jump.

“Dabo told me that I had to move those pieces as soon as I could--that it was part of the rules.”

“Again, I’m willing to bet that Dabo wasn’t as quick to move the same draughtsman on his side of the board though, was he?”

Lilas thought back. “He never had t’--he always won the game before he needed t’.”

Merry moved his game piece, “My point exactly.”

“Are ye sayin’ that Dabo was cheating?”

Always the diplomatic one, Merry replied, “I’m only saying that I’ve never heard of such a rule, and I’ve played competition games at the fairs.”

Lilas studied the board for her move. “Well, from the looks of things now…he was cheating!” When their laughter died down, Lilas became serious again; she had another question on her mind. “Mist--Merry, how sick would Pippin get when he was a wee lad?”

Merry was about to give additional instruction to her recent move, but paused to answer her more immediate question. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the first stirrings of the servants preparing the main dining room nearby for breakfast. “He nearly died a couple times when he was a small boy, but as he grew older his illnesses became less severe though they would last longer. He had a close call when he was a teen; and then again when he was twenty seven. He had a high fever for four days. The healers actually sat my aunt and uncle down and told them to prepare for the worst--they thought for sure Pippin wouldn’t make it through the night. That’s why he’s fussed over so.” Then Merry smiled thoughtfully, “But he is a tough little Took--though he isn’t little anymore!”

Lilas stared at the fire in the hearth, eyes moist with tears. “Do ye think he’s gonna get worse this time?”

Merry’s next move was to occupy his dearest friend’s wife elsewhere. The draughts game was no longer keeping her mind busy. “I hope not, but with so many folks caring for him, I can’t imagine it getting much worse than a bad cold.” He stood up, “Shall we go to Uncle’s dining room for breakfast?” Lilas nodded, then stood up as well. Merry caught sight of her small, swelling tummy. It was barely noticeable under the loose-fitting frock she wore. He apologized when he realized he was gawking. “It still amazes me that a part of Pippin is growing inside you.”

“It is amazin’ isn’t it?” Lilas put her hand to her belly as they began walking towards the Thain’s dining room.

Merry decided he wanted to visit his near life-long friend. “Perhaps we can take a small detour and look in on Pippin. Would you like that?”

“I would,” she said, “but Mum and Pimpernel said I couldn’t be near him while he’s with fever.”

Merry remembered the baby. “They’re correct in that. We wouldn’t want you or the baby to become ill.”

She suddenly spoke with enthusiasm, “Would you look in on him for me? Tell him that…” she trailed off.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that you’re just outside the door, and that you’re wanting him to feel better soon.” Merry smiled for effect.

Lilas took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, “Thank ye, Merry!”

“For a price.”

Lilas’ smile waned. “And what price would that be?”

Merry continued walking slowly next to his young friend, confident that his price would be tendered. “I understand that you and Pimpernel are having tea with Estella Bolger tomorrow, are you not?” He watched her nod in silence. “Then all I ask is for you to…put in a good word for me.”

A sly grin spread across Lilas’ face. “Ye fancy Miss Estella?”

“Let’s just say that the smiles and nods in passing are becoming a bit…old. I should like to get to know my distant cousin a bit better.”

Lilas liked the idea of playing matchmaker. While thinking up ways to ingratiate Merry to Estella, they turned down the Thain’s tunnel to find one of the apartment doors opened up, spilling out faint daylight into the dim hallway. Lilas stopped in her tracks, recognizing that it was her’s and Pippin’s apartment. She could hear the soft volume of a couple people in conversation as she resumed walking, slowly approaching the open doorway. “…don’t understand it…still has a fever…”

Merry cleared his throat to indicate his and Lilas’ presence. “Good morning, Auntie…Uncle--how’s Pippin?”

Eglantine got up and embraced her nephew, “Good morning, Merry!” She noticed the dark circles under his eyes and knew what had kept the young Brandybuck from proper sleep. “Promise me that you’ll try to rest up a bit later?” He nodded. Her gaze swept back and forth between her nephew and daughter-in-law as she answered them both, “Pippin is doing rather well surprisingly. Pimpernel and I have kept vigil with him all night, placing cool cloths on his forehead. He’s about the same as when you last saw him yesterday, Lilas.” Then she smiled. “He’s been asking for more of your chicken broth--says it’s a special recipe that only you can make.”

Merry was delighted with the progress. He looked at Lilas, “That’s a good sign!”

Lilas smiled shyly, “’Tis my grandma’s. May I use the kitchens again?”

“You certainly may!” Eglantine said, “and may I assist you?”

“I’d like that, mum,” Lilas continued to smile, taking her mother-in-law by the arm. “Merry is going t’ visit with Pippin for me, and in return I’m going t’ tell Estella that Merry has taken a fancy t’ her.” Merry listened with horror as the two ladies walked towards the kitchens.

Paladin was sitting wearily in a chair next to the one that his wife and recently occupied. He smirked at Merry, “Never tell a lass that you like another unless you want it spread all over Tuckborough within the hour.”

A/N-1: Hello friends! First, I must once again thank my friends Pearl Took and Mysterious Ways for their unending support and editing. Most wonderful lasses, they are! AND Congratulations to Pearl Took for being a Semi-Finalist in the Mithril Awards for three stories: Peregrin & Diamond, The Living is Easy, and A Flood, A Fall, A Finale, A Fever. Trust me--they’re all great stories! It took me and another well known author two reads to figure out the twists in Flood, but it’s worth it!

Second, in response to Carcilwen’s difficulties in sending reviews with ff.net, Pipwise Brandygin has said she’s experiencing the same problem, but if she clicks on the “refresh” button, the review goes through. I, myself, have run into those problems only to find out that the review went through anyway. They do in fact to through, because I *have* received your “unsuccessful” reviews, as I know other authors have received mine We just have to be patient with ff.net--it’s a huge website. My gratitude goes out to *all* of you who have taken the time and gone through these difficulties just to leave a review. Thank you seems inadequate, but it’s all that I have for right now.

Chapter Eighteen - A Little Help From My Friends

Pippin seemed asleep as Merry walked inside the bedroom, so he quietly sat down in one of the bedside chairs. Pimpernel had fallen asleep in the chair on the other side of the bed. He got up and carried her out to the couch in the sitting room. Just before he walked away, she mumbled something.

“What was that, Miss Pim?” Merry softly teased. “I’m in trouble?” he smiled, whispering into her ear. “You may still be older than me, but just you remember who’s bigger than whom now!”

Pimpernel turned over, opening one reddened eye, “You enjoy that a bit too much,” she answered with a sleep heavy voice, then she grinned tiredly. Merry took the lap quilt lying across the back of the couch and covered his cousin with it, kissing her forehead. He straightened up; looking across the room, he saw his uncle was snoring softly while sitting in the chair. Merry looked about room trying to spy another quilt. The only thing he saw was one of the baby blankets that Lilas had knitted and folded into a pile. Merry unfolded one and saw it was enough to cover his uncle’s upper body. Better than catching a chill, he thought, as he laid it across the elder hobbit’s chest, then returned to Pippin’s bedside.

Merry sat for a while listening to the soft, rhythmic breathing of his cousin. Not quite a year ago, Merry sat with him after the Battle at the Black Gate, helping to nurse his broken cousin back to health. And at that time, Pippin wasn’t breathing this easy. Presently though, Pippin’s nose seemed clear, but after a coughing spasm, Merry gave up on the hope of his cousin’s chest being clear. Merry cupped a handkerchief near Pippin’s mouth, telling the tween to spit into it.

“Where’s my mother?” Pippin asked, sitting up against his pillows.

Merry disposed of the soiled cloth then sat again in the chair. “She and Lilas went to the kitchens to make more of the broth you requested. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve just been stampeded by an Oliphant,” answered Pippin.

Merry grinned at his cousin’s humor. “That bad, eh?”

Pippin sipped on the glass of water left by Pimpernel. “Not really. My head still aches a little, but I’m fine.” He let Merry feel his forehead.

“I’m glad to see that you’re none for the worse.” Merry pulled the blankets up as far as they would go around Pippin’s shoulders. “You ought to rest more.”

Pippin saw the tired expression on his friend’s face. “You ought to take your own advice.”

“I haven’t been here all night, like others have.”

“You’ve been everywhere but where you should have been--in bed asleep,” Pippin put in, remembering his own nightmares weeks before. “Are they bad?” That was a moot question, but Pippin empathized with his dearest cousin. He saw Merry shrug. Pippin spoke softly, “Will they ever stop?”

“Don’t know, Pip.” Merry shifted uneasily in his chair, then changed the subject. “I noticed Lilas’ tummy this morning. Your baby’s growing.”

Pippin smiled, though with a bit of trepidation, “I know. It’s scary sometimes.”

“Scary? Why is that?”

“I can barely explain it myself,” Pippin reached deep into his thoughts, “but when I see her tummy getting bigger the whole truth of me being a father rises to the surface. It’s a mixture of fear and blessings--wondering if I will be a good father.” He paused for his next words. “And when I touched her belly the other night, I nearly cried. This baby is part of me,” he trailed off in wondrous thought. “Will my son have brown eyes or green eyes?”

“How do you know it’s a lad?” Merry smiled teasingly. “What if your baby’s a lass? Have you picked out any names for him or her?” Merry emphasized her.

“Not yet,” said Pippin. “We have yet to start work on the nursery.”

“Well you’d better hurry!” Merry laughed, “Your little bundle is going to arrive in little more than three months!” Then he smiled, “I’m here at the Smials with no other purpose than to be here for you, cousin. Lilas can’t help you now--she’ll injure herself. There’s lots of work to do; you’ll need to clean out the old room, paint it and hire a carpenter to build the furniture, then arrange the room so it looks like a nursery. I can help you with all of that.”

Pippin had been feeling a bit overwhelmed with the task of late. He returned is friend’s smile, “Thanks, Merry.”

* * *

A couple days later, Lilas entered the bedroom and quickly closed the door behind her. Pippin stood at his bureau washing his face. Lilas handed her husband a towel to dry up. “Just where do ye think ye’re headed off t’?”

“I’m going to see if Merry wants to go to the mercantile in town to purchase some nails and such so we can get started on the nursery.”

“The healer said ye have t’ stay in bed another day. Besides,” Lilas frowned, “I thought me and you were gonna decorate the nursery.”

“We are, Lilas,” Pippin refolded the damp towel and placed it next to the basin. “But there’s work to be done first. And as it seems the healer isn’t going to pitch in and help, I’ve decided to take it upon myself to go to town.”

“What sort of work is needed?” Lilas took the damp towel and put it in the laundry bin.

Pippin thought there was a note to her voice that seemed a bit odd. “Washing it thoroughly for one thing--to be rid of the dust that has gathered over the years.”

“What else?”

Pippin shot a look at his wife. “Painting the walls,” he answered. “Why are you acting so strange?”

Her brow furrowed, making a pretense of offense. “I’m not actin’ strange.”

Pippin narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you up to?” he asked, heading for the door. Lilas ran in front of the door, spreading out her arms to bar the way. “Lastly, you’ll have to find another barrier to keep me from opening this door!” Pippin reached under Lilas’ arms, picked her up then placed her down behind him and out of his way.

“That wasn’t fair.”

“After you’ve had a few Ent draughts and have grown another ten inches, then you can tell me what’s fair,” he said, with a bit of haughtiness. Then he swung open the door.

“SURPRISE!!”

Pippin froze in place. There stood a group of his friends--some he hadn’t seen since he was married. He scanned the group with his eyes; Merry, Estella, Everard, Laurel, Pimpernel, Pervinca, Frodo, Sam, Rosie, Fredegar, and Ferdibrand. Pippin stood there dumbfounded.

Pervinca laughed at his expression, “What’s the matter, brother? Cat got your tongue?”

Pippin slowly made his way round his circle of friends, embracing or kissing them in greeting. When he finished he “found” his tongue. “What is the celebration for?”

“We just wanted to celebrate, cousin,” Merry piped in, “but because we’re all here to start the course of converting your other bedroom into a nursery, we decided to commemorate it.” He handed Pippin a mug, then held his own up in salutation. “To Pippin, Lilas--and Baby Took.” Everyone echoed the toast, clinking their mugs or glasses together.

Pippin drank from his mug while Lilas stood next to him, holding onto his arm and his hand. He looked around at various mugs being passed around. Not everyone was an ale drinker, but they sipped from a friend’s mug to share in the toast. *Pippin allowed Lilas one sip from his own mug then teased her, “Back to the tea party with the other lasses!” Yet he couldn’t escape her sensitive brown eyes. Was it the vibrant force in the air? Pippin couldn’t answer that question, but he leaned down and kissed his wife. Cheers and whistles were heard from the group of friends.

Hours later, as things began winding down for supper, Merry sat down on the floor next to Pippin. Pippin’s fever had broken the day before, so he was yet recuperating from his bout with a bad cold. After a couple of nasty coughing spasms, Merry told him he must either sit down for a while, or go back to bed like the healer said. Without argument, Pippin sat down as suggested. “All they would let me do is hold the nails and hammers anyway,” he feigned emotional injury, but he was glad to rest for a little while.

Merry smirked, “That was the idea. There will still be lots of work to do in days to come, but since you’ve been sick, we all wanted to help out, Pip. You don’t have too much time left before your Little Pippin arrives.”

Pippin’s eyes traveled to the group of lasses surrounding his wife. “The biggest surprise is Pervinca. How did she get here so quickly?”

“Actually,” Merry took a sip from his mug then set it down. “I didn’t send a letter or courier to Buckland. I saw her and Brody arrive last night from Brandy Hall. We got to talking and she mentioned that she came to visit in answer to a letter your mum sent her.” A quizzical look came over his cousin. “Apparently,” Merry explained further, “Pimpernel has made the decision to live here at the Smials until her children are old enough to go back to live at the farm in Whitwell. She needs to return right now though in order to gather a few items and clean up a bit. You, Pervinca, and I will need to be on hand for that task, Pip.”

“So it’s not just the farm smial she will be dealing with,” said Pippin. “Also the memories of Hil.” Merry nodded. Pippin continued, “I miss Hilfred, too. It will be strange to go through the old smial and him not be there.”

“But Hilfred wasn’t your husband, Pippin.”

Pippin rolled his eyes, “I should say not!” His eyes met with his cousin’s. “I’ll be there, Merry. She’s my sister, and she’s been here for me as well.”

*A/N-2: Even though we know better now, folks back then had no clue that alcohol affected an unborn child. However, I allowed a fictional, pregnant Lilas one sip, and that is all. We do know better these days and I certainly don’t want any modern-day lass to think that this is appropriate behavior today. Just know that when a lass is pregnant or nursing--anything she ingests goes directly to her blood system, and then directly to her unborn baby, or via her milk to the child. NEVER drink alcohol while pregnant or nursing.

Chapter Nineteen - Homeward Bound

“Do you like the pretty, sunny yellow material or the pale blue?” Pervinca held the differing cloths next to one another for Lilas to choose. Slowly she inched the yellow material in front of the blue.

“Lilas, don’t let my sister sway you either way,” said Pimpernel, “as you can tell, yellow is her favorite color.”

“But I do like the way the yellow reminds me of a sunny summer mornin’,” Lilas reflected in thought. “Can I decorate the nursery in both yellow and pink?” The other ladies hushed their conversation.

Pimpernel leaned in towards her young sister-in-law, “What if the baby is a boy, Lilas? You don’t want him looking through pink curtains, do you?”

“You can decorate your baby’s nursery in any color you wish, Lilas,” Pervinca put in, pleased that yellow was a chosen favorite. “He’ll be an infant long enough to not care what color his curtains are. By the time he is old enough to care, you’ll have already redecorated his room in blue.”

Pimpernel had a hard time finding argument against her sister’s reasoning. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “All they seem to care about the first several months is where the cradle is, when the next feeding takes place, and who’s going to change their smelly nappies!” All the lasses burst out laughing.

“I can hardly wait until my Sam and I--,” then she stopped suddenly, blushing.

All eyes turned to Rosie. “You can hardly wait until what?” Pervinca smiled. “Tell us!”

“I know that look!” Laurel added, bouncing her own young infant in her arms. “You can’t hide it anymore, Miss Rosie.”

“What is Sam up to?” Estella nudged Rosie, sitting to her right.

“Well…,” Rosie started, “he told me he’s going to ask my dad for my hand! The women all gasped.

“And??” Pervinca could hardly contain herself. She had known Rosie since her first visit to Bag End as a little girl.

“I don’t know,” Rosie answered. “That was a few days ago--I haven’t asked him about it since then.” The friends let go of their breath all at once, then congratulated Rosie on her prospect of marriage.

“Rosie?” It was Lilas who spoke. The giggles and smiles waned when they saw her countenance. “Do ye…,” she was almost whispering. “Do ye ever see my Ma? Or Saborra? Anyone in my family?”

Rosie’s heart went out to Lilas. She knew the Broadhammers, but mostly through contact with them when she was at the market. She knew Saborra and Lilas’ younger brother, Sabo. Rosie was very careful with her next words. “I’ve seen your mother outside tending her garden, and she…well, she looks sad. Saborra has asked me about you, knowing that my Sam knows mister Frodo, who is a Took himself.” Rosie smiled, “she’s a clever lass, that one.” Lilas listened eagerly as Rosie continued. “I went with my dad to purchase a barrel at the market last week. Sabo looked at me as if he wanted to ask a question, but he didn’t. I haven’t seen anyone else of your family. I’m sorry, Lilas.”

Lilas looked devastated. “My ma’s sad?” she sniffed. “It’s all my fault--I made her sad.” Poor Rosie looked helplessly at her friends. Pervinca reached over and took Lilas’ hand in a compassionate gesture.

As the elder sister present, Pimpernel felt as if she now had not one, but two younger sisters to watch over. “Yes,” Pim said, putting her hand on her youngest “sister’s” shoulder, “you made her sad for a while because of your actions--but she’s your mother, Lilas; she’s sad because she misses you, and it seems the rest of your family does too.” Pimpernel saw her words fall flat on the table between them. Lilas had already put her hands to her face to cover her shame and tears. Pimpernel took the girl into her arms, leading her into the bedroom for privacy.

Pippin was still sitting on the floor picking up errant nails when Pervinca came into the nursery. She explained to him what had happened and that Lilas was upset.

When Pippin entered the bedroom, his wife and his older sister were sitting next to each other on the bed. Lilas was still crying, her face buried in Pim’s shoulder. Pippin went to sit on the opposite side of his wife.

“What’s wrong, Lilas?” he asked kindly. Lilas made no move; she continued to sob.

Pimpernel gently pulled Lilas away from her shoulder, combing away the damp locks that were matted near her tearful eyes, revealing flushed cheeks. She spoke softly to her young sister-in-law, “Talk to him, sweetie.” She rose up from the bed and quietly left the room.

When Pimpernel got up, Pippin scooted nearer to Lilas. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

Lilas sniffled; with her head down she wiped the tears away from her eyes. “My ma.”

Pippin reached into Lilas’ bureau and got a handkerchief, handing it to her. “What about your mother?”

Lilas wiped her face with the soft cloth. “Thank ye,” she sniffed. “I asked Rosie about her. Rosie told me she’d seen my ma in the garden and looked like she was sad.” She looked mournfully at Pippin, “I made her like that--my ma’s sad because of me.”

Pippin sighed. “It seems that we both have made our parents sad. But that is in the past now, Lilas. I’ll bet that if she stood before you right now, wild ponies couldn’t stop her from taking you into her arms.”

“That will never happen,” she replied softly, still sniffling. “I can’t ever go home, Pippin.”

“Who said that?”

“My pa,” answered Lilas, remembering the drive from Hobbiton to Great Smials. “He’s ashamed of me--says folks will be laughing at him because of me. That’s probably why my ma is so sad.”

“You don’t know for sure that she was sad because of you, Lilas. Rosie told you what she thought she saw. Your mother could have been sad over something else that happened just moments before Rosie saw her.”

Lilas choked back a few sobs, “I miss her, Pippin--I miss my ma.”

Pippin took his wife and enveloped her into a warm hug. “Until now, I never considered how much you missed your own family,” he said. Then Pippin lifted her chin to look at her, “And as for your father, he may own the house he lives in, but he doesn’t own Hobbiton.” Pippin saw an idea forming in his head.

* * *

“Are you comfortable, Lilas?” Pippin handed his wife another cushion for the carriage ride. He watched as she regarded his offer, looking at the pile already sitting next to her on the bench. “It’s a long ride to Hobbiton,” he warned her. “Are you still certain you want to do this?”

Lilas nodded. “I remember well,” was all she said about the long ride, taking the cushion from Pippin.

“Are you two ready?” Merry came up beside his cousin. “Frodo, Sam, and Rosie are already on their way back. I thought we would only be a few minutes behind them.”

“It takes a little more time to prepare when you have a pregnant hobbit traveling,” Pippin responded, pointing towards the three large hampers tied to the back of the carriage, carrying rations for elevenses and luncheon. “Father says a husband can never carry too many provisions when picnicking with children or pregnant lasses.”

Merry grinned, “I think he learned that from picnicking with you when you were a laddie!”

“Did not!”

“Did.”

“Did not.”

“Did.”

“You boys sound so clever!” Lilas smirked as she finished spreading the pillows and cushions around the bench. Her words had surprised Pippin; Lilas had not said much since her distress two nights before. Then a smile appeared on her face, “But you both truly are.”

“Thank you, Lilas!” Merry said, stepping up into the carriage. “At least somebody appreciates me around here.”

Pippin was nervous as the carriage started up, taking the narrow lanes westward around the Smials towards the Waymeet Road. It was one thing to plan the trip, but it was another to actually be on the road riding to where things began. Pippin had not visited Frodo--or Hobbiton for that matter, in a long while. He would finally come face to face with his in-laws. What were they like? And Mister Silas--turning out his daughter from his house like she were no more than a stray cat. Yes, Pippin thought, it will be a long ride indeed.

(Thank you to Pipkinsweetgrass for the brilliant fan-art of a Pippin-Faerie. If anyone wants a copy, just email her; she’s the author of the wonderful Beecharmer stories.)

Chapter Twenty - The Red Door

As they rode through the village of Hobbiton, Pippin was too far into his own thoughts to notice the gawking from the local folk. Merry was leaning against the carriage wall napping. Lilas was well aware of the stares. She was too nervous to sleep like her cousin-in-law, nor was she fidgety enough to be brooding like her husband. She was anxious, though not enough to lean out through the windows. Instead, she sat back against the many cushions that lined her bench.

What the hobbits in the market were staring at was the Thain’s carriage quietly rolling through town; red trim painted along the edges of the black carriage. Emblazoned on each door was the red symbol of the Took and Thain. Some folks waved their hands in welcome, others called out a greeting. What brings the Thain to Hobbiton?, they asked among themselves.

Mat the driver, drove the carriage all the way up to New Row, stopping in front of Bag End. The round, green door opened up, and out came Frodo, welcoming his guests. “What took you so long?” he said, munching on an apple. “We’ve already had tea--you’re too late.” But he couldn’t hide his mirth when he saw the shocked expression on Pippin’s face.

Merry was the first hobbit to step out, “I know you have to be jesting, dear cousin,” he laughed. “Because if that were the truth, then I certainly wouldn’t be standing between you and Lilas.”

“I heard that, Merry!” the voice of Lilas could be heard coming from inside the carriage.

Pippin was the next one to exit behind Merry; both he and his cousin helped Lilas to step down. Lilas looked around at all the familiar trees, houses, and hobbit holes. Even the air smelled like home to her.

Frodo understood that young Lilas was uneasy about being back in Hobbiton after the reprimand her father gave her months ago, so he arranged for Rosie to spend time with the lass during her brief visit. “Rosie went home for tea in order to let her mother and father know she was returned safe and sound from Tookland, but she will back shortly.” Then in great surprise he took note of the carriage doors when Pippin shut them. “Pippin! What were you thinking in using your father’s carriage? Folks will be wondering why the Thain is visiting the Deputy Mayor.”

Pippin smirked, “It was Father’s idea that we use it.”

Lilas was astounded. “I was ridin’ in the Thain’s carriage?”

“Easy, Lilas,” Merry chuckled, “you won’t fall to pieces or anything like that.”

“Come along inside,” Frodo held open the door as she stepped through the threshold of Bag End. He let the younger lads bring in the luggage while he took Lilas’ arm to usher her inside. “Yours and Pippin’s room is the first door to the left.”

“That’s my old room,” Pippin commented.

“It used to be,” Frodo spoke over his shoulder to the tween following them, “now you get to share it.”

* *

The silence was loud. Lilas sat leaning against the pillows upon the bed that she and Pippin would use later that evening as guests of Bag End. Pippin had left her there advising her to get some rest before supper. But Lilas couldn’t sleep. Just down New Row, up Hobbiton Road, then turning left onto Chestnut Lane was her father’s house. Lilas knew that her father had a temper when provoked enough; what would he do when he learned she was less than a quarter mile away? Can’t ever go home…she thought sorrowfully. She heard a soft knock upon the door. “Come in,” she called, barely above a whisper.

Rosie peeked her head around the door, “Are you up for company?”

“Who?”

“Well, I suppose my brothers let it out that I was in Tuckborough. I sort of picked up a stray lass while I was walking the lanes to Bag End.” With that said, the door pushed open wider to reveal a slip of a girl, slightly less in height than either Rosie or Lilas, but appeared to be second edition to her older sister. The smaller hobbit lass with auburn hair ran excitedly passed Rosie and into the arms of her sister. “Lilas!!”

Lilas held her sister tight, laughing amid her tears, “Oh, how I missed ye, Saborra!” They loosed one another only long enough to wipe each other’s tears then back they were to hugging again.

Pippin now stood next to Rosie in the doorway, observing the tearful reunion.

“I missed ye, too!” Saborra cried. “I miss our talks at night after Ma yells at us an’ tells us t’ go t’ sleep. I miss yer teasin’ me about my freckles.”

Both sisters were facing each other as they talked enthusiastically. Lilas smiled happily, saying, “I’m so glad ye came t’ see me!” In the doorway, Pippin reflected that he had never before seen his wife so happy. They had grown into good friends since their hasty marriage on Afteryule 12, so the smiles and laughter were infectious to him as he watched the girls chatter away.

“How’s Ma?” Lilas finally asked. “I heard she was…ye know--sad.”

Saborra’s smile slowly disappeared as she answered her sister. “Ma’s not been happy since ye went t‘ live at the Smials. She misses ye; we all do, Lilas. Pa wasn’t right in sendin’ ye away.”

Lilas paused before her next question, but forged ahead. “And Pa? How’s he farin’?”

“Stubborn as always,” her sister replied. “He misses ye, too, but he’s still angry.”

“Do ye think him or Ma would come visit me here at Bag End?”

Saborra was puzzled. “Visit ye here? Why don’t ye come home and visit yer family?”

Lilas shook her head, “No--Pa said I couldn’t come home. I was afraid to come back to Hobbiton at all--”

Pippin stepped through the doorway. “We’ve already discussed that, Lilas. In fact, why don’t we take a nice walk together after supper? I should like to see the parts of Hobbiton that I haven’t seen in a long while. I’d say…Chestnut Lane would be a nice start.” He startled when Saborra jumped off the bed.

“Yer the Thain’s son, aren’t ye?” she backed away nervously. She, like many others in Hobbiton, knew Captain Peregrin by sight from the Battle of Bywater.

“Saborra!” Lilas laughed, “He’s my husband!”

Pippin was gracious in holding in his own laughter. “My name is Pippin Took,” he bowed, “at your service.”

Saborra’s shocked expression was almost too much for Rosie even. “Yer husband? I knew ye lived at Great Smials, Lilas, but I didn’t know ye married the Thain’s own son! Pa didn’t tell us who…you know--who he was.” The lass recovered herself then curtsied. “M’ name is Saborra Broadhammer, Mister Pippin,” she said, “and I at yers.”

“But Pippin,” Lilas replied to his suggestion of taking a walk, “I don’t want t’ start any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Saborra sided with her newfound brother-in-law. “It’ll wake up Pa, I’ll say! See just how wrong he was.”

* *

After supper, just as he suggested earlier, Pippin took Lilas on a walk. Somehow they ended up on Chestnut Lane. Large Chestnut trees could be seen throughout the small neighborhood.

“Look!” Pippin pointed to a simply built house with a brown door that they were approaching. “That’s your house!”

“No, it’s not,” Lilas answered, walking beside her husband. She walked so close to him she was almost in his lap. Folks invariably waved or shouted a greeting to the couple as they passed by. Pippin responded in kind with a like gesture.

They walked past the brown door and came to a house with a door painted dark green. “Is this it?”

“No,” she replied. “My Pa makes Dabo paint the door every spring.”

“Well, there are only two more houses on this lane, Lilas. There is a good chance that I will correctly guess your house.”

“Unlikely,” she teased him, now feeling more at ease with all the neighbors welcoming them.

As it was not quite spring, Pippin looked for the door that would need painting again soon. Thank you for the hint, he said to himself. “It’s over there,” he pointed to the house with the faded red door. “That’s your house.”

Lilas looked at her husband with surprise. “Ye did guess it!” Pippin proudly slipped his hands into his pockets and smiled. His nerves rose again to see the faded red door open up. Several hobbits came pouring out of it. Two lads, a matronly woman, and the smaller figure of Saborra. He stood alongside his wife to see what sort of welcome awaited them.

Chapter Twenty One - Cake is Cake…Normally

“Would ye care for more tea?” Lilly asked her well-to-do son-in-law. Here sat the future Thain in the kitchen of her humble home! At least it used to be a home--filled with laughter and simple jests. They never had much, but what they lacked in material things, they made up for in love. That is, until Lilas turned up pregnant, and was told to leave--never to return. Silas’ rash measures threw a wedge into his own family. When his tween-aged daughter and her tween-aged husband entered the house, Silas dramatically retreated to the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Milas was not one of the hobbits who ran out to meet the prodigal daughter. Though he missed his sister just as his younger siblings did, he had stayed behind with his father, observing the meeting from the inside of the house. Presently, he stood--arms crossed--in the doorway of the sitting room, quietly watching the conversations taking place in the kitchen. Future Thain or not, Milas was still at the ready to defend his sister’s honor.

Dabo, the second son, sat at the kitchen table, occasionally participated in the exchanges; however, he was still unsure of what to think. Mister Pippin seemed pleasant enough--not like the other wealthy Smials folk whom he had heard held themselves in high regard. Sabo and Saborra, the younger tweens, crowded around their sister to hear her tales of Great Smials.

“…and I can knit now, Ma! Pippin’s Ma taught me.” Then she paused for full effect before continuing, “And I can read! My writing still needs work, but I’ve read a book!” Gasps of surprise were heard from her siblings. Except Milas. He remained standing as a warden in the doorway with a grim expression on his face.

Saborra was enthralled, “Mistress Took taught ye yer letters, too?”

“No--Pippin did that,” Lilas answered, taking another slice of her mother’s blackberry pie, licking her fingers.

“Seems yer doin’ grand at the Smials, Lilie,” said Sabo, using her affectionate name. He smiled, “At least yer not always in trouble with Pa anymore.”

Lilas laughed, “No! Now I’m always in trouble with Pippin!”

Pippin choked on his bite of blackberry pie. Lilas patted his back until he could take a sip of water. “Are ye all right, Pippin?” she grinned mischievously.

Pippin cleared his throat before replying. “You’re not always in trouble with me!”

“No, I was only joking,” she assured him--and her family. “Actually, Pippin is a good husband and I know he’ll be a great father, too.”

“Stand up, lass.” Lilly asked her daughter to turn a pirouette. “The babe’s growin,” she muttered. “I’ll be a grandma soon.” Her eyes misted over.

Lilas took her mother in her arms, whispering in her ear, “And I’ll sing t’ my baby just like ye sang to me when I was a wee girl.” She hugged her mother. “Ma, do ye think Pa will talk t’ me?”

Lilly looked through the sitting room, back towards the bedrooms and sighed. “Ye can try,” she answered, “but I don’t think he will.”

Lilas may have walked a ten miles as she made her way to her parents’ bedroom. Each step she took was an ominous pronouncement of pending rejection. But she felt she needed to try. With uncertainty she looked back at the waiting group of hobbits now in the sitting room. She knocked hard three times upon the thick wooden door. “Pa?” Lilas waited a minute before calling again. Still no answer. “Pa, I just wanted ye t’ know I didn’t mean t’ make ye angry.” She listened again. Silence. “Pa…?” Tears spilled from her eyes as she continued on, asking softly, “Do ye hear me?” The only sound that was heard after that was from Lilas; sniffling as she began to cry. The walls around her blurred as she began to walk away from the door. Dabo tried to intercept his sister, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she kept on walking.

Saborra helplessly gazed as Lilas walked by her as well. “Lilas…”

The only consolation Lilas sought was the comfort of her husband. Pippin met his wife in the middle of the sitting room and embraced her; holding her as her heart broke into pieces before her family. He was angry--but kept his tongue. All of this reminded Pippin of when Denethor admitted to wishing Faramir had died instead of Boromir. These two obstinate fathers were equally callous in Pippins view.

He whispered into her ear, “Let’s go home, Lilas.” Lilas’ mother and siblings all visited her at Bag End the next day, but Lilas didn’t go back to the little house with the pale red door.

* * *

The following evening, Sam had baked a cake on the occasion of Lilas meeting her family. No one was more pleased than Sam at the welcoming response--minus the scene at her father’s bedroom door. “Most Hobbiton folk are good at heart,” he remarked, slicing the cake.

Merry eyed one large piece that Sam had laid upon a plate and set aside. “Sam, I believe that particular piece of cake has my name written on it.”

Sam eyed the cake quizzically, “No, mister Merry, I don’t see your name written on it.”

Merry laughed, “That’s just something we say in Brandy Hall when we actually mean we that we want it.” He started to lay hold of the plate with the “special” slice of cake on it.

“Merry!” Frodo called to his cousin, “Give that piece of cake to Sam,” he winked. Frodo had been privy to a bit of inside information.

“Why?” It was Merry’s turn to be perplexed. “Cake is cake, is it not?”

Frodo grinned, “Normally it is, but not today.”

Pippin was now eyeing the large slice of cake. “Wasn’t it baked for Lilas? Perhaps Lilas would like that nice serving.” It was a ruse of course; Pippin was thinking more of his own stomach.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lilas said. “Leave it t’ lads t’ fight and argue over a simple thing like cake!” She took the special piece of cake and another slice, heading straight for the sitting room. Sam gulped and ran after the pregnant hobbit, but was too late. The foursome stood in the doorway as Lilas sat down with Rosie in the sitting room to enjoy their dessert. Sam let out a long breath of relief when he saw Lilas hand the large piece to Rosie. The lasses talked in low volumes across the room while the lads gawked from the kitchen. Suddenly Rosie stopped eating. Her hand went to her heart, then her mouth, which was by now gaping wide open. Lilas smiled, watching Rosie hold up a golden bracelet, she got up and kissed the stunned lass, then took her own cake to finish it in the kitchen.

“So that’s why the cake was so special to you, Sam!” Merry grinned.

“I never would have thought to bake a bracelet into the cake,” Pippin remarked, staring at the treasure dangling in Rosie’s hand.

“I didn’t,” said Sam. “I dug out a bit of the underside of the cake and hid the bracelet beneath it.” Sam then stepped forward into the sitting room and sat down next to Rosie. “I spoke to your dad, Rosie. He gave us his blessing.” Sam bowed his head; unsure of how he should proceed, but his love for the lass sitting next to him surpassed any trepidation that lingered in his heart. He slipped off the couch and stood on bended knee, “Rosie Cotton, I’d be the happiest lad in the Shire--no, in Middle-earth if you were to be my wife. Will you marry me?” Their friends in the doorway held their breath watching and waiting for Rosie’s response. They didn’t have to hold their breath long at all.

Rosie fell onto Sam, holding him for dear life and kissed him. She spoke softly just for him. “I’d be the happiest lass in the Shire--yes, and in Middle-earth, to be your wife.”

Loud cheers erupted and threatened to break the crystal. Merry and Frodo came forward, congratulating and hugging Sam. Hugs and kisses were passed all around between the friends.

No one in the sitting room noticed right away that Pippin had remained in the doorway, eyes filling with tears. He would never know the anxiety of asking a lass to marry him. From inside the kitchen, Lilas noticed her husband delaying his good wishes to the couple. She set aside her dessert, getting up to stand next to him. They’d been married long enough for her to have an idea of what was bothering him. She slid her arm around his waist, “Don’t let our own troubles keep ye from sharin’ in another’s happiness, Pippin. They deserve all the blessings their friends will offer them. Don’t ye remember yer friends helpin’ with the nursery? They were blessing ye, Pip.”

Pippin sighed, taking her hand in his. “I seem to remember that our friends were blessing you, too.” He squeezed her hand, “How did you know about the cake?”

Lilas smiled, “We lasses have this thing--”

Pippin laughed, “The truth, Lilie!” He used Sabo’s fond nickname for his sister.

“I saw a bit of gold stickin’ out from under the cake. All ye lads were too busy arguing over the biggest piece t’ see it. I figured Sam wanted it t’ be a surprise, so I did what I did t’ keep it secret.”

Pippin took his wife into a tender hug, “You are a good lass, Lilas.”

Chapter Twenty Two - Reflections

“Pippin, will we ever go back t’ visit again?” A very tired Lilas lay across the bench atop her cushions with her head on her husband’s lap. After the reunion at her family’s house and then Sam and Rosie’s big event yesterday, Lilas got to spend the entire next day visiting with her mother and siblings. Milas even visited his sister at Bag End, and warmed up enough to make small talk with Pippin a bit, but Silas never stepped foot out of his house to spend time with his daughter.

“Of course we will,” he answered, throwing a thin blanket over her. “But as your belly gets bigger I don’t think you’ll want to be traveling too far.” Pippin thought he heard a faint mumble in response. Looking down, Lilas had fallen asleep.

“The poor lass is exhausted,” said Merry in a low voice. “She didn’t sleep well at all before the visit.”

“Well,” Pippin jested, also speaking softly, “after a nice, large meal like she’s had in Waymeet, I’d be napping, too!”

“You’re terrible, Pip!” Merry chuckled. “She’s worn out and you know it. Hand me one of those cushions she’s not using.”

Pippin tossed his cousin a free pillow then watched him place it under his head. “As I recall, dear cousin,” Pippin teased, “you were actually trying to keep up with her,” then put his hand to his mouth to suppress a belch.

“In truth,” Merry answered, settling down for a bit of sleep. “I was trying to keep up with you!” He paused before his next question, “Are you bringing her to Whitwell on Highday?”

“I haven’t asked her,” Pippin replied. “I’m afraid of her doing something that will harm the baby.”

Merry cocked one eye open. “Like what? She’ll want to help, Pippin. We’ll all be there to watch over her. She wants to feel like she’s a part of things.” He opened both eyes, looking straight at his cousin. “She’s wants to be near you, Pip. She’s in love with you--even I can see that.”

Pippin sighed miserably, returning Merry’s gaze. “I know. I can see it.”

The sad green eyes were all the answer that Merry needed. He turned over, ending the conversation there. Each hobbit mulling over their own feelings of the situation until the rhythm of the ponies’ hooves began lulling them both to sleep.

* * *

Lilas angrily flung her cloak about her neck, hastily fastening the clasp. “You weren’t even goin’ t’ ask me, were ye?”

Sheepishly, but just as fervently, Pippin trussed up his rucksack, swinging it over one of his shoulders. “I worry that you might over do it and hurt yourself--and our baby.” Today was Highday; the day that Pimpernel needed help in moving some of her effects from the old farm smial at Whitwell to Great Smials in Tuckborough. Not a long distance by any means, but a monumental step for the young widow. Everyone ate first breakfast together and then prepared for the long two days ahead.

“No, I won’t, and ye know it!” Lilas turned fiery brown eyes upon her husband, “I hurt myself last month because I was tripped!”

“Lilas,” Pippin countered again, “it would be better for you if you rested here at the Smials.”

“Too late, Pippin Took!” she retorted, “Pimpernel and yer Ma’s already asked me!” With that, she turned and huffed out the bedroom room door.

“Lilas!” Pippin called out after her, but his wife kept on walking. “You stubborn Broadhammer! You’re just like your father!” She paused briefly as she opened the hall door, turning around. Pippin rued his cutting words the instant he saw the wounded expression on her face. Without a word, she exited the apartments, closing the door hard behind her.

* * *

Not many conversations were exchanged during the wagon ride to Whitwell. A somber ride it was. Paladin drove the team of ponies along the old familiar lanes, through the same village neighborhoods to the farm smial where he himself and his children grew up. In the back of the wagon sat two of his three daughters, their infant children (since they were both still nursing), his son, daughter-in-law, nephew, and his new lady friend, Estella Bolger.

Pippin, sitting on Pimpernel’s left, was being jostled, as were the others. To Pimpernel’s right, was Pervinca. Across the wagon bed sitting on the other side were Estella, Merry, and Lilas. Pippin gazed intermittently as his cousin whispered into Estella’s ear. His eyes caught sight of them holding hands as they were absorbed in their own world. Pippin sighed. Things did not seem to be going well for him. He was witness to Sam and Rosie’s engagement three nights ago; anyone could readily see that those two were completely in love with each other. Now his closest friend--his dearest cousin, was embarking on his own experiences of discovering love with Estella. To top things off, he had another argument with his own wife that morning--reiterating the strain and toil of being a young husband and father too soon. Pippin longed to experience love on his own terms. Not in a forced marriage, but one that he would take pleasure in until he grew old and drew his last breath.

His eyes trailed from Merry and Estella’s embraced hands to Lilas. His wife was staring out towards the fields that were now being made ready for sowing--obviously in her own thoughts. Pippin felt a pang of guilt when his mind heard once again Merry’s words, “She’s in love with you--even I can see that.” Lilas met his gaze; their eyes locked for a few seconds, then Lilas turned her eyes back out to the meadows. She deserves someone who will love her completely, Pippin thought.

Once they arrived at the farm, Eglantine and Pimpernel began organizing the tasks and whom they were assigned to. The lads were given the job of cleaning out the remnant parts of the barn. Old straw was still strewn about inside the pens and stalls though all the animals were long gone now; either taken to market or sold to other farmers. The lasses all went into the smial to clean up and gather the desired items that Pimpernel wanted.

Pervinca leaned in towards her sister as they entered the smial, whispering, “Is it just me, or is Pippin and Lilas not speaking to one another?”

“They had a bad quarrel this morning after first breakfast,” the elder sister answered. “Lilas wouldn’t talk to me about it.”

Pervinca had an idea. “I’m going to help the lads in the barn, Pim,” she said. “I think Lilas is going to need a bit of help in cleaning the boys’ rooms, don’t you think?”

Chapter Twenty Three - The Stuffed Pony

Lilas stood surveying her work in the eerily silent room. Toys were still strewn about the floor and the bed unmade. The only thing she really had done so far was empty the bureau and wardrobe. Next, she’d strip the bed and then take down the sheers.

It was sad; any minute now Lilas expected young Gelly to run excitedly into the room to bring Auntie Lilas a new storybook to read. It was something the two found amusing together as Lilas was now at the same reading level as her six year old nephew. The longer Lilas sat in reflection, the more she was aware there were no children running about. She absently put her hand to her swelling tummy. The image of children being whisked away from the only home that they knew came to her mind, making her shudder.

The reality of it all, as Eglantine had told Lilas, was that young Gelbrin and Tilbrith Brownfield were swept up from their toys and naps by their distraught parents and hastily carried out to a waiting wagon at mid-morning to take them to Great Smials. Rumor of ruffians posing as authority for The Chief went throughout the Tookland pillaging villages and helpless farmers before the rightful Took and Thain learned of it. Hilfred was by no means helpless, but he worried over his young family just the same as any other hobbit. One morning, Pimpernel witnessed the tail-end of a conversation that her then five year old son had with a ruffian out by the gate. He asked Gelly who lived at the farm, how many farm workers abided there, and how much food supply was kept. The small child had no idea what would befall in the coming days, so he answered each question truthfully. The hasty flight occurred when Pimpernel told her husband about the ruffian when he returned home from the fields later that morning for luncheon.

The late afternoon sun shone through the window as Lilas sat on the bed contemplating the gravity of the situation. What would she do in like circumstances? How would she react? Her heart went out to her sister-in-law. Then she sighed, thinking to herself, the room won’t clean itself up, ye know! Get movin’, lass! Lilas rose up to start stripping the bed linens when she heard footfalls drawing near.

“Pervinca said you needed help with the sheers.” Pippin stood in the doorway, hesitating to enter. He could feel the air tensing while he stood there at the door. His own anger had long dissipated during their ride to Whitwell; however, Pippin wasn’t so sure about his wife.

Lilas acknowledged her husband’s presence when she paused briefly, holding the blanket in her arms. Then she went back to stripping the bed. She spoke not a word.

Pippin, tall as he was, needed no footstool. He walked over to the window then proceeded to take down the rods and slip the curtains off. When he was finished, he folded the dusty sheers and placed them in the box with the blanket. He placed the rods back up against the window, then quietly left the room.

When her husband was out the door, Lilas watched him walk back down the hallway. “Pippin!” Pippin stopped, turning towards his wife’s voice. “I need help with bendin’ over t’ pick up the toys.” She crouched down--as bending was really out of the question--to pick up an old, tattered stuffed pony lying on the floor. Just as her hand clasped the toy, another hand was upon her own, then an arm around her waist.

“Lilas, sit on the bed for a moment, all right?” Pippin was crouching beside his wife.

Lilas silently let go of the object. She allowed her husband to help her up, then set her on the bed. She watched as Pippin made quick work of the wooden blocks and toy soldiers. The stuffed pony he kept hold of, then sat down next to his wife upon the bed. Several minutes passed by before either of them spoke.

“This was his favorite,” Pippin finally said.

Lilas nodded, “And it will be again.”

Pippin looked at her oddly, then realized the confusion. “No,” he said, a slight grin appearing on his face. “This was Hil’s favorite.”

Lilas shook her head then spoke, “But Hilly’s only been around for…,” then she understood who Pippin was referring to. “This was Hilfred’s? As in, Pimpernel’s husband?” She couldn’t help but quietly laugh when Pippin nodded.

“Hilfred said it was made by his mother when he was a babe,” said Pippin, “then he gave it to Gelly when he became a Faunt almost four years ago.” Pippin spoke barely above a whisper, “it’s hard to believe Gelly will be seven this summer.”

“Children grow up so fast,” Lilas added.

Pippin gazed at the toy in his hands. “I’m sorry about arguing this morning, Lilas,” he said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you to come with us today.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Lilas replied sincerely, then yawned. She playfully took the toy from Pippin and lay down with it. “I’m tired now, though,” she said.

Pippin curled up next his wife, “I found it first.”

“I’m claiming it until we can give it t’ Gelly,” Lilas answered sleepily.

Pippin reached over to grab the toy, but fatigue suddenly took hold of him. He dropped his arm, letting it rest upon his wife. Both had risen earlier than their usual time this morning. Both were now feeling the effect. They snuggled together…then fell asleep.

* * *

“Has anyone seen Pippin?” Paladin asked, resting upon the rake handle he held as the sun began her descent upon the Shire.

“I sent him into the smial to help Lilas with Gelly’s room earlier, Father,” Pervinca answered. “Why do you ask?”

Sweating heavily, Paladin raked and shoveled the last of the old, soiled straw into the wheelbarrow Merry held ready to take to the burn pile. “What was it that he needed to do?”

“Umm…,” said Pervinca, thinking quickly, “I asked him to help Lilas with the curtains and such.”

Paladin gazed at his youngest daughter, “And you couldn’t help her?”

“Umm…,” Pervinca was once again searching for suitable words, “It’s a lass matter, Father,” she mollified him, turning to her own task of sweeping the barn behind him. “When we’re nursing…,” she then trailed off, all reasoning escaping her. She looked to her cousin for help.

Merry only smiled at her laborious attempt to placate her father--his uncle. “Why tell us, Pervinca!” Merry grinned wickedly. He was enjoying this. “Tell us, dear cousin, as to why a nursing lass cannot sweep a babe’s room, but can sweep out--”

“All right!” Pervinca stood with narrowed eyes at her cousin. “I sent him inside so that he and Lilas would have a chance at talking!”

Merry set down the wheelbarrow, then smiled; folding his arms in triumph. “And I say that was a noble thing, Pervinca.”

Then Paladin recalled the unprecedented silence between his son and daughter-in-law earlier that day. “Perhaps I ought to look in on them--to make sure they’re not at each other’s throats.”

Paladin had visions of pulling apart a combatant, pregnant hobbit and his son from one another locked in verbal battle. He walked the back hallway of the little smial looking into each bedroom, starting from what used to be Pearl’s room--when his family lived here years and years ago. Then Pimpernel’s room. He crossed over the hallway to Merry’s old room; still no sign of the young tweens. Then he looked inside Pippin’s old bedroom--now Gelly’s. He spied two slight figures--though one had a somewhat curved tummy--nestled upon the bed asleep. Paladin smiled, then quietly shut the door.

A/N: I’ve had folks ask me about names in the past, but I can’t recall if I answered them properly…here goes. I derived Lilas’ name from one of my favorite flowers, the lilac. I have a bush in my backyard, so I get to enjoy their wonderful fragrance every spring. My first, and ultimate favorite flower are Roses. Doesn’t matter which kind, I love them all. Which is why in the very first paragraph of the story, while Pippin is in reflection, his attention is on some wild roses that he planted. Hence, the title, Where Roses Grow. I can’t go too much into that…for now. You will eventually read why.

Chapter Twenty Four - Dreams of Hope, Dreams Shattered

When Pippin woke up, he could see a pale indigo dawn breaking through the round windows of his old bedroom. He smiled at the distant memories of waking up every morning in this same room as a child. He turned over. He startled when he saw the whites of Lilas’ eyes blinking in the dim light. “Lilas!” he whispered, admonishing her. “How long have you been awake--watching me sleep?”

Lilas was unfazed by her husband’s reprimand. She wrapped her free arm around him, “Only for a little while. It’s one of the few things I get t’ enjoy.”

He spoke in a hushed voice, “Watching me sleep?”

“Shhh!” Lilas put her fingers to his lips. She truly was taking immense pleasure in the feel of her husband’s soft flesh beneath her fingers. “I can dream, can’t I?”

Pippin recalled his own thoughts from the day before about Lilas; she deserves someone who will love her completely. “There are always dreams,” he replied affectionately. “And I hope that yours will come true.”

Gazing into the depths of his green eyes, Lilas suddenly leaned forward and kissed him. A tender, passionate kiss it was. Lilas dug deep into her soul, pouring forth the very essence of her heart into it. When she finished, she lingered, feeling the warmth of his breath converging with her own. “I love ye, Pippin Took.”

Pippin blinked while returning his wife’s gaze. Love her completely. Pippin realized in one breath that the duty would fall to him. Marriage was for life. Swallowing hard, he struggled a bit with his response. “I…I love you, too.” He lied--though only somewhat.

And Lilas knew better. “No, ye don’t,” she answered with a sad grin, now playing with his bed-head curls. “Well--t least not the same way I love ye. But as ye said, maybe one day my dream will come true.”

Pippin sat up, feeling wretched for having been found out again. “How is it that you can read my thoughts like a book?”

Lilas smiled, running her fingers lightly down his back in response, answering, “We’re married, Pippin. I’ve been with ye every single day for almost two months, Pippin.”

After a moment, Pippin turned towards her; a faint smile on his face. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know what,” he answered with a sincere smile. “When you first arrived at Great Smials, I wanted nothing to do with you, Lilas. Yet in the span of these past two months you have managed to win the hearts of my family. Perhaps your dream isn’t as far off as we think it is.” He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll try to do better as a father than I have as a husband.”

Her smile turned into a look of mild dismay. “Ye’re a good husband, Pippin. And I know for sure that ye’ll be a great father t’ our baby.”

Even though the level of his love wasn’t exactly where she would like it to be, Lilas loved these intimate moments. Just the two of them quietly talking. “So…what are we gonna name our daughter?”

Names! Pippin really hadn’t given any thought to a name for the baby. Another stark reality of him becoming a father. But it was a nice diversion from the previous discussion. An impish smirk appeared on his lips. “Have you been talking to Merry again? What if our baby is a lad?”

“It has to be a lass,” Lilas stated confidently, “I’ve chose yellow and pink for her room.”

“My son won’t be sleeping in a room filled with yellow and pink lacy curtains!” laughed Pippin.

“And she won’t be sleepin’ in a room filled with toy soldiers and slingshots!” Lilas playfully whacked Pippin with the stuffed pony they found the day before.

With a gleam of mischief in his eyes, Pippin grabbed hold of the stuffed pony and pinned her arms down, tickling her occasionally; both laughing as quietly as the early morning hours called for.

“Pippin! Hush!” Still laughing, Lilas cautioned her husband--a ploy to get unpinned. “We’re gonna wake--” Just then the door opened up.

“Estella and I--” Merry caught sight of Pippin holding down Lilas then went red in the face. “I--I’m sorry!” he said, then swiftly shut the door.

Pippin loosed Lilas, then jumping off the bed he ran after his cousin. “Merry! Wait! We weren’t doing what you thought we were.”

Merry was out in the hallway standing next to a wide-eyed Estella. Merry was still blushing. “I thought that you were sharing a jest when I knocked. But I supposed the way you two were laughing you didn’t hear it. I’m sorry.”

Pippin smiled at the couple, “Apologies aren’t necessary, dear cousin. I would’ve guessed the same thing in your place.” Then the reason for Merry’s visit piqued his curiosity. “You and Estella were going to do what?”

Regaining his composure, Merry posed his thoughts. “Actually, Pervinca, Estella, and I decided to make breakfast for everyone when we passed by and heard you two laughing. We wanted to know if you would like to join us.”

Lilas was now standing next to Pippin, holding his hand as she always liked to do. Pippin answered with a twinkle in his eye, “Most certainly. Lilas loves to cook--she especially likes to taste the food in bowlfuls--prior to serving it!” He nudged her.

“I do not!” She nudged him back. “Well…not all the time.”

Pippin gazed around the hallway then towards Estella, “If Pervinca is helping--where is she?”

Estella answered, “She and I rose up at the same time, but as she was getting dressed Brody decided he wanted his breakfast first.”

Pippin shook his head jesting about his sister, “Always finding an excuse to get out of work! I’ll bet he already had breakfast.”

Merry joined in, “Then he’s being a very good hobbit lad--filling up the corners!” Both lads earned nudges from their significant others as they shuffled towards the kitchen.

As they passed Pimpernel’s room, the foursome heard sniffling coming from inside. Looks of sorrow now replaced the smiles. “Please,” asked Pippin, “I’d like to talk to her.”

He knocked firmly as the others proceeded on to the kitchen, then opened the door a crack. “Pimpernel? Are you dressed?”

Pimpernel quickly dried her eyes, but the puffy redness remained. She wiped her nose with her handkerchief, then shoved it under her pillow. “Yes--come in, Pippin.”

Pippin entered then closed the door behind him. “We were passing by and thought you might need someone to talk to,” he said, gently sitting down next to her.

His sister kept her eyes averted, but said nothing for a few seconds. Then quietly she began to speak. “I wouldn’t wish this feeling on my worst enemy, Pip. My…my heart has been cut in half. In half, Pippin--and the wound bleeds again for my Hilfred.” The tears began again. Pim tried to stay ahead of them, wiping them away as they fell. “The open wound was staunched for a period while I was kept busy caring for our boys and infant son at Great Smials, but now,” she swallowed hard, “now it’s started bleeding again. I miss him--and it hurts so much.” She couldn’t hold back her sobs any longer.

Pippin took her into his arms, holding his sister while she cried into his shoulder. “I can’t even begin to imagine what this must be like for you,” he whispered into her ear.

“It’s horrible, unspeakable…,” she began. “I feel so empty, Pip. Half of me is gone.”

Pippin’s thoughts flew far and near as he sat holding his sister. He hoped and prayed that he would never have to experience what she was describing.

Chapter Twenty Five - Loving and Tender

Several days had passed since the trip to Whitwell. It seemed a cloud of gloom hovered over Pimpernel. She rarely ventured out of her apartments. Pervinca and Lilas drummed up a series of schemes to draw her out--not only out of her quarters, but out of her depression. This morning there were four lasses--which included Estella--in the Smials’ kitchen making breakfast for the family. Pimpernel was frying the bacon while Pervinca broiled the sausages and made gravy. Lilas prepared and cooked the taters as Estella baked the bread. Whoever was finished first would scramble and cook the eggs.

“We can’t forget the jam,” said Lilas, opening the door to the pantry to find the jar of blackberry preserves while her potatoes boiled in the pot. When she came back out of the little room, she leaned upon the table with a look of bewilderment on her face.

“Lilas, what’s wrong?” Pervinca asked, seeing her sister-in-law’s expression.

Lilas put her hand to the side of her belly. “I don’t know. It feels like…,” she blushed, almost too embarrassed to speak, “air bubbles passin’ through.”

“Goodness, lass!” Estella quipped, winking at her friend, “You could have at least stepped outside the kitchen to do that.”

Pervinca was still giggling when she approached Lilas, looking at the growing belly. “Are you certain? Are you passing anything?”

“No,” Lilas answered. “It feels like I need t’, but nothin’ ever does--at least not with this feeling,” she added. The young mother-to-be began to get worried. “What’s wrong, Pervinca?”

“Sit down, Lilas,” instructed Pervinca. She placed her hand where Lilas said the “bubbles” were. Pervinca waited for a long minute, then smiled. “It’s not what you think it is. Remember after your wedding when Pearl, Pimpernel, and I talked to you?”

Lilas nodded, then she recalled what Pearl had described as… “The baby?” Lilas gasped. Smiling, this time Pervinca nodded.

Estella rushed towards Lilas, “May I?” Lilas took Estella’s hand, placing it just so on her tummy. Many long minutes passed before Estella smiled. “I felt it!!” She leaned down and hugged Lilas, “I’m so happy for you!”

Lilas paid no heed to the shiny brass wall sconces as she did months ago. The soft floor runners were ignored as were the colorful wall tapestries when she briskly walked past them on her way to hers and Pippin’s apartment. The news of the baby moving inside her thrilled her to the point of bursting--she just had to tell Pippin! Estella took over cooking the taters while Lilas left to tell her husband the good news. Lilas’ mind was not on where she was walking, but on the significant milestone she had just experienced in the kitchen. As she rounded the last hallway she nearly collided with a servant bearing a large tray laden with silverware and glasses. Making certain the lass was fine, Lilas continued on.

Opening the outer door of their apartment, Lilas entered the sitting room, shutting the world out. This moment would be for her and Pippin alone.

“Lilas?” Pippin called from inside the bedroom. “Is that you?” He appeared in the doorway wearing only his breeches, brushing his teeth. “I thought so!” Then he saw his wife was breathing hard; stunned would be a good description for the expression he saw on her face. “Lilas?” He quickly disappeared inside the bedroom to rinse his mouth. When he finished, he turned around, there was Lilas in the bedroom with him. She sat upon the bed, then beckoned for Pippin to come join her there.

“It’s the baby--feel it!!” she was still breathing rapidly, but she took both of her husband’s hands, gently placing them around her belly on each side. After a few minutes, Pippin shook his head.

“Ye don’t feel it?” she asked. Pippin shook his head again. Lilas stood up from the bed and unbuttoned her frock, letting it fall to the floor. In her camisole and knickers, Lilas again sat upon the bed, placing Pippin’s hands where she felt the bubbles earlier in the kitchen. “Now do ye feel it?”

Pippin waited a long time before he felt what he thought to be a gurgle underneath the thin cotton fabric. He blinked in wonder--looking at his wife for confirmation. Lilas was radiant with smiles. Overcome with joy, Pippin’s eyes filled with tears. He took Lilas into his arms; she, too, had tears in her eyes. He kissed her auburn curls, “That’s our baby!” he said. “Our son!” he smiled impishly.

Lilas chuckled, “No, it isn’t! It’s our lovely, little daughter!”

Pippin gazed into her shining brown eyes. His emotions were running high at the feel of his baby’s first movement. “Our beautiful boy!” he whispered, then kissed her to thwart her response.

Much to Lilas’ surprise, the kiss deepened. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, effortlessly drawing him in towards her. The kiss became more fervent with passion as she felt him slip one hand atop her belly.  Pippin certainly wasn’t her first, but now--at this moment in time--he may as well have been. She had never before been touched in this way--so loving and tender he was. She cried.

Gently, tenderly, passionately, they made love.

Chapter Twenty Six - Made for Each Other

That same evening, Pippin lay awake as Lilas slept peacefully next to him; the entire day’s events running through his mind. Waking up, getting dressed, washing up for breakfast…sharing intimate love with his wife…assisting his father in the Thain’s office…

I’ve crossed over the line, he said to himself. In his mind, he and Lilas were no longer good friends or roommates…they were now lovers. He wondered what had prompted him to take that final step--to consummate his wedding vows. Ah, yes…the baby. He smiled again, recalling the feel of his baby--his child--moving under the palm of his hand…though still within Lilas’ womb. 

His thoughts then reverted back to what had transpired soon after feeling his little laddie kicking. It wasn’t as if he didn’t get any pleasure from it, but Lilas’ bliss beyond measure was enough to tell him that it was the right thing to do…at the time. Now what will he do in the future?

Pippin laid aside his thoughts as sleep crept in and stole him away.

* * *

A week later, Pimpernel, Pervinca, and Lilas were having tea in Pippin’s and Lilas’ apartment while sewing the yellow curtains for their sister-in-law’s nursery room.

“Well, I think Teasel puts too much honey in her batter…,” Pervinca paused in giving her opinion of one of her Banks cousin’s sweet cakes. Seeing that Pimpernel and Lilas both suddenly stopped their laugher, Pervinca turned in the direction of their gaze. She dropped the panel she was stitching then jumped up, running into the arms of her beloved. “Merimas!” she shouted, and laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh, how I missed you, my love!”

Merimas caught his young wife in his arms, twirling her in a circle, then planted a loving kiss on her waiting lips. “I missed you, too, dearest,” he said, then set her on her feet. “Mistress Roanna was able to care for my last patient for the next several days, so I came as soon as I could.” Slowly their lips came together again--in a deeper, passionate kiss.

Pimpernel looked at Lilas with an impish grin on her face, rolling her eyes, “One would think she hasn’t seen him in over a month!”

“I think its lovely,” said Lilas as she smiled. Then she quit staring, going back to her sewing.

Pervinca was beside her friends again, breathless, “Lilas, when Morella returns from garden with the boys, you must make certain that Brody is watched after, will you?”

Lilas was a bit taken back, “Of course, Pervinca, but why?”

Pervinca grinned wickedly, “We’re going to our quarters. I think I should like to give my husband a proper welcome.”

Pimpernel grinned back, “Don’t injure the poor lad!” Then out the door Pervinca was, leading a smiling Merimas by the hand.

Once the two love-birds had shut the door behind them, Lilas became a little nervous as she contemplated asking Pimpernel a very personal question.

* * *

“Ahhh! This is the life!” Paladin eased his creaking bones into a lounging position against the broad willow tree. The panorama of the stream reflecting the Shire’s puffy clouds and blue sky was the view before him. He, Pippin, and Merry had taken advantage of the unusually warm pre-spring afternoon to go fishing. Not expecting to really catch anything except a nice nap. The only true fisher-hobbit amongst them was Merry; Pippin was next in line, but Paladin hadn’t fished in a serious manner since he was a much younger hobbit.

Merry smiled at his dearest uncle, “Go on, then--take your nap, Uncle. Pippin and I will bring home supper.”

Pippin’s hopes of dozing under the same willow tree next to his father were dashed. “We will?” he asked. “I’m sorry, Merry, but I can’t walk another step. I’m so tired I could sleep where I stand.”

Eyes closed, Paladin found a comfortable nook in the tree trunk while wondering at his son’s remark. “Why are you so tired, Pip?”

* * *

Back inside the Smials, Lilas forged ahead with her question, “Pimpernel, is it proper for me and Pippin t’…”

Pim paused in her sewing, waiting for her sister-in-law to finish her query. “Is it proper for you and Pippin to do what, Lilas?”

“Well,” the tween continued, “its sort of a private matter--do ye mind if I ask ye about yer…married life?”

Pimpernel considered the question, then felt it was important to allay whatever concerns the lass had. “Yes, but if I deem it too private, then I’ll say so.”

“Thank ye,” answered Lilas. “Last night I woke up with a certain feeling.” She waited for Pimpernel to nod. “No matter what I did, I couldn’t fall back t’ sleep, so I woke up Pippin and told him about it.”

So far, nothing out of the ordinary, but Pim could tell Lilas was growing ever more anxious. “And?”

Lilas went on, “he mumbled something about me waking him up three nights in a row, then turned over. I got desperate…”

* * *

“She had woke me up three nights in a row, Father!” Pippin was explaining his side of the story to his father back in the dell near the stream. Their fishing poles were propped securely against small boulders while they themselves relaxed under the eaves of the willow tree. Merry was the only one truly fishing. Pippin tried to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t scare away the fish. He blushed a bit as he continued, “She only wakes me up for one thing. You know.”

“What did you do?” asked Paladin.

“I told her that this was the third and last time she was going to wake me up like that, so I turned over and away from her. Then it happened! She attacked me, Father! She turned me back round towards her then proceeded to--” he stopped. Pippin was close to his father, but not so close as to divulge in detail his bedroom activities with his wife.

* * *

“I tackled him, Pimpernel! I would swear that I didn’t mean to, but the feelings were so strong last night that I couldn’t help myself. I turned him back towards me, lifted up his--”

“I get what you’re saying, Lilas,” Pim stopped the lass short of spilling all the particulars of her brother’s sexual behavior.

* * *

“It’s as if she knows exactly where to touch me in order to get what she wants,” Pippin said, sulking next to his father.

“And does she?” Paladin tried his best to hide his grin.

“What?”

Paladin expounded, “Does she get what she’s wanting?”

“Every time,” Pippin answered. “But then I end up tired and sleeping clear past second breakfast, or needing naps throughout the day. She wasn’t always like this, Father. What’s happened?”

* * *

“Why am I behaving so?” Lilas pleaded with her elder, wiser sister-in-law. Surely Pimpernel would have the answers.

“I don’t know, Lilas,” Pimpernel replied, “but the same thing happened to me when I was pregnant with Gelly and Tilby. I’m certain that if you ask Pearl and Pervinca, they would tell you that they felt the same also. My mother told me that it was normal for pregnant lasses to feel aroused.” She smiled mischievously, “Its much more enjoyable while pregnant, too!”

Lilas let out a sigh of relief. “I thought I was becoming a shameless lass, Pim! I may not have been a good girl before, but I have never attacked a lad!”

Pimpernel laughed; she and Lilas had many talks over the past few months, getting to know each other better. Pimpernel was well aware of Lilas’ behavior before her interlude with Pippin. Under no circumstances did Pim condone Lilas’ behavior, but after learning how Silas had treated his daughter in the past, she understood.

* * *

Without going into too much detail of when Eglantine was pregnant with the girls and Pippin, Paladin explained that Lilas’ actions were…normal. “Though I am much more delighted that you have found intimacy with your wife, Pippin. I have observed my daughter-in-law these past few months and have found her to be a bright young hobbit--just like her husband.” Paladin reached over, patting his son’s knee affectionately. “Perhaps you two were made for one another more than we know.” He winked his approval.

Made for one another?, Pippin thought. Perhaps…

Chapter Twenty Seven - Pillow Talk

It was now the first week of Astron, and once again, Pippin lay awake in the quiet darkness of the bedroom. He could hear that Lilas wasn’t sleeping very well either--tossing and turning every ten minutes or so. He looked at the clock; almost midnight.

Over the course of the past few weeks, Pippin and Lilas’ night sleep had gradually decreased as her belly grew. She still had bouts of “certain feelings”, but mostly, her own sleeplessness came from aching muscles or the sensation of her baby moving. Both tweens would often catch naps in the afternoon. Paladin, understanding his son’s midday fatigue, would release Pippin early from his training as Thain.

Pippin whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” she moaned; her voice muffled by her pillow. “It seems the baby isn’t sleeping, either.”

“The baby…,” he trailed off. “I think it’s about time we named him, don’t you?”

Lilas smiled in the darkness, “Well…I should think that “Rosebud” would hardly fit him.”

“I’m not giving my lad a lass’s name,” he whispered his response.

“And I’m not giving my daughter a lad’s name!” Lilas whispered back. They both snickered in the quiet of the night.

Pippin’s smile waned when he thought of whom he wanted to honor in naming his child. “Lilas, I want to name our son Boromir.”

Lilas knew that the Tooks predominantly named their lads high-sounding names, but this name seemed completely foreign to her. “Why Boromir?”

Pippin once again explained the different members of the Fellowship, then how the great warrior’s demeanor struck him as a young and insecure tween. “I was so far from home, Lilas. Merry, Frodo, and Sam were my constant companions, but” he paused, remembering the brave Gondorian, “there was something different about him. He was always so kind to Merry and I.”

Even in the moonlit darkness, Lilas could see her husband’s eyes light up and then sparkle with moisture as he spoke of this valiant Man. She reached over, combing a few errant curls behind his ear. “Then in honor of Mr. Boromir, our son shall bear his name.” She felt Pippin take her hand in his own and then kiss it. “Thank you,” he said.

“Now,” she smiled again, “what if our baby is a daughter?”

Pippin laughed softly, “We can’t name her Boromir!”

“Of course not, ye silly boy,” she squeezed his hand. “I’ve been thinking of naming her Rosebud.”

“Why Rosebud?” he asked. “Do you have a favorite aunt or a grandmother who has that name?”

Lilas thought about his question, “No. Must I? I just rather like the name.”

“But almost everyone in the Shire has a daughter named Rose, or Rose-something.”

“My family doesn’t have a Rose-lass and neither does yers.”

“I wanted to give her an elvish name,” said Pippin.

“An elvish name? Wouldn’t that sound a little too fancy even for the Tooks?”

“Fancy?” Pippin shook his head, “I don’t think so--do you think Peregrin is too fancy? Because that’s my given name. I was thinking of Mellessë --don’t you like it?”

Lilas sighed, “It sounds nice enough, I suppose.”

Pippin also sighed; he certainly didn’t want to use guilt to force Lilas into going along with his wishes. “Why don’t we mull over them both for a couple of days then come back to our daughter’s name?”

“That sounds reasonable,” Lilas replied, shifting onto her back once more. “Now all I need t’ do is be able t’ fall asleep!” Her back still felt a bit sore, so she turned over onto her other side; her back to Pippin.

Pippin tried to imagine himself with a heavy weight attached to his tummy--trying to sleep and find a comfortable position, which were few. He brushed her long auburn tresses aside then began to massage her back, shoulders, and neck.

“Pippin, ye poor lad,” Lilas replied, sighing her delight at feeling her back muscles begin to relax. “Yer hands must ache terribly--ye’ve been doing this almost every night for me.”

“My husbandly duties,” he responded in a kindly tone. “Are you comfortable?”

“I am,” she sighed again, “but our wee babe is still awake.”

An idea began to form in Pippin’s head. What is the difference if the baby is still in the womb, or if he--or she--is just a few days old? Pippin clearly remembered singing a lullaby to his nephews as young infants to calm them or put them to sleep. “Lie on your back, Lilas,” he whispered.

“I just turned from lying on my back, Pip.”

“Do you want the baby to stop moving?”

“At this point, I’m willin’ t’ try anything,” she answered wearily, then moved to lie upon her back. “What do ye have in mind?”

“You’ll see,“ he said, scooting down the mattress until he was level with her tummy. He began stroking her belly, then to softly hum a lullaby his mother would often sing to him when he was a young child.

Lilas listened as Pippin hummed the simple melody. What a beautiful voice he had! So smooth and soothing…her eyelids started to get heavier.

Pippin did this for a while, then looked up at his wife to see if the lullaby had worked enough to calm the baby inside her--that he or she wasn’t moving so much. He smiled; his lullaby seemed to have worked on Lilas quite well--she was fast asleep.

“I can hardly wait until you’re born, Boromir,” he whispered towards her tummy. “I have lots of games to teach you--how to climb trees, and how skim stones across the streams in the woods. You’re not even born yet and already you have a family who loves you and will spoil you rotten!” He grinned, “And I am the chief-spoiler!” He leaned over, tenderly placing a kiss atop his wife’s belly. “Good night, baby. I love you.” Pippin gingerly slid back up the bed, closing his own eyes.

Chapter Twenty Eight - Exceeding Sam

Gelly and Tilby sat on the floor inside their auntie and uncle’s apartment playing with the marbles they had received as Uncle Pippin’s birthday gift. “Uncle Pippin, will you play with us?” asked Gelly.

Pippin still had a few gifts to hand out to his close friends and family, but decided that his young nephews were more important. It was the twelfth of Astron; Pippin’s birthday. “I think I can manage a few minutes of marbles, Gel.”

Pippin felt more than just the weight of his own pending fatherhood--these little boys were without their own father, so the tween took it upon himself to act in his late brother-in-law’s stead. Pippin sat on the floor between the lads, setting up the game. As they began playing, Pippin found that he had lost his “touch” with the game. Marbles flew everywhere whenever it was his turn. Only Tilby played worse than he did. Pippin blushed when his marble sailed out of the ring and hit his father. “My thumb must have grown too big,” he said in apology.

“Wait, Uncle Pippin,” said Gelly, then proceeded to count the colorful orbs around the game-ring they had made using a bit of Lilas’ yarn. He cocked an eye towards Pippin. “One of the marbles is missing--do you have it, Uncle?”

“No,” replied Pippin, looking a bit hurt. “Why do you always suspect me when something goes wrong while we play games?”

Gelly answered, “Because when you were teaching me to play checkers--”

Without warning, Pimpernel shot out of her chair then took her younger boy up by the collar, holding her palm just in front of his mouth. “Spit it out, Tilby! Now!”

Slowly, the three-year-old let out from his mouth the missing marble amid a glob of saliva. “Tilby’s mawble.”

Gelly, the experienced marble player clucked his tongue at his little brother, “They’re for playing with, Tilby--not eating!”

Pim handed the marble and all to her brother, “You have to watch him like a hawk, Pip.”

Pippin instantly understood that the situation could have ended up much worse. “I see that,” he said, taking out his pocket handkerchief. ‘Watch him like a hawk’…he committed his sister’s words to memory. He would have to remember them as his own child grew out of infancy and into a faunt. Young Tilby was almost three and a half, but undoubtedly still liked to taste-test certain objects. “Gelly, can we play another time? There is too much going on right now for me to try and surpass your skills and make sure Tilby doesn’t eat our game.”

The young lad looked from uncle to mother, “Can we play tomorrow?”

Pimpernel picked up her younger son to keep him from eating anymore marbles. “Yes, but we’ll have to make certain we feed your little brother first,” she said. “Pick up your toys, Gel--we need to head back to our own rooms. At present, the baby needs to be fed.”

Pippin escorted his sister to the door, “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Pim replied, “But I’m afraid Hilly doesn’t understand the passage of time when he nurses, so I can’t say exactly when. But don’t wait for me; timing is everything in this instance, Pip.” She smiled, and kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday, little brother!”

Pippin leaned down to purposely kiss the top of her head. He knew the point wouldn’t be lost on his elder sister. “Thank you for coming--I hope he eats fast.”

When Pippin returned to his guests, he heard his mother call to him. “Shall we have dessert now, son?” Pippin grinned to see the noticeable twinkle in her eyes. “Well, I suppose I’ll let Lilas have a bit of cake,” he answered teasingly.

Lilas playfully threw a ball of yarn at her husband, “Ye’ll let me? Please! Never stand between a pregnant hobbit and her dessert.”

Pippin mumbled, “Never stand between a pregnant hobbit and food, period!”

“I heard that, Pippin Took!” Lilas tried to rise up from the chair she sat in, but fell back into it twice. Merry stood nearby and tried to assist her. She pulled him back down with her. Poor Lilas was scarlet with embarrassment. Pippin stood to one side of her while Merry stood on her other side, making yet another attempt to assist her. Pippin counted, “On three; one, two…three!” He and Merry tugged with all their might, but between their laughter and Lilas’ protesting, they barely got the lass to her feet. Then Pippin saw her wounded expression. He stepped in and gave her hug, though he had to stand to one side while doing so since her tummy was getting larger by the week.

Everyone found a seat in which to enjoy their dessert; Pippin and Lilas’ small eating table sat four at the most, but anticipating the small intimate crowd, Pippin had other chairs brought in so they could at least sit near each other. He handed out the remaining gifts then while they were opening them, he busied himself with slicing and serving his birthday cake.

Lilas salivated when she saw her husband give her a very large piece of cake. “Are ye havin’ another jest, Pippin? Are ye sayin’ that I need large servings?” She could hear him cackling as he sat down.

“This is delicious cake, Pippin,” said Estella. “I love how you baked strawberries into it.”

Pippin blushed, “That was Lilas’ touch.”

Paladin took a swallow of his tea, “The cake is indeed very delicious!”

On the chatter went--his guests finally eating their dessert, or thanking him for the presents they received. Suddenly they all stopped, eyes riveted on the young hobbit lass gasping in surprise. Lilas held up a delicate, golden necklace with a gold tear-drop charm attached to it. She looked at Pippin, tears welling in her eyes. She reached over as best as her tummy would allow to hug him, but Pippin met her half way. Everyone at the table was smiling at the young tweens. “Thank you, Pippin!” she whispered into his ear.

Pippin let her loose, saying, “Finish your cake, Lilas.”

After another moment, she cried out, “A bracelet to match!” she announced, setting down her fork that held a bite of the sweet dessert.

On that note, Pippin got down on one knee. A couple of weeks ago when he and Merry were planning this, Pippin was hesitant to perform this wonderful, but awkward task. But his closest, and dearest friend convinced him that this not only was the right thing to do, but this would be something that Lilas would cherish in her heart forever--regardless of present circumstances. In Pippin’s mind, he and Lilas were already married for one, and two, he was still unsure of where is heart lay. He did not want to perform a play-act for his family. He wanted it to be sincere. Pippin wanted it to be special for Lilas--he did love her that much. Then again, as he thought more about his circumstances…marriage was for life; he may as well enjoy as much of it as he could.

As he knelt before his obvious life-long partner-to-be, he took her hands in his own. Merry was right, he thought to himself. He kissed her hand, overcome with emotion, seeing the tears of joy in her eyes that brought tears to his own. “Lilas Took,” he paused, wiping his eyes. “You are the mother of my child, and I would be delighted if you would be my wife until we grow old and take our last breath together.”

Lilas held her breath; she never expected that this would ever happen to her. Pippin had proposed to her! It wasn’t important to Lilas that they were already married. She took her hands from Pippin and wrapped her arms about him, “I will be happy to be yer wife!” She let out the breath she was holding, crying tears of joy as she hugged him. “I love ye, Pippin. Happy birthday!” Again, she knew where his level of love was, but it mattered not. She loved him, and was elated that he allowed her to freely do so. Lilas combed his curls back with her fingers, then kissed him fully on the lips--to the delight of the onlookers. They whistled and applauded the tweens.

Chapter Twenty Nine - Goodnight

It was the 30th day of Astron, and Lilas was due to give birth in a little less than three weeks. In the weeks since Pippin’s birthday, she and her husband travelled into Tuckborough to purchase new baby furniture for the nursery. All the day long, Pippin and Merry finished setting up the new furniture while Lilas decorated. The three hobbits worked all day fitting together the pieces of the wardrobe, crib, and cradle--which would go in their room until the baby was able to sleep comfortably throughout the night. All twelve knitted baby blankets were piled neatly inside the little wardrobe along with a few baby clothes given to her by distant Took or Banks relatives. The ladies of the Smials were planning a Baby Tea for Lilas in the coming days.

Lilas stood at the door surveying the décor, absently chewing her fingernail. She loved the yellow curtains her sisters-in-law and friends had helped her to sew. Perhaps someone would surprise her with a matching linen set. A sudden sharp pain was felt under her lower rib; gasping, she melted into the nearby rocking chair.

Merry noticed her grimacing. “Are you all right, Lilas?”

Pippin turned towards his wife, then crouched next to the rocker, “He’s kicking again, isn’t he?”

Lilas nodded mutely. Exasperated with the near constant kicks and movements from the baby, she took a breath then said, “I can hardly wait until this is over with!” Her annoyance showed when she stressed the last couple of words. Lilas saw the gaping stares from the lads. “Being pregnant, I mean. I want t’ hold my daughter--t’ watch her sleep…t’ dress her up in ribbons and lace.” Lilas imagined herself strolling in the garden, pushing her beautiful daughter in the pram for all to see.

“Getting up at two o’clock in the morning for feedings…changing his soiled nappies!” Pippin interjected. He had a wry grin on his face as he winked at Merry.

Then Merry added in Lilas’ defense, “Watching her grow up into a pretty young lass…”

“Don’t side with her, Merry!” Pippin nudged his cousin. “HE! You have to remember he’s a HE.” His attention was now directed at Lilas. She had reached into a box of knick knacks and was now primping the yarn-hair of a rag doll in her hands. “No!” he said, shaking his head. The symbol of the doll’s gender not lost on him he repeated his efforts, “No rag-dolls allowed, Lilas!”

Ignoring her husband’s pleas, the pregnant lass slowly got to her feet, then as if the doll were a true hobbit-infant, she gently laid the doll in the crib, then began humming a soft lullaby.

“She’s gone and cracked now,” Pippin murmured to Merry.

Merry gawked at the most unusual scene that played out before him. He spoke in a soft voice, “I think you’re right.”

Lilas looked at Pippin, narrowing her eyes, “I’m not cracked--I’m practicin’.”

Merry was still staring, “Practicing what?”

“I’m practicin’ being a Ma,” replied Lilas, tucking imaginary blankets around her “baby”.

Merry looked at his young cousin, nudging him, “Go on! Help her.” He grinned wickedly, “You’re going to be the baby’s Dad.” His eyes twinkled with mischief when Pippin stared at him in disbelief. Merry added, “I want to see you cradle and kiss the little lass.”

“I’m not kissing a rag-doll, Merry!” Pippin hissed in retort.

Merry gasped in mock horror, “You’re not rejecting your own flesh and blood, are you?”

“Stop it, Merry!”

Merry was almost laughing; he thoroughly enjoyed teasing Pippin whenever the opportunity presented itself. “For shame, Pippin! Not acknowledging your own child!”

Between Merry’s goading and Lilas’ imploring soft, brown eyes, Pippin didn’t know which hobbit he woud get back at first when this was all done. He inched closer towards the crib. Acknowledging his child--rejecting his flesh and blood! How absurd!

Lilas knew Merry was having a jest at her husband’s expense, so she went along with it. She tenderly lifted the “baby” out of the crib and held “her” out for Pippin. “Ye should at least kiss her g’night.”

“I am not!” he said, eyeing the rag-doll as if it carried a disease.

Lilas put her hands on her hips, the doll swaying in her grasp, “Ye have to! Ye’re her Pa!” The sparkle in her brown eyes suddenly clouded over, then she held the doll aloft for Pippin to take. She said more softly, “Kiss her.”

Pippin wondered if Lilas was still playing a game with him, or if she was now serious. He glanced back at Merry who was no longer laughing; he merely shrugged at his cousin. Pippin took in a deep breath. “No one had better ever find out about this!” He took the rag-doll from his wife, then held the “baby” in his arms. Slowly and tenderly, he laid a kiss on “her” forehead. “Goodnight…,” he stole a look to Lilas who seemed to be watching him unresponsively. There was something deeper going on behind those brown eyes. “…Rosebud.” There--he said it. Not Boromir, not Mellessë …but Rosebud. Pippin saw that those same brown eyes now glistened with tears.

Merry, seeing a private moment was forthcoming, quietly excused himself, leaving the couple alone in the nursery.

Pippin took his wife in his arms, “What’s wrong, Lilas?”

She sniffed before answering, “Promise me that ye’ll kiss her every night? Every night--not just the ones when ye’re not angry with her?”

Promises weren’t necessary for the young Took; he had grown up with his parents tucking him or his sisters into bed at night. Or bidding them a goodnight’s sleep every single night of their lives until the day they moved out. Hugs and kisses at bedtime were as natural as breathing in Paladin’s home. In contrast, Pippin remembered the demeanor of her father when they visited Chestnut Lane. Sad thoughts stabbed at his heart; Pippin imagined a lonely little girl desperate for her father’s love in a simple goodnight kiss. He very much wanted Lilas to know that it would be different in their family. He gently squeezed her shoulders, “I promise I will kiss her every night of her life.” He held Lilas for a long moment until she felt protected once again. Cradling their “baby” once more in his arms, he gave “her” another kiss, “Good night, sweet Rosebud. I love you.” He then carefully lifted the imaginary blanket before laying the “baby” down. He turned to Lilas, “Has she been fed and changed?” Lilas smiled and nodded. Pippin then brought the “blanket” over the doll.

Pippin guided his wife out of the nursery and into their bedroom. “You’ve had a long day,” he said. “It’s past your own bedtime, young lass.” Pippin helped her into her nightgown then helped her into the bed. He could see that she was exhausted. He leaned down, kissing her forehead, “Goodnight, Lilas--I love you.”

My apologies for the late update; “real life” is rearing its ugly head at the moment. I will continue to update as soon as I have something available.

Chapter Thirty - The Calm Before the Storm

A few days after the rag-doll incident, Pippin sunk his sweaty, dirt-covered body into the sitting room chair. He wearily stared at his extremely pregnant wife who happily sprinkled a bit of salt onto a clean wedge of lettuce before devouring it. She smiled sweetly at him, “Thank ye, Pippin.”

Lilas knew the lettuce in his father’s crop fields were just nearing maturity. Earlier in the day, her ceaseless murmuring for a taste of the crispy delicacy nearly pushed him to madness. Pippin and Merry--the elder cousin being grabbed by Pippin along the way (misery loves company), saddled up their ponies after elevenses to ride out to Whitwell. His purpose in life at that hour was to locate his father’s nearest lettuce patch and cut several of the not yet fully-grown heads. It was either that or listen all day to Lilas carry on about how she craved the taste of fresh lettuce.

Sitting in the chair, feeling his body throb with fatigue, he returned her sweet smile. It was unusually warm outside this early day in Thrimmidge; the warm sun drained most of his energy during the ride to and from Whitwell. In his mind he was saying, “You’d better savor every bite little lassie, because that is the LAST time I’m doing that in this weather!” Yet in reality, Pippin knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.

He rose up from his chair. “I’m going to take a bath,” he announced.

“All right.” Lilas held another fresh wedge of lettuce in her hand as she began writing with her free hand upon a piece of paper.

Pippin’s curiosity got the better of him. He leaned over her shoulder to see what she was writing. His initial reaction was that he ought to give his wife additional lessons in cursive writing, but then a few of the names on her list caught his attention. “Lilas, what are you doing?”

“Yer Ma had me talk t’ all these ladies today,” replied his wife. Pippin had sat in on a couple interviews before he left for Whitwell. Pointing to the first two names with circles around them, Lilas continued, “I think I like these two, what do ye think?”

Pippin scratched his head absently while trying to recollect the meetings. “I don’t know, Lilas,” he answered, “Do you think we’re jumping ahead of ourselves?” Lilas looked up at him inquiringly. He went on, “I mean, our little babe won’t need a nurse right away.”

Lilas sighed softly. “I didn’t want t’ hurt yer Ma’s feelin’s, Pippin, but…” she pondered for a second. “I don’t want a nurse, either. I want t’ rock my baby t’ sleep myself. Is that how you feel, too?”

“My mother means well, Lilas,” he said, “but I think in this instance, we can make our own decision for ourselves.” He smiled, “Do you want one?”

Lilas answered him, “No.”

“It’s decided then,” said Pippin, “no nurse--at least until we have three or four more children.”

“More children?” This was a pleasant surprise for Lilas.

“I’m going to take my bath,” Pippin said, purposely avoiding the issue. He kissed her auburn hair then proceeded towards door.

Lilas watched her husband leave the apartment with a set of clean clothes and a towel, heading towards the bathing room. She turned her attention back to the list of names. Lilas took the piece of paper, crumpled it up into a ball then tossed it into the wastebasket.

She walked into the nursery, took the rag-doll off the rocker then walked back into hers and Pippin’s bedroom. She was a bit weary herself; perhaps she’d take a nap while Pippin was out taking his bath. She scooted onto the mattress, laying the doll beside her, relaxing as her eyes closed to the world around her.

“Lilas…”

Lilas woke to the sound of someone calling her then nudging her out of her forgotten dreams.

The soft voice spoke, “Lilas, it’s time for supper--don’t you want to eat?”

The face of her husband became clearer the more awake she became. For whatever reason, Lilas felt…odd. Perhaps if she ate or drank something…

“Will ye pour me a glass of water, please?” she asked, struggling to sit up. “Goodness, I’ve slept for two hours?”

“Yes, you were obviously a tired lass,” he answered, helping his wife to sit up. “There you are--now I’ll get your glass of water.”

Pippin then went over to their dining table to pour her a glass of water. He took a clean glass from the sideboard, pouring it half-full of water from the pitcher that sat on the table. He took it to Lilas, then sat down, gawking as she gulped it down.

“Thank ye,” Lilas said, handing the empty glass to her waiting husband.

Pippin took the empty glass, but noticed a strange look came over her eyes. On his way back to set the glass on the table he asked, “Are you still tired, Lilas?”

He looked back at his wife sitting up on the bed when no answer was forthcoming. “Lilas?”

He watched as Lilas sat atop the bed very still--almost like a statue. “Lilas?” He quickly set the glass down, going back to the bed, climbing onto the mattress for a better look. “Lilas, what’s wrong?”

After what seemed to be a long time to Pippin, Lilas finally let out a long breath, turning her brown eyes towards him. “It’s the baby, Pippin,” was all she said.

“The baby is kicking again?” he asked.

Lilas shook her head, “No, but I think I just had a birthing pain.”

As Lilas approached her last month of pregnancy, Mistress Claypot, who was the midwife, along with Eglantine and Pimpernel, took the young lass aside to explain what she could expect to happen as her time came near. Lilas had many questions answered that day and learned quite a bit about mothering, too.

Pippin was aware of the preparations her body would take to be ready for birth…later this month. He started to tremble. “Are you certain? I mean, it can’t be--the baby’s not due until the 22nd--today is only the 3rd.” He and Lilas were told that an early arrival might happen--due to Lilas’ young age, but it was still far too soon.

“I’m going to get the midwife,” said Pippin.

“Let’s wait t’ see if I have another,” said Lilas, easing back to lie upon her pillow.

Lilas didn’t lessen Pippin’s anxiety though he was resolved to wait for a just a bit, then he’d go against his wife’s wishes and fetch Mistress Claypot.

Pippin paced around their apartment for a long while. Lilas took her mind off her own apprehension by attempting to finish the last of the baby booties she began the previous week. She had to unravel a bit of yarn when she missed a stitch, but she was fine as long as she focused on her knitting.

Lilas looked up at her husband, “Do they taste good?”

Puzzled, Pippin asked, “Does what taste good?

“Yer nails. Ye’re chewin’ them down t’ their roots.”

Pippin abruptly took his hand away from his mouth. “Sorry. Have you felt any more contractions?”

“No,” she answered, sitting up on the bed. She held out her arm for Pippin to help her up. “Maybe it was nothin’ more than a bit of a back ache.” Perhaps she was a little hungry. “Can we have a bit of dinner sent here?”

Pippin took her offered arm, pulling her to stand up. “I suppose a bit of dinner wouldn’t hurt,” he said with a bit of strain in his voice as he lifted her up.

Lilas suddenly sat back down on the bed, holding her abdomen. Pippin slowly sat down next to her, waiting for her report. After a minute, she finally let out the breath she was holding, “That was another. They’re not painful, only terribly uncomfortable.”

Pippin was getting nervous again. “Was it stronger?”

“No, the same as the last one.”

Pippin was taught just how to time the lapse between birth pains. He looked at the clock on the wall; not quite thirty minutes since the last one let up. Then he looked at Lilas, who looked right back at him, eyes wide with worry. “Pippin,” she said, “It’s too early--just as Mistress Claypot said!”

He ensured that the mother-to-be was comfortable before running out the door to find the midwife. Hopefully she would be able to do something.

Bursting into the dining room just as the family was having a bit of after-dinner tea, Pippin began shouting things that were unintelligible. He had run all the way from Mistress Claypot’s quarters all the way back to the Thain’s dining room.

Pippin took a gulp of air before proceeding, “It’s the baby!” Anxious stares faced him from all around the table. No one moved. “She’s having birth pains!” he said more emphatically.

“Calm down, Pippin,” Paladin said, trying to reassure his son. “What has happened?”

“Well,” Pippin gasped again, “She’s had two pains--not thirty minutes apart.” Finally, folks were beginning to move! Paladin, Eglantine, and Pimpernel all followed Pippin hastily to his quarters. When they entered, they found Lilas sitting on the couch in the sitting room next to Mistress Claypot.

“Lilas, love,” Eglantine sat in the chair opposite the tween. “What exactly have you been feeling? Remember what we talked about?”

Lilas was happy to see her “second Ma”. “Yes, Mum,” she replied, “that’s why I told Pippin about it. I felt my tummy tighten hard…but it didn’t hurt too much. It lasted for about a minute, maybe more.” She rubbed her lower back, “and my back aches.”

“Lilas,” the midwife spoke up, “I’m going to the kitchens to mix something for you to drink. I’m going to try to stop your contractions. They’re much too soon, Lilas.”

Lilas’ eyes filled with tears, “My baby won’t die, will she?” The midwife disappeared behind the outer door, not wanting to acknowledge Lilas’ question. Lilas implored her mother-in-law, “Please! Please, Mum--I want my baby t’ live.”

“We’re doing what we can, Lilas.” Eglantine knew exactly what the risks were in having a baby too soon. Her last two were not carried to term; Pervinca was over a week early, while Pippin was three weeks early. However, with hobbits, even one week was a week too soon. Pervinca had few problems adjusting to her new world, but Pippin was one heartache after another. He wasn’t nursing at first and had to be fed honeyed milk through a pinpricked bladder. Then he developed breathing problems along with his sicknesses shortly after birth. She and Paladin hoped against all odds that their baby boy would survive infancy. Now here he was--nearly a grown hobbit having a child of his own. Perhaps there was hope, but Eglantine didn’t count on it. “We are here with you now, all right? You won’t go through this alone.” Eglantine forced a smile, patting the girl’s knee.

Lilas looked around, “Where’s Pippin?”

“I’m right here, Lilas.” Pippin appeared from behind his father. Taking the seat the midwife had just left he sat down next to his wife. He put his arm around Lilas to comfort her. He prayed that whatever Mistress Claypot was concocting in the kitchens would work to stop the early birth of his child.

It was a half hour before the midwife returned carrying a small caldron by the handle. Inside was a recipe that she had acquired in Bree years and years ago from a colleague. Steam rose up from the contents as she moved through the room to settle at Lilas’ side on the couch. Members of the family stood around as she poured some into a mug for the lass to drink. “Careful--it may be a tad hot.”

Lilas tested it with her finger. “No, Mistress,” she replied, then took a huge gulp from the mug, wincing as it went down. She forced her sour face away, then said, “It tastes…good.”

The ladies smiled knowingly but only Pimpernel spoke up. “No, it doesn’t!” she said, “It tastes absolutely horrid! I’ve had a taste of it when we thought I was having Hilly a bit too early.”

Lilas looked apologetically to the Mistress, “Sorry.”

Mistress Claypot laughed, “Don’t be! Pimpernel is correct--it tastes dreadful. And please--call me Cassia. We’re going to become very acquainted in the near future…but hopefully not tonight. Right now, I want you to go to your bed and rest. Don’t get up for anything except to use the privy. Too much walking will only progress things.”

“Yes, Mistr--Cassia.” Pippin and Pimpernel helped her up, then escorted Lilas into the bedroom.

Eglantine waited until the young hobbits were out of hearing range. “What is your assessment, Cassia?”

Cassia took a deep breath before proceeding. “I had a suspicion that this would happen…due to her age, of course. However, I cannot offer you or young Lilas any guarantee that the baby will be born healthy…or that the child will even live long. We can only hope for the best, Tina--and hope that my elixir works on her.” Then she added, “In my thirty years of being a midwife, I’ve seen just about everything. Young babes being born too early to babies being born late. Then there are those few cases where the child and mother leave me baffled beyond my imagination. Not all children born early die soon after; look at your own son. But remember the road that he traveled soon after birth.”

Paladin held his wife’s hands, remembering his own emotional distress when Pippin was a newborn. “Thank you, Cassia.”

The midwife settled herself comfortably on the couch; it would be a long night.

TBC

Chapter Thirty-One - It’s a Baby!

Lilas slept peacefully in the bed while her husband, who was also asleep, slumped in the soft leather chair beside the bed. A book lay open and face down in his lap. Pippin had read aloud to Lilas from the baby book his great-great-grandmother Adamanta had written ages ago until his wife fell asleep; then he too fell into an uneasy slumber. Pimpernel sat in the bedside chair fighting with her eyelids to stay awake, but was losing the battle. Eventually, even she dozed off. Cassia Claypot, the midwife, snoozed upon couch in the sitting room; Cassia wanted to stay nearby, though Lilas’ birthing pains had abated enough to allow her to rest.

The room was silent and dark when Lilas awoke, except for a small lantern burning low on the bedside table. She felt a bit of pressure on her back and bladder, making her feel as if she needed to empty it. Out of nowhere she felt another tightening of her womb--a birthing pain--and much stronger this time. She grimaced and held her breath until the wave subsided. This one wasn’t as comfortable as the earlier ones. At first she thought to wake up her husband, then decided to time the pains herself to determine the lapse. She looked at the clock on the wall--a quarter past three in the morning. Now she waited.

Lilas felt her eyelids growing heavy once more, though the pressure on her bladder and back didn’t go away. Too tired t’ get up just yet, she thought to herself as she started to fall back to sleep. She was jolted out her nap when she felt yet another dull pain in her tummy. Already? She looked at the clock, feeling as if no time had passed by. She was surprised to see the count was twenty-two minutes since the last pain. Lilas became frightened--they were picking up right where they left off several hours ago. The pressure against her bladder continued. Laying aside the blanket that covered her, Lilas got up to use the convenience.

“Where are you going?” a harsh whisper was heard behind her. Lilas turned to see Pippin awake.

“T’ use the privy,” she answered a bit tersely. Lilas was frightened and still feeling the firm pressure on her bladder. She almost said something to Pippin about the pains but wanted to time the next one first before sounding the alarm.

“Come straight back here when you’re finished.”

“Yes, sir!” she said, then felt bad when she saw the wounded expression on his face. She came back to kiss his forehead. “I’m sorry Pippin--I love you.”

Pippin wondered at his wife’s sudden mood change. “I’m scared, Lilas,” he said. “For you and our baby.”

“So am I,” she whispered, “but--” Almost imperceptibly, she felt something pop in her womb then could feel something warm trickling down her leg. “I gotta go, Pip!” Lilas nearly ran out the door to find the convenience.

Pippin got up and ran after her. “What’s going on, Lilas?” He could see a trail of huge water droplets leading towards the little room in the back of the apartment. “Lilas?” Pippin knocked courteously before opening the door.

Pimpernel woke up when she heard a commotion move outside of the bedroom. She looked and saw that the other chair was empty--and so was the bed. Pimpernel followed the murmuring of voices to the back. She found Lilas and Pippin in the privy; Pippin had his arm around his wife trying to support her.

Pippin told his sister, “Her water broke--help Lilas while I go wake up Cassia!”

“I’m already here, Pippin,” said the midwife, coming up from behind Pimpernel.

It was a little while before Lilas felt she could walk back to the bed without leaving a trail of water behind. She leaned upon Cassia and Pimpernel as she slowly made her way back into the bedroom.

“What’s going on, Cassia?” Pippin followed the ladies, “Is the baby really coming this time?”

“Pippin, why don’t you go wake mother and father?” Pimpernel’s purpose was to get the anxious father-to-be out of the way so that Cassia could examine Lilas’ progress unhindered. Thankfully, the lad gave no argument as he left for their parents rooms.

“I can’t do this!!” moaned Lilas, well into her birthing pains.

“Yes, you can, Lilas,” encouraged Cassia. She examined Lilas again then spoke in a lower volume to Eglantine, who was sitting near Lilas’ head wiping the tween’s brow. “Not ready yet.”

Six hours later from the trip to the privy, Lilas’ labor pains had progressed to less than ten minutes apart. Pippin, Paladin, and Merry kept vigil outside in the sitting room, waiting for any word of progress or hindrance.

This round of pain subsiding, Lilas let out a long breath. “Where’s Pippin?” she panted.

Pimpernel was ready with another bowl of clean, cool water. Handing the bowl to her mother, she answered Lilas, “He’s in the sitting room with all the other lads.”

“Why can’t he be here with me?”

“Because…,” Pim started to reply but then couldn’t readily think of any good reason why fathers weren’t allowed inside to be with their wives. “Because it’s what been done for the hundreds and hundreds of years.”

“That’s no reason,” answered Lilas between sips of water.

“Lilas dear, it isn’t proper for lads to be in the birthing room,” Eglantine interjected. She wrung out a fresh cool cloth to wipe down Lilas’ forehead.

“But Mum, he’s my husband. He was there when we--,” then Lilas quickly jumped to her next point. “Shouldn’t he also be here when our baby is born?”

“She’s right, Mother,” said Pimpernel, surprisingly coming to Lilas’ defense. “I was happy but terrified when I gave birth to Gelly. I certainly would have fared better if Hilfred were allowed to be with me. So why not let Pippin inside to help Lilas?”

Eglantine looked to Cassia, who shrugged. The midwife replied, “I don’t see why not, but he mustn’t get underfoot.”

Pimpernel offered her plan, “He can do what mother is doing right now.”

All the lads stood up expectantly to hear the news of Lilas when Pimpernel emerged from the bedroom. She approached Pippin, “Lilas is asking for you, little brother. We’ve decided that you may well be of assistance to us ladies.” Pimpernel stepped aside to allow Pippin to enter the bedroom.

Pippin looked from father to cousin and smiled. He knew it was not the normal way things went when it came to birthing. Then he felt his sister grasp his arm as they walked together into the bedroom, Pimpernel smiling as she whispered an admonishment in his ear. “I talked mother and Cassia into this. Stay out of the way--or else I will take you outside and sit on you!”

“How much longer will this go on?” Pippin asked, sitting near his wife’s head, dabbing her forehead and cheeks with a cool cloth. It was more than three hours since Pippin had been brought into the room and Lilas’ birthing pains had progressed to five minutes apart. However, she was losing strength with each bout. This concerned Pippin, because with the pains so close together, she had little time to recover before the next spell hit.

Lilas yelled in response, “Are ye in a hurry?! Ye did this t’ me, ye know!!” Then she whimpered, “I’m not having any more babies!”

Pippin’s jaw dropped at Lilas’ insinuation. His own offhand response was stayed by a gentle touch on his arm from his mother.

“Easy, Lilas,” Eglantine said in a soft voice, hoping her words would calm the lass. “We know you’re tired and in pain right now--we’re all here because we love you and want to help.” She winked at Pippin as she spoke to her daughter-in-law, then watched the fire in his green eyes fade away. She then smiled at Lilas, “It won’t be long now--you’re almost there.”

“Just think about later today, Lilas,” said Pimpernel, trying to get the lass to relax some. “You’ll be holding your baby as he--or she--nurses. There are no words to describe the connection that takes place when your baby is nursing.”

Lilas grimaced, yelling as another birthing pain hit. Pippin winced right alongside her as she dug her nails into his skin. In her fatigue, Lilas lost concentration of the breathing technique that Cassia had taught her. Pippin noting this encouraged her, “Breathe short breaths--like this--” He demonstrated the breathing routine for his wife. Lilas was able to focus while Pippin helped in these exercises. This went on for another couple hours before she began losing steam again.

Cassia examined Lilas then whispered to Eglantine, “She’s almost ready.” Then she turned to Pimpernel standing off to the side, “We’ll need warm water, for to bathe the baby in, if you please.”

Pimpernel came back a short time later with a copper full of warm water and a bucket filled with tepid water. She set the copper near the fireplace to stay warm. As Pim did this, Lilas was in the throes of another birthing pain. Pippin desperately tried to soothe her, combing back her auburn locks out of her face then set another cool cloth upon her forehead. The vigor was draining from Lilas yet again. Pippin saw the severe exhaustion his poor wife was going through. He himself was tired, blinking his swollen bloodshot eyes. He looked through the window watching young children playing with their nurse in the meadow outside. In a couple years, this child--his own child would play with these same children. He sighed; it was almost eighteen hours since this whole ordeal began the evening before.

Another hour later, Cassia felt for the baby once again. The baby was now in position to be born. The midwife got her instruments ready, “You’re almost ready, Lilas!” No sooner had the words left her lips that Lilas began bearing down to push. “That’s it--you’re doing splendid!”

Lilas pushed three more times, then lay back upon her pillow out of breath, squeezing Pippin’s hand. He whispered in her ear, “You can do this.”

As the baby came further, Cassia could see the crown of a head. Lilas groaned as she pushed one more time; straining every muscle in her body to the brink. Seeing the baby’s head emerge, Pimpernel grabbed her brother from where he sat next to Lilas, pulling him to witness the birth of his baby. He was torn between comforting his wife and watching his child being born. “Go!” Lilas gave Pippin a feeble shove towards Pimpernel.

After one last vigorous push, a small slimy form slid out, softly crying. “It’s a lass!” Cassia announced, then at once tied the umbilical cord in two places and cut it.

Eglantine found it hard to keep her composure; the baby’s cry was weak, just as Pippin’s had been when he was born. Her newborn granddaughter was a tiny, frail little baby that should not have been born for another three weeks. Her reflections were broken when Pimpernel took the babe in her arms to bathe her in the waiting basin.

Pippin’s face was as white as a bed sheet--to the point of Eglantine sitting him back down in the chair before they needed to call a healer to tend to him. Pippin obediently sat back down, but his face held the most wondrous expression.

Lilas flopped back upon the bed exhausted, holding her husband’s hand as he sat in the chair beside her. Eglantine smiled at the new mother, “You’ve done well, Lilas. My granddaughter is beautiful.”

“She’s so small,” remarked Pimpernel, now swaddling the infant in a blanket, “and so thin.” She laid the baby upon Lilas’ tummy.

Pippin and Lilas immediately commenced their own assessment of their baby. Together they unwrapped the snug baby blanket, then starting from the bit of downy fur on her feet, they counted ten toes; there were two legs, two arms, and ten digits on the pair of tiny hands. She had a crowned but rounded head, two eyes, a little nose, two tiny pointed ears that still pressed to her head. A few wisps of wet curls still clinging to the back of her small head held a slight tinge of dark red; the same color as Lilas’ hair. Yes, the babe was small, pink, and thin--but she was theirs--their daughter. Pippin looked up with tears in his eyes, “I’m a father.”

“And I’m her mother,” said Lilas softly, touching the delicate skin of her baby daughter.

“Have you two decided on a name yet?” asked Cassia.

“Yes,” said Pippin, stroking the soft cheek of his baby daughter now sleeping and nestled in the arms of her mother. “Her name is Rosebud--Rosebud Took.”

TBC

A/N: Many of you thought that Lilas wouldn’t make it through childbirth--shame on you! I am not a medical doctor, nor a midwife. The drama that took place was exactly that--drama, though much of it is the collaboration of several childbirth stories.

Chapter Thirty Two - The First Day

Slowly Pippin woke up to the world of the sleepless. For at this hour, only those with trouble sleeping would be up. The clock read half past one in the morning as he left behind his forgotten dreams, being roused by a soft cry in the dimly lit room. As he sat up, turning up the lantern in the process, he felt Lilas shifting to sit up as well. Rubbing his sleep bleary eyes, he got up, shuffling over to the other side of the bed. “Lay back, Lilas,” he whispered, helping his wife to adjust her pillows. “I’ll hand her to you.” Reaching down into the cradle, which sat next to Lilas’ side of the bed, he picked up his infant daughter, cradling her in his arms. Even in the wee morning hours, Pippin found delight in holding the warm, tiny bundle. “Shhh,” he cooed, lightly swaying Rosebud in his arms. “Momma’s right over there.” For a few precious seconds, Rosebud stopped crying, being held in the safe arms of her father--but safety wasn’t exactly what the infant was seeking right now. Rosebud began to whimper again as Pippin carefully gave her over to Lilas so that she could nurse her.

“Hullo, little Miss Took!” Lilas smiled, taking the baby, tenderly kissing her forehead. She smiled, speaking to Rosebud as if she was a long, lost friend. “I heard ye made a grand entrance earlier today!” Cradling the babe to nurse, she continued softly, “Your Pa and I have been waitin’ a long time for ye. Ye’re a special lass, ye know.”

Pippin sat on the edge of the bed watching his daughter nurse. As Rosebud nestled up to her mother, in his mind, Pippin imagined her in a pretty dress of lace, auburn curls pinned up on her head as he presented her to the Took and Thain for her faunt blessing. Next, she was a little lass, smiling--though her front teeth were missing--as she handed Lilas a fistful of flowers freshly picked from one of the gardens. From there, Pippin imagined an impish young teen with sparkling green eyes, laughing at one of his jests. The next scene brought tears to his eyes as he saw her in a beautiful frock made of a silky material, standing beside a hobbit lad among rose petals. Pippin shook himself away from that horrid thought. No, Pippin would not allow himself to think of his little daughter getting married so soon…not at least until she was out of nappies.

“When do ye think Merry will return?” asked Lilas, excited by the news she was told earlier that Merry left to give the news of Rosebud to her parents in Hobbiton.

“Probably sometime tomorrow, Lilas,” answered Pippin, still gazing at his daughter. “Mother made him take a nap and eat something before she would let him leave. I suspect that he will spend the night at Bag End.”

“Do ye think my Pa will come?” It was more of Lilas speaking her thoughts than really posing a question.

“Well,” began Pippin, “we may have gone and angered him about our tryst, but I can’t imagine him being angry for this long and not wanting to meet his granddaughter.”

Lilas chortled, “Ye don’t know my Pa.”

“I’ve met him, remember? Well…sort of.” Pippin sighed, hoping that Lilas wouldn’t be disappointed…again. However, it was one thing to carry a grudge towards a grown hobbit, or even a tween, such as they were, but Pippin vowed to himself that no one--especially Mr. Silas--would treat his precious Rosebud in that manner.

Both tweens were silent for a while, watching their daughter’s eyelids grow heavier the more she nursed. “Pippin?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry for all the things I said when--”

“Lilas,” Pippin interrupted her apology. “I know you didn’t mean them.” He added with a wry grin, “At least…I hope you didn’t.”

Lilas now smiled, too. “No, I didn’t. I was just hurtin’ so much and so I guess I took it out on ye.” She looked at Pippin, “I do want more children--about three more ought to do it nicely.”

“Three?” Pippin’s brow wrinkled in question. “Just think, he said, “should we have another child in a couple years, Rosebud and her little brother will be able to attend their parents Coming of Age party.”

“Yes--every grandparent’s wish!” Lilas grinned. “Still wantin’ a son, are ye? Perhaps we can fix that.”

There was more comfortable silence while they gazed at the most beautiful baby in Middle-earth. Pippin had seen many great wonders in the past year and a half, but none of them equated with seeing his baby being born. “Thank you,” he said, breaking the quiet.

Lilas looked up at him, “For what?”

“For allowing me to watch Rosebud being born.”

Lilas smiled. “You’re her Pa,” she replied simply. “I love ye, Pippin--I wanted ye there with me.”

What could he say to that? Pippin leaned forward, gently kissing his wife. When he sat back once again, Pippin noticed the baby in blissful slumber.

“Our wee one is asleep,” whispered Lilas. Wrapping Rosebud again in the warm blanket. “Sweet dreams, my sweet one,” she said, planting her own kiss upon the tiny brow, then handed her back to Pippin so that he could tuck Rosebud into the low cradle.

Pippin lingered when he held his baby daughter in his arms. He wanted to kiss her, hug her, sing to her…but that would wake her up. No, the latter would have to wait a bit. He placed his kiss in the same area as Lilas, “Good night, sweet Rosebud--I love you.” Then he lay the sleeping newborn in her cradle, covering her in plenty of blankets to keep her warm.

“Good night, Lilas, I love you, too,” Pippin kissed his wife’s forehead before he himself went to bed.

Pippin struggled to wake up as he heard more soft crying from within his and Lilas’ bedroom. Turning up the lantern, he again looked at the clock on the wall. Not quite half-past three. Rosebud went almost three hours between feedings since she entered the world the day before. “I’m getting up,” he hoarsely whispered to a waking Lilas.

Lilas yawned, “She’s a hungry little lass, isn’t she?”

“Like a proper hobbit baby,” Pippin remarked, carefully taking Rosebud into his arms. “She’s probably wanting to fill up the corners now.” He placed the crying babe in Lilas’ waiting arms. However, when Lilas tried to nurse the infant, Rosebud would feed for a few seconds then start to cry again.

“I thought she was hungry,” said Pippin.

Lilas wore a slightly puzzled expression for all of a minute before she thought of something else--more feeling it than anything else. She unfolded the baby blanket all of the way, revealing a very wet nappy.

“She’s wet!” answered Lilas. “That’s why she’s fussing so.” Right away Pippin got a fresh cloth from Lilas’ wardrobe. Once Rosebud was changed and powdered, she quieted down. Lilas tried nursing again, but Rosebud seemed to not be hungry yet, but the time wasn’t far off.

“So what do we do until she’s hungry?” asked Pippin. He was still very sleepy, though Rosebud seemed very awake. “Just lay here and talk to her until she’s ready?”

Lilas shrugged her shoulders, then remembered how her mother would often talk to Saborra as a baby. “I suppose she would like that. I should think that Babies like bein’ talked to or someone singin’ t’ them.” So at half-past three in the morning, Pippin and Lilas softly sang a lullaby to their infant daughter--one after another until they ran out of songs that they both knew.

“Perhaps a bit of a story,” offered Pippin, “I know many--some I made up myself!”

“I don’t think Rosebud wants t’ hear about snails and tadpoles, Pippin,” said Lilas, though she was speaking of herself. “Tell her a story about a far away princess, like in ye’re travels.”

As Pippin warmed up to his story, Rosebud began to fuss a little. Figuring the baby was now hungry, Lilas tried nursing the baby. Rosebud didn’t let go this time as nestled her against her mother’s breast; she was truly hungry now. Cradled in her mother’s arms, Rosebud nursed as her father amused her with one of his many tales of far away lands. After a while, the wee babe grew tired once again. Eyelids growing heavy by the minute, Rosebud drifted off to sleep as her tummy got comfortable--dry in her clean nappies--and listening to the soothing voices of her mother and father. Can life get any better?

Pippin lay tossing and turning under the covers of his bed as the morning light seeped through the sheers. He opened his eyes to slits to survey the wall clock; a quarter past eight. Rosebud had awakened forty-five minutes earlier for her latest feeding, then promptly fell asleep once her appetite was assuaged. Laying aside his covers Pippin crept towards the door, then hesitated. He couldn’t resist a look at his precious daughter asleep in her cradle. It was all because of this tiny bundle that his life had been turned upside down since yesterday. The tween stood over her cradle, listening to her breathe in the quiet of the bedroom.

Looking around the room as he made his way to the door to order breakfast, he saw articles of “baby” everywhere. A baby blanket stiff with dried milk lay at upon the bed at Lilas’ feet; she had used it to catch the baby’s spew while being burped. A box of talcum power sat on top of Lilas’ bureau next to a pile of fresh of nappies, while a laundry hamper was set next to the piece of furniture to hold the soiled ones until they could be washed. Grinning, he sighed. Life would never be the same again.

The day wore on with Rosebud nursing every few hours; her parents catching naps as time allowed. Took and Banks visitors came and went quickly, seeing the haggard looks of the new mother and father. Finally as tea drew near, Pippin heard a commotion in the hallway. When he opened the door he was a bit surprised to see the entire Broadhammer family…well, almost the entire family. As they filed inside the apartment, Pippin saw that Silas was absent. “Shhh!,” he cautioned them, “The baby’s asleep.” Instantly they small crowd quieted down while Frodo walked past Pippin with Merry in tow.

“Where’s my daughter?” asked Lilly, setting down a small box on the tea table.

“Yes, I want t’ see my niece!” Saborra was almost beside herself with excitement.

“Well, if you will all wait out here,” announced Pippin, “I will see if Lilas is presentable for visitors.” He gazed around the room, “Mr. Silas didn’t come?”

Saborra let out an exasperated breath, “Pa says he’s still angry, but while he was “angry”, he made this--” The young tween stepped aside to show what her brother Sabo was holding: a hobbit-child’s chair. Made from wood, of course, however, a yellow fabric covered the small seat with goose down inside for cushion. Burned into the wood was the name “Rosebud”.

Merry leaned close to his friend, “That’s what took us so long to get here.”

“I think the old fellow’s breaking,” Frodo quipped.

After seeing how Silas treated his daughter a few months ago, it was going to take more than a hand-made chair to appease Pippin--though he wouldn’t make a scene today. Today, the family that mattered was here, and they were here to celebrate Rosebud. A faint smile slowly found it’s way to his lips in gratitude for the gift, “Thank you.”

Once he had looked in on Lilas, Pippin motioned for the Broadhammers and friends to quietly come inside the bedroom. Everyone lingered near the cradle, gazing down at the peaceful little face.

As quiet as they were, the whispering and mere sensation of others in the room awakened the baby--and Rosebud was not happy about her sleep being interrupted. Pippin was immediately at his daughter’s side, reaching down to pick her up out of the cradle; letting her know that someone familiar was nearby. Rosebud calmed down a bit in the arms of her papa, yet he just wasn’t enough for her this time; she wanted Momma. Momma not only had the means to fill up her corners--Rosebud also liked the sensation of how momma rocked back and forth while she comforted her. Pippin got Rosebud’s hint when she began to cry again, so he handed the wee babe over to Lilas.

“She’s beautiful, Pip,” said Merry. He had only received a brief glance at his new cousin before he was whisked off by his uncle with the charge to give the news personally to Lilas’ family.

Frodo nodded, “That she is, dear cousin.” Still mesmerized by the tiny infant, Frodo added, “Looks like we will just have to spoil her.”

“We will!” Merry affirmed. “Fill her up with biscuits and jam to make her all the sweeter!”

“You both will have to get in line behind me!” Pippin put in. He smiled at his closest friends then watched the Broadhammers fawn over their newest relation. “Though it’s good to know my daughter will not lack in love.” Then he looked at his pocket timepiece. “One whole day,” Pippin remarked. “One day old and already she’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

Frodo smiled. “I’m not the least bit surprised, cousin,” he commented, looking at the once irresponsible tween, now loving father. “Not in the least.”

TBC

A/N: Honest--I was only joking when I said, 'shame on you!'  LOL...but I got all these nice confessions! I'll let the new parents enjoy the babe for a couple days before "things" start up... :-)

Hello! No, we’re not done! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has sent me a kind note in response to Roses. I apologize for my lack of resonse to reviews; I promise to do better with my “thank you notes” in the future. :-P

Chapter Thirty-Three - Parenthood

“Where are we going?” Pippin asked, as he, Frodo, Merry, Everard, Merimas and Will--his brothers-in-law, and the Broadhammer lads squeezed into the Thain’s carriage. He knew they were heading for Tuckborough, but not exactly where.

“Hush up, Pippin, and just sit down!” laughed Merry.

“Wait! I need to go back--Lilas will need someone to hand her a clean blanket for Rosebud when she burps her,” Pippin said, heading for the carriage door just as it began to roll off down the lane.

Frodo grabbed Pippin by his braces, saving the hasty tween from a disastrous fall. Pulling him back to sit down, he replied, “Hold on there, cousin! Lilas has plenty of help right now to find a blanket for the baby. Your wife will be very upset if she discovered that we failed in our duties.”

Settling on the bench across from his cousins, Pippin gave them both a quizzical expression. Merry chuckled at his cousin. “I told of our scheme to sweep you away to Aunt Tina, who passed it on to Lilas--who thought it was a grand idea for us to take her husband out of the smials for a bit of respite. Auntie assured us that Lilas would be able to get you to agree.”

“She doesn’t need me then,” said Pippin, his emotions feeling a little wounded.

“No, Pippin, she sees that you’re in need of rest,” added Merimas. “In fact, we were only going to take you to the common room in the Smials for a smoke, but it was her idea for us to drag you to town instead.”

Pippin rested against the back of the bench, wedged between Merimas and Wil. His mind went over the past couple days since the Broadhammers came to visit. Indeed, more family relations arrived: Pervinca’s family, Pearl’s family, and his dear aunt and uncle from Brandy Hall. However, Pippin found that he was constantly being pushed to the background of the relatives--Tooks, Banks, Brandybucks, Goodbodys (Pearl’s family), and Broadhammers alike. All wanted a glance at the newest addition to the Thain’s household. Pippin took it all in stride as the various female relations would inch him away from his post next to his daughter’s cradle, but the last straw was when his own mother asked him to leave the bedroom on the grounds that all the ladies present were discussing “womanly” matters.

Just as her son got red in the face, steam billowing from his pointed ears, Eglantine quickly ushered her son out to the sitting room.

“Pippin, you need to have a bit of time for yourself,” said Eglantine. “You are being a very attentive father and husband, but we ladies can care for Lilas at the present--she’s in good company.” She took his chin in her hand as she would when he was a child, tilting his face just so to catch better light. She sighed, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. “You need sleep, love. How can Lilas depend on you to be at your best to help her when truly you are at your worst?”

“Rosebud’s my daughter,” Pippin stated simply. “I want to be near her.”

Eglantine smiled, pleased with her son’s commitment to his young family. “Of course you do, son. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by not resting or denying yourself the company of your lad friends.” She brushed away a few uncombed locks from his face. “Your father tells me that they want to spend a little time with you.”

Pippin still wasn’t convinced that he ought to leave his poor, defenseless daughter alone with this crowd of females. They would undoubtedly entice the infant to do something that he wouldn’t be around to witness.

“Pippin,” Lilas called to him as he reentered the room, accompanied with his mother. She beckoned him closer, then whispered close to his ear, “Yer cousins and my brothers want t’ celebrate Rosebud’s birth with ye in town. Please say yes--this would mean a lot t’ them.” She looked up at him with her soft brown eyes, knowing well that Pippin rarely was able to say ‘no’ to them.

“Very well,” came Pippin’s reluctant answer. When she put it that way…and those eyes! He leaned in to whisper to her, “Don’t let Rosebud do anything that I won’t be here to see.”

“I won’t!” Lilas whispered back, smiling, then kissed him tenderly on the lips to the ‘awwwing’ of the ladies. Blushing, Pippin quickly exited the bedroom--leaving the ladies to their “womanly” matters.

Presently, Pippin found himself sitting in his father’s carriage headed towards Tuckborough--his thoughts ever present with his infant daughter back at the Smials. Would she smile for the first time without him seeing it? Would she be awake for a long while without him there? Was she crying because she couldn’t hear the familiar voice of her papa? He folded his arms tightly across his chest; they itched to cradle his beloved daughter in them. No matter what subject was brought up, Pippin’s response took it back round to Rosebud. Merry mentioned something about Sam and Rosie staying at Crickhollow for a week or so since their wedding. Pippin answered by saying that in his haste to leave Crickhollow back in Afteryule, he left his favorite scarf there by mistake. He was hoping to give it to Rosebud at her faunt blessing.

Without Pippin seeing it, Merry gave an exasperated look to their cousin. Frodo was next to make an attempt; “Sam and Rosie will be moving in to Bag End when they return, you know. I am looking forward to having their company round the old smial.”

Thinking about the possibility of the newlyweds starting their own family, Pippin blurted out, “And children!” He also thought of his cousin Everard’s baby, now four months old. “That would be wonderful if Rosebud had two playmates. Laureleigh will be here at the Smials while there will be a Rosie-lass at Bag End--in time. Very good, Frodo!” He wondered why his cousin sat back in his seat, sighing heavily.

“Pippin,” Frodo began, “we don’t want you to not think about your lovely daughter. We love our new cousin very much, but we would like it if you took your ease with us for just a wee bit this evening. Rosebud loves you dearly, Pip, but trust me--she is exceptionally content in the arms of her mum and grandmums right now.”

Pippin made no reply; folding his arms tighter, he greatly felt the absence of a soft, warm bundle. When a relaxing silence followed, Pippin allowed his mind to wander out to the passing scenery--back to his bedroom at Great Smials. He imagined himself attending to the needs of his dearest Rosebud and Lilas.

Frodo looked to his younger Brandybuck cousin, speaking in low whispers, “In order to outwit a Took, you have to think like one, Merry,” he commented. “We must keep his mind on pleasant thoughts, not ones that will be worrisome.”

“All right,” Merry grinned; he was half Took. He understood there was probably nothing they could do to get Pippin’s mind off Rosebud. Therefore, he ensured his question was…a pleasant one. He asked Pippin, “Have you given any thought to her name-blessing day?” Merry felt a jab in his ribs from the Baggins cousin sitting next to him.

“Not a lot of thought, Merry,” said Pippin, bringing his thoughts back inside the carriage--and taking the bait. “Lilas and I were talking about it just last night, though. We are quite proud of our little lass, so we do want to invite as many relations as…” On an on Pippin went until they reached Tuckborough’s Inn.

As the group of lads entered the tavern, the Broadhammer brothers--Milas, Dabo, and Sabo gazed about at the strange but friendly faces. Their inn visits were limited to The Green Dragon or the Ivy Bush. Yet they found that it was much the same here; a room filled with laughter and smoke from smoking pipes. However, the atmosphere was just a tad different--not a bad thing, just different. All at once, the common room broke into applause for the new father. News had been round the inn of the new arrival at Great Smials a few days ago.

An old, but amiable hobbit--one of the regulars--called out from the back, “Hi--Mr. Pippin! Are the wife and lass giving you grief already?”

Walking into the room filled with neighborly hobbit folk made Pippin feel welcome and at the same time, fatigued. He knew the old hobbit was jesting, yet he almost replied in a curt manner. Pippin found he couldn’t deny his own weariness. Perhaps his mother was right. “I wouldn’t call it ‘grief’, Mr. Gann,” answered Pippin, keeping his voice in check. “Just that my wife and daughter are counting on me right now.”

Pippin followed his cousins until they came to a couple tables slid together to make one larger table. He saw some older hobbits already occupying three of the chairs: his father, Cousin Adelard, and his Uncle Saradoc--each taking their ease with a mug and a pipe.

Paladin raised his mug, ““Hullo, Pip! Lads! I see you all finally made it here.”

“Seems we’ve been besieged by young hobbits, Paladin,” said Adelard to his dearest friend. “And who’s minding your own wife and my granddaughter, Everard?” he winked at his son.

Everard blushed, “This is Pippin’s night remember, father? I’ve already had mine.” His in-laws and cousins did much the same for him months ago when his wee one was born.

Sitting down, the lads filled their pipes up with Longbottom Leaf and ordered a round of beer. Soon, everyone was well engaged in comfortable conversation. Inevitably, the elder hobbits related their first days as a father while the younger ones laughed at the humorous stories. Paladin described his joy of becoming a father with his story of parading an infant Pearl in her pram in the gardens at Great Smials just so he could boast about his baby daughter. Adelard regaled them with a story of the first time he changed his son, Reginard’s, nappy.

In the midst of these embellished tales, the beer began to have an effect on Pippin. Though he drank only half of his first mug, he was not inebriated in any way, just feeling the relaxing influence of the ale.

Saradoc nudged Paladin, seeing Pippin’s gaze fixed upon nothing. The tween’s chin rested in one palm supported by his arm as his eyelids began to droop. “Are we boring you, Pip?” Paladin asked, tongue-in-cheek.

At once, Pippin jerked awake, blinking his eyes and wiping saliva from the side of his chin. “No--sorry, father,” he replied in a tired voice. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Come rest your eyes over here, son,” answered Paladin. Pippin may be a new father, but Paladin was still very much a father to his exhausted tweenaged lad--no matter how tall he was.

Pippin was too tired to protest; he took his chair, slid it between his father and his uncle, then sat down. “Lay your head down on the table,” Paladin suggested, rubbing Pippin’s shoulders, “We’ll be heading home soon.”

Back at the Smials, in Pippin and Lilas’ bedroom, all except two of the hobbit-ladies were gone; only Eglantine and Lilly remained. The hobbit-women had engrossed the younger maidens with stories and information of what it’s like to give birth--along with the joys and trials of being a mother. That is, until Rosebud decided she had had enough of visitations and started to fuss. Lilas just finished changing and wrapping the babe in a clean blanket when other voices were heard coming towards the open door--lad voices.

A knocking upon the door was followed by a voice asking if it was all right to enter. Eglantine granted the voice permission to do so. The door seemed to open of its own accord while Paladin steered his sleepy son into the room from behind as Pippin shuffled slowly toward the bed. Guiding the tween by his shoulders, Paladin helped him to sit down on the mattress.

Eglantine grinned, looking at her son on the verge of sleep. “What did you lads do to him?”

Paladin gestured towards their son, “Nothing--he drank half a mug, then nearly fell asleep on the table. We had to bring him home; folk thought we were getting him drunk.”

Just as Paladin finished his sentence, Pippin kissed his daughter, whispering in a sleepy voice, “Good night, Rosebud--I love you.” He gave a quick kiss to his wife, “Good night, Lilas--I love you, too.” Pippin then stood up, being guided by his father back into the sitting room. The plan was for Pippin to sleep undisturbed on the couch while Eglantine and Lilly took turns handing Rosebud to Lilas for nursing through the night.

Pippin sat heavily on the couch while his father helped him to lie down, covering him with a warm blanket. He reached down, brushing a few curls off his son’s brow. Kissing Pippin on his forehead, he whispered, “Good night, Son, we love you.”

TBC

A/N: Has everyone purchased their tissues?

Chapter Thirty-Four - The Verge of Love

The following day when Pippin woke up, he felt better than he had in days--aside from a slight crick in his neck from the couch pillows, he felt good. He got up, massaging his neck as he meandered towards the window in the back of the room near the eating table. Gazing out the window, he saw the sun shining brightly among a few white, puffy clouds--as if daring the hobbits to venture out into the cheery spring day. Pippin pondered the fresh, green hues of the lovely outdoors as his thoughts went back to the evening before--inside the common room at Tuckborough’s inn--to what his own father said about taking an infant Pearl to the Smials’ gardens to show off. Pippin smiled; why break family tradition? He and Lilas would be extra careful with Rosebud, dressing her warmly in blankets--complete with a bonnet trimmed in lace. He abandoned his contemplation of the garden when he heard the bedroom door open up.

“Good morning, Pippin.” Pippin thought his mother looked rather tired, having stayed up most of the night doing his fatherly duties with Rosebud.

“Mother--” Pippin called to Eglantine in a soft voice, careful to not to disturb others who may still be sleeping. He met up with his mother at the outer door to the tunnel. Now face-to-face with her he suddenly became speechless, seeing the weariness in her hazel eyes. Pippin wrapped his arms around the hobbit-woman who had kissed his scraped knees, rocked him when he was ill, and dried his tears as a little boy. “Thank you.”

Once a mother, always a mother. Eglantine swept her lad’s curls out of his eyes, answering, “Your welcome, love.” She covered her mouth in a yawn, “Now for a bit of breakfast before going to bed.” She glanced out the window at the brilliant morning. “You might want to take Lilas out for a bit of fresh air. You can use one of the wheel chairs kept near the guest quarters if she is still sore.”

“I was just thinking of that,” said Pippin, smiling at her suggestion. “I also thought to take Rosebud with us for a bit.”

“Son--” Eglantine countered. Taking in a deep breath, she went on. “I don’t think Rosebud is old enough to go out in the bright sunshine. I am certain you won’t have any difficulties finding someone to watch over her for half and hour.”

“Well, I expect her to fuss a little, but she’ll be with her papa and momma. And I don’t think Lilas will leave the apartment without the baby.”

“Rosebud will fuss a lot,” the elder hobbit cautioned. Eglantine had been through this before--with the very “babe” who stood before her. “It’s not the outdoors she will not like, Pippin--it’s the brightness. She may still be a bit young for that.” Eglantine tried to persuade her son, but he was correct--Lilas probably wouldn’t go anywhere without the baby. “Use the pram your father and I gave her--that may help some.”

“I will. Sleep well, mother,” Pippin replied, closing the door softly as his mother left.

“The flowers are so beautiful, Pippin!” Lilas smiled, sniffing in the fresh air. She and Pippin sat upon a bench underneath the veranda nearest to the gate, with the pram between them. They alternately took turns to rock it in order to keep Rosebud asleep. The infant fussed a little at the bright sunshine until Lilas partially draped a light blanket over the pram-hood. Merry helped to take Lilas out to the gardens in a wheel chair while Pippin pushed baby Rosebud in the pram. Merry had walked on for a bit to give the young family some privacy.

The sunbeam stopped just shy of the shaded porch, allowing the tweens to warm their feet in the bit of sunshine. Pippin listened to the chirping of birds nesting in the thickets. “Yes they are--and they’re not completely in bloom yet. Just wait until the roses start budding!” he winked.

Lilas grinned in response, “We’ve got our own wee rosebud bloomin’ everyday.”

Pippin chuckled softly, “Yes we do!” He gazed his wife, watching her long auburn curls dancing in the gentle breeze. “Are you uncomfortable at all, Lilas?” Pippin asked.

After a moment of consideration, Lilas shook her head. “No. At first, when I looked at the stone bench, I thought I would be, but no.” She smiled, catching his gaze. “What are ye lookin’ at?”

“You--us, I suppose.”

“What about ‘us’?”

“I’m trying to imagine us both growing old and grey,” he answered. Months ago, he would have shuddered at the idea, but today…it seemed almost a pleasant thought.

Lilas smiled, “How many children did we have?”

Pippin squinted in thought, letting his imagination run wild. “Oh, I’d say at least four or five.” He laughed aloud then quickly stifled it, covering his mouth with his hand when Lilas’ eyes widened.

“Do I get any rest b’tween them?”

In mock seriousness, he answered, “Perhaps a year or two in between.”

Lilas smiled, watching two bumblebees buzzing round the garden, paying no heed to the hobbits. “I want lots of children, Pippin,” she said in a wistful voice, “Just as ye said. She felt Pippin take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The couple’s attention was taken to the walkway in front of them. An elder cousin, Ferumbold--a Took from the Northfarthing (not to be confused with the North-tooks), came walking the garden path and met up with the shaded veranda. “My pardon, if you please,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his handkerchief. “It seems to be a bit warm for a brisk walk at midday. Perhaps I should have waited for the cool of evening.”

“Please join us for a bit, cousin,” Pippin invited him to sit down. “But before you do, I should like your most valuable opinion of this lovely babe in the pram. Isn’t she the most beautiful little lass you’ve ever seen?”

Cousin Ferumbold looked up as Pippin stood to his full four-foot-six-inches of height. This young hobbit was none other than the Thain’s son. Surely, he wouldn’t insult the lad with anything other than high praise for the babe. “Very lovely, lad--your daughter is a very beautiful!” Tucking his handkerchief into his pocket, the elder cousin walked on; too nervous to remain in the company of the new father--just in case the Pippin wasn’t satisfied with the tribute of compliments just paid.

“Do you get that?” said Pippin, sitting back down. “That hobbit is very well educated. One should think that he could have said something more lavish about Rosebud.”

“Pippin!” Lilas laughed, “That was the third hobbit ye stopped and nearly forced t’ say beautiful things about Rosebud. I guess I can’t blame ye, but what more could he have said?”

“My--er, I mean, our daughter is the most sweet, beautiful, extraordinary, clever lass in the entire world!”

Lilas smirked, “And yer Pa spent lots of money on yer learnin’ as well?” Pippin reached behind and pinched her backside.

“Well, Mister Took, I believe we had better get back inside.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s almost time for Rosebud to nurse,” replied Lilas, pulling up a bit on the blanket to check on the baby. Rosebud was still sound asleep. Lilas rose from the bench to make her way towards the wheelchair, but Pippin intercepted her, wrapping his arms around her, giving her a tender hug. “Let’s do this again when you’re feeling a bit better.”

Lilas looked up into his clear green eyes, “I’d like that. I had fun this afternoon.” They met each other halfway in a soft kiss; however, Pippin felt her lips expressing more passion. Something stirred inside, prompting him to respond likewise. There, in the midst of the shaded veranda, the young couple kissed for a while before Lilas broke away. “We’d better get inside before I spring a leak!”

Pippin grinned with ruby red lips, “We don’t want that, now do we?” He helped his wife into the wheel chair then called out for Merry. After getting things all ready, pulling both pram and wheel chair around onto the pathway, Merry had still not arrived. “Merrrry!” he called out again.

This time, Merry ran up with Estella on his heels. Pippin noticed that both Merry and Estella also had ruby red lips. “Sorry, Pip!” Merry gasped, out of breath. “Estella just happened to be in the garden as well. Imagine that!”

“You’re winded,” Pippin smirked. “You have to come up for air every now and then, cousin!”

This time, Lilas reached round and pinched Pippin’s backside. “Don’t embarrass them, Pippin.”

“May we push Rosebud, Pippin?” asked Estella. “I promise to be careful.”

“Of course, Stella,” answered Pippin, letting his Bolger cousin take the pram handle. “What’s the magic word?”

Confused, Estella answered, “Please?” Pippin shook his head. Estella tried again, “Thank you?”

Lilas laughed, “No, Stella--he’s wantin’ ye t’ say Rosebud is beautiful and pretty and clever--that sort of thing.”

“Why didn’t you just say so!” Estella pulled up on the shading blanket a bit for a better look at the infant. “Hullo, sweet pumpkin! How are you today, huh? Beautiful day outside for a stunning wee lass! Is your dad behaving himself? No? We’ll just have to see about that.” On and on, Pippin smiled satisfactorily as Estella had a bit of conversation with Rosebud as she and Merry strolled next to one another, wheeling the pram towards the gate.

“How long do you give them?” Pippin asked, pushing Lilas in the wheel chair.

“About six months at the most before he proposes,” she answered, rubbing her neck. “Merry’s a bit shy with the lasses, isn’t he?”

“Sometimes, though I can tell he sees something special in Stella,” said Pippin. “I’m glad.”

“So am I,” added Lilas. “Especially since I introduced them.”

“Is there something wrong, Lilas? You keep rubbing your neck.”

“Oh,” Lilas took her hand away. “I’m feeling a bit achy, but I think I just need a nap. I was up late last night.”

Pippin slowed the wheel chair as he placed his hand on Lilas’ forehead, but couldn’t tell with the summer-like weather if she was feverish or not. “All right,” he conceded, “But I will ask you again later--after your nap--just to make certain that is indeed all you needed.”

Lilas took his hand in front of her, kissing it. “I love ye, Pippin.”

Pippin hesitated briefly before kissing her auburn locks as he pushed her from behind, “I love you, too.” Again, something stirred within; was he being sincere this time? Were Lilas’ dreams actually coming true?

After feeding Rosebud, Lilas ate a light lunch with Pippin before retiring to the bedroom for a nap. Pippin decided to bring the cradle out to the sitting room. Rosebud was lying inside it, doing her favorite activity; sleeping. Pippin lounged on the couch reading Adamanta’s book about raising willful Took children. His foot rested near one of the rocking arms as he read. Not too long ago his toes were occupied in gently swaying the cradle arm back and forth to help his daughter to sleep. Without realizing it, over two hours had passed when Rosebud began to awaken. Laying the book aside, Pippin sat up. “Awake, are we?” He smiled as he watched her place her fist up to her mouth--her tiny tongue searching for “something”. “Hungry already? I can tell that you’re going to eat me out of smial and home!” He reached inside, picking her up, careful to support her neck and back. “Hullo, love! Did you have a nice sleep?”

Rosebud continued with discovering the taste and “feel” of her fist.

Pippin leaned in to kiss her little forehead. “Cousin Ferumbold doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You are the most beautiful lass in the entire world--did you know that?” Rosebud listened to her papa’s soft voice, though still intrigued with her fist. “Papa loves you, Rosebud. Momma does too, but not as much as your Papa does. I happen to know that he will do anything for you. You want cake for your breakfast? Oh, and luncheon and supper, too? Yes, you may have all the cake that you want, whenever you want it--because you’re papa’s sweetheart.”

At the moment, Rosebud thought only one thing tasted better than her fist: Momma! She began to squirm as her tummy told her that it was empty again.

Pippin draped a dry nappy over his shoulder before lifting her up, “Let’s go see if momma is awake.” He got up from the couch, rubbing her little back as they walked, giving his baby daughter the most tender of hugs. Then he kissed her tiny ear as he opened the bedroom door. “Are you awake, Lilas?” To Pippin’s surprise, Lilas was still sound asleep. Almost always, she was up and awake before Rosebud was ready to nurse. “Lilas?” Pippin sat down on the side of the bed. Finally, he nudged Lilas awake, “Lilas, it’s time to nurse Rosebud.”

Lilas stirred when she felt her husband nudged her awake. She turned over, putting her hand to her neck again. “I’m sorry, Pippin,” she spoke in a weary voice. “I didn’t realize I was so sleepy.”

“How are you feeling, Lilas?” remembering his words to her earlier.

Lilas took a whimpering Rosebud as he handed the babe to her. Rosebud immediately stopped crying when Momma nuzzled her up to her breast. “Much the same; a bit achy and a bit of a headache, but I’m fine. It’ll pass.”

Pippin wasn’t so sure of it’s ‘passing’. He felt her forehead. “You’re warm.”

“No, actually, I’m a bit chilled,” Lilas replied stoically, stroking her daughter’s velvety curls. She spoke softly to a nursing--and quite comfortable Rosebud. “Did ye have sweet dreams, love? I can tell--yer eyes are smilin’. I love ye, Rosebud.”

Rosebud could barely make out the features of her momma’s face while she nursed, but that was all that she needed. Rosebud relaxed in her mum’s arms, listening to the comforting voices of her parents as they spoke to one another.

“That’s even more reason for me to find Donnabelle.”

“The healer?”

“Yes. I’ll feel a lot better after she’s looked in on you.”

“Well, if it’ll make ye feel better, but I’m not sick.”

Pippin made no immediate reply; he’d been sick enough in his life to be familiar with the telltale signs. “Just sit here, all right? I’ll return soon.”

Lilas chuckled, “Where am I going t’ go with a baby attached t’ me?”

Pippin grinned, if nothing else, to ensure Lilas kept calm. “True. But I will be back soon enough.” He kissed her forehead before leaving mother and child in the apartment--to seek a healer.

Pippin paced up and down the tunnel trying to decide if he ought to be calm or not. Donnabelle was out of the Smials for the day, while Cassia was assisting with a difficult birth in Tuckborough. Cassia was not necessarily a healer, but she was the attending midwife with Rosebud’s birth. Whom else could he call upon? Pippin was about to go to his mother for help when he heard raucous laughter coming from Pearl’s rooms. Perhaps his eldest sister may know what to do; she often did when he was a young lad. He missed her “motherly” manner. At once, he was at the door knocking.

“Hullo, Pippin! Come in and join us!” Pimpernel opened the door, but secretly wondered why he was alone.

“I can’t stay, Pim,” he began, “but is Pearl in here?”

Pimpernel smiled, “Everyone is in here--except you and Lilas.” Pimpernel looked out into the empty hallway, “Didn’t you bring her with you? Where is she?”

The laughter in the sitting room paused when the impromptu Took family gathering noticed Pippin at the door--alone.

“Hullo, Pippin!” Paladin greeted his son. “We were all just…talking about you.” The rest of the clan roared with laughter again.

Pippin gave a nervous grin back. Only the Valar knew what they were truly ‘talking’ about. “Hullo, father…mother.”

Eglantine instantly saw through her son’s demeanor. “What’s wrong, Pippin?”

“Uh…well,” Pippin looked around the room at all his sisters and family. “I think Lilas is falling ill and I can’t seem to find a healer to take a look at her.”

Eglantine was on her feet in a flash, with Merimas right behind her. “With your permission, Pip?” he asked. Pippin nodded; now comforted by the presence of his ever-supportive family.

Chapter Thirty-Five - Uncertainties

“Well?” asked Pippin. He sat in the sitting room chair on edge waiting for Merimas to explain about Lilas’ illness when he emerged from the bedroom.

“I’m not entirely certain, Pippin,” Merimas answered, half in thought. He walked up to where the tween sat. “But I gave her a routine exam. Her lungs are clear, no runny nose or sore throat. She did tell me of a slight belly ache. It could be something as simple as her eating food that didn’t agree with her at luncheon.”

“She ate nothing unusual, and I ate the same things as her,” Pippin continued, standing up. “If the food was bad, then I would be sick, too.”

“Not necessarily,” Merimas replied. “She may be more sensitive to certain foods than you. To answer the question of your wife being sick and not you, she may have developed this sensitivity while she was carrying Rosebud. However, to be on the safe side, when Cassia returns, you should ask her to examine Lilas.”

Pippin sighed. “I looked for her, but was told she’s in Tuckborough right now.” He was becoming anxious by the minute. Pippin nervously licked his lips, then asked, “Do you think its…”

Merimas waited a moment then raised his eyebrows, “Do I think its what?”

After the birth of his daughter, Cassia had explained to Pippin a few signs to watch for in Lilas. But between the excitement of a new baby and his exhaustion, he didn’t give the midwife his full attention, and now he regretted it. He should have written down everything she said because now all he could remember was something about cramping. Pippin ran his hands through his hair, “Do you think it has something to do with her having Rosebud?”

Pippin saw a flicker of concern in the healer’s eyes, but nothing forthcoming. “Tell me, Merimas.”

“I have told you all I know.”

“Not all of it,” said Pippin, seeing Merimas turn away his gaze. “You’re hiding something.”

Merimas sat down on the couch, however, Pippin remained standing; too stressed to sit down. He paced between the tea table and his chair. Merimas was slow to speak, knowing how his young brother-in-law might react. “She’s recently given birth, Pippin. I may not be a midwife, but I do possess the experience to ascertain one illness from another by examining the patient.” Pippin had stopped pacing; Merimas wanted to hide from the steadfast gaze of those green eyes. He continued, “I don’t want to rule out just yet the possibility of her belly ache being from something she ate, but…”

“But?” Pippin asked a bit tersely.

“She’s not vomited.”

“She wouldn’t necessarily have to vomit, would she? Her belly ache may manifest itself in…other manners.”

“That’s why I haven’t ruled it out entirely. If by tomorrow she doesn’t show other signs of having ate food that she is now sensitive to, then there is only one--possibly two other illnesses that she may have contracted.”

Presently, Eglantine came out of the bedroom cradling a sleeping Rosebud--once again content, wrapped in a blanket and the warmth of her grandma’s love. Eglantine walked slowly so as not to awaken the infant, relishing every second that she held her newest granddaughter.

“So what do you think of Lilas, mother?” asked Pippin in a soft voice, knowing well that his own mother had helped a midwife or two--and never discounting her own experience as a mother.

Eglantine had indeed experienced the aftercare of several young, first-time mothers, however, only one of the lasses became sick soon after birth. Eglantine wished not to dwell on that, seeing the serene, little face of Rosebud peeking through the blanket. She spoke barely above a whisper. “I’m not quite certain.”

Pippin jumped up out of his chair, “Would somebody please give me a solid answer??”

“Merimas, would you care to hold your baby niece for a bit?”

Puzzled, but Merimas was quick to answer, “Certainly!” Gently, Eglantine handed Rosebud to the healer, then took her son out to the hallway.

“I cannot have you getting upset around Lilas, Pippin. Right now, she is awake, knitting something that she says will be special.” She took a deep, calming breath before continuing. “I have seen this before, but never with one so closely related to me. I don’t want to overstep my bounds with guesses and predictions.”

Pippin’s Tookish lilt became thicker the more aggravated he got. “If you don’t want to see me getting upset, mother, then tell me!” His hands gestured in the air as he spoke, “I--I am sick of everyone talking to me but not telling me what is actually going on! That is why I’m getting so frustrated. If you know something, then tell me what it is.”

“Do you remember at all anything Cassia said after Rosebud was born? Pimpernel was helping Lilas bathe at the time.”

“I only remember to watch out for cramping.”

“But you’ve never been around a hobbit-lass who is cramping, have you?”

“I have three sisters, mother.”

“Its not that sort of cramping,” said Eglantine, putting her hand on her son’s shoulder. “It starts out that way, but grows intense as the illness progresses. I hope I am mistaken, Pip, but I have a feeling Lilas is going to be a very sick lass. Cassia needs to see her as soon as she returns to the Smials.”

“I’m going to send word to her right now.” With that, Pippin left to find a courier.

“What are you making? Another baby blanket?” Pippin sat on the bed watching Lilas’ knitting needles twirl as she slipped and purled. He was now holding Rosebud in his arms. She had woke up whimpering, then went back to sleep as soon as Pippin put his pinkie finger in her mouth to help soothe her--and that is how father and daughter were so attached at the moment. He could feel her sucking on his finger every now and then, but mostly she dozed.

“No,” replied Lilas. “Nothin’ like that.” Her knitting was going a bit slower because she wasn’t feeling so well, but she was able to sit up and have a nice conversation with her husband while their daughter slept peacefully.

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t tell ye!” Lilas snickered. “It’s a surprise for ye--for my birthday. I’ll be thirty next month.”

“The fifth, right?”

Lilas nodded. “My brother Sabo was born on the sixth, but Ma always made us each our own cake, though. It made me feel special that my birthday wasn’t shared--like everything else.”

Pippin smiled, “My mother would have loved it if she could get away with something like that! Not really, though, but none of my sisters’ birthdays were close to mine, or each others.” He looked down when Rosebud began to squirm. “Hullo, my little muffin!” he smiled at her, seeing his baby daughter was awake. Rosebud opened her eyes when she heard her papa’s voice. Pippin gasped as he beamed at her, resting her back against his drawn up legs. “Look at those bright eyes!” Rosebud gazed at her papa’s face until she could bring it into focus.

“She’s lookin’ at her Pa,” said Lilas, grabbing for a baby blanket nearby to wipe the dribble from her daughter’s chin. “She already knows what her Ma looks like.”

“Wait--she’s getting red in the face,” Pippin remarked. “What’s happening?”

Lilas continued to wipe away the drool from Rosebud’s chin and neck. “There’s nothin’ wrong with her--she’s fine, Pippin.” Lilas playfully whisked Pippin’s chin with the blanket when she was done with her daughter.

Pippin couldn’t believe Lilas was so calm about this. “But look at her face!” Then he felt it--suddenly something was warm where his daughter’s bum met with his legs. A pungent odor wafted up to his nostrils. “Do you believe that? She just filled her nappy right here on my lap!”

Lilas went back to her knitting, smirking the entire time. “The clean ones are right where I left them on my bureau this morning.”

Pippin looked at Rosebud, “I guess that means we’re on our own.” He had helped to change her wet nappies many times, but this was his first excursion into a “filled” nappy. He got up to fetch a clean one to change the baby.

“Don’t forget a cloth t’ wipe her with.” Lilas grinned as Pippin got up again for a wiping cloth. He was halfway back to the bed when she gave yet another instruction.

“Ye have t’ wet it a bit in the basin.”

She’s enjoying this far too much!, he thought as Lilas grinned. Soon, Pippin had his daughter clean and dry in a fresh nappy. Dropping the soiled cloth into the hamper he remarked with a sour face, “Oy--we could have won the War using one of them! That smell would have been enough to make even Sauron recoil.”

Lilas laughed a bit, “Pippin! Ye’re talkin’ about our daughter!”

After washing his hands, Pippin set Rosebud in his lap again, talking to her. “And you would have had songs sung and tales woven about you--Rosebud Took and the Noxious Nappy! Wouldn’t you, Muffin?” Rosebud wasn’t concerned with songs and tales; she would be satisfied with just finding her papa’s finger again. Oh, well, her fist would have to do for right now.

“Stop it, Pippin!” Lilas giggled, holding her belly with her hand, “Ye’re makin’ me laugh too hard.”

“I’m sorry, Lilas--I’ll stop.” Pippin had all but forgotten about Lilas being ill. Jesting was just one way of his wanting to make her feel better.

Rosebud began to fuss a little; her fist didn’t quite seem to be doing the trick. Pippin handed the baby to Lilas, “I’ll let you wrap her in the blankets, while I go and get the cradle from the sitting room.”

“That’s fine, but she may want t’ fill up her corners a bit before taking another nap.”

Pippin brought the cradle back into the bedroom, setting it on the floor right beside Lilas’ side of the bed. “It’s not quite suppertime for her, is it?”

“No, but I think she takes after yer side of the family when it comes t’ eatin’.” Pippin couldn’t deny that, watching the baby snuggle up to momma.

“How are you feeling?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, then felt Lilas’ forehead. “Still warm.”

“I’m fine for now,” she answered. “Just a wee headache.”

Just then a faint knock was heard on the outer door in the sitting room. Pippin made no move to get up. “Aren’t ye going t’ answer that?” Lilas asked him.

“Either they’ll go away, or, if they’re family, they’ll help themselves inside.”

Sure enough, Eglantine’s voice could be heard just beyond the bedroom door. “Is it all right if we come in?”

“Who’s with you?” asked Pippin, protective of his nursing wife.

“I’ve brought Cassia with me.”

“Yes!” Pippin nearly jumped off the bed to greet his mother and the midwife as they entered the bedroom. He gave full account of his and Lilas’ day.

“Very well, Pippin, but will you excuse us while I look at Lilas?”

Pippin nodded, then went to wait in the sitting room. Closing the door behind him, Pippin saw his father and Merimas both sitting on the couch. He sat down quietly in the chair, wondering why they had accompanied his mother and Cassia. Ten minutes later, Cassia emerged from the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “Mr. Merimas, may I speak with you out in the hallway?” Merimas rose up, following the midwife outside.

“It’s just as you said,” Cassia spoke suddenly when she heard the outer door shut. “No sign of a head cold, just a fever, a headache, and cramping. I can eliminate the other illness you were speaking of earlier; there was something else in her symptoms that told me she has the Fever. She definitely has it.”

Merimas said nothing. He leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. “He has to know.”

“We really should wait until tomorrow when we can truly say its not any food that she ate today.”

“No, he ought to be told everything right now,” Merimas replied firmly. “If I were in his place, I would want to know if Pervinca was…ill.”

Cassia also leaned against the wall. “I truly hate this part of my vocation.”

“Me, too.” Neither healer nor midwife spoke for a long minute. Finally, Cassia went to the door, opening it, she asked for Pippin to join her and Merimas in the hallway. Unknown to Pippin, Paladin trailed him out there.

When the door shut, Pippin had seen that his father had followed, then saw the solemn expressions on the faces of the other two. He felt his heart quicken, his legs became like bags of sand. But he said nothing.

Merimas looked away as Cassia’s professional manner took over. “Pippin, Merimas and I have come to the conclusion that unless Lilas produces other consequences of ingesting rancid food earlier today, then there is only one other illness that she could possibly have.”

Pippin glanced from midwife to healer. “What illness is that?”

“I believe she has contracted the Fever--an infection that occurs in the womb a few days after a hobbit-woman has given birth. It doesn’t affect every hobbit-woman. Perhaps one hobbit out of every hundred or so. Sometimes it shows up immediately while in others it may take as long as a week.”

“Is there something that I can do to help?”

Merimas softly replied, “All we can do is make her as comfortable as possible.”

Trying not to sound like he was becoming alarmed, Pippin asked, “But--but if its not the food, then when will she get better?” No one answered. Now he was definitely alarmed. Pippin shuffled nervously from one foot to the other while he tried to think of questions to ask, but none came. His heart started to pound as he figured out what they were not saying. His eyes started to well with tears, his voice cracking with emotion, “Wh-why do I get the feeling that she’s not going to get any better?” Sniffling, Pippin wiped his eyes then started for the door.

“No! Pippin!” Merimas grabbed for Pippin.

“Let go of me!” Pippin cried, tears streaming freely down his face.

“You can’t go back in there upset like this!” Paladin also had a hold of Pippin. “you won’t do any good by getting Lilas upset as well.”

“Let go of me!” Pippin tried wrestling out of their grasp, but even as tall as he was, he was still a slim lad--easily taken down by two grown, healthy hobbits. “Let--go--of--!” The tween resigned himself to being carried by his father and brother-in-law into Merimas’ guest suite. Cassia left the lads to deal with Pippin while she went back inside the apartment to help see to Lilas’ comfort.

Inside Merimas and Pervinca’s suite, Pippin lay upon the couch with his face towards the back, sobbing a torrent of tears. “Why?” he weeped. “Why her--why Lilas?”

“The Fever knows no boundaries, Pippin. It strikes the wealthy, the poor, the young, and even ladies who have already had a few children.” Merimas sat wearily in the chair of his suite. Paladin sat in the other. “We won’t know for certain until tomorrow.”

“Cassia seemed quite certain in her words.” Pippin sniffed, suddenly turning to face them with red nose and cheeks, “Was it something that I did? I probably helped bring it on by taking her outside today.”

“There was nothing that you did, son,” Paladin said sadly. “There was nothing that any of us did.”

“Then I don’t understand,” Pippin argued. “I don’t understand how she got this illness if no one gave it to her.”

“This type of sickness isn’t passed around like a head cold,” explained Merimas. “It doesn’t only attack the womb; infections attack any open wound within or upon a hobbit’s body. When it enters a external wound, at least then we can try to alleviate the infection, though it may not always work. When the wound is internal, there is little that we can do.”

Pippin lay upon the couch, curled up with a pillow, sobbing his heart out--his heart breaking at the thought of Lilas. Paladin got up, sitting on the edge of the couch, he pulled Pippin up to sit, then enveloped him in his arms, weeping right along with his son. “I’m so sorry, Pip.”

Pippin’s thoughts went back to the garden earlier that day, sharing laughter and kisses with Lilas. In his mind’s eye, not a week ago he was again being gently shoved away by this very lass so that he could see their precious daughter being born. He was again in his father’s lettuce patch, sweaty and dirty--but willing to search for the perfect head of lettuce for Lilas. Pippin relived every sweet moment he and Lilas shared over the past several months. When exactly did she capture his affections? For all that he wasn’t in love with her, why did his heart feel like it was being torn in two? Then he recalled what Pimpernel told him several months ago in Whitwell. It made him cry even more, now realizing he could very well be experiencing the very same thing.

TBC

Chapter Thirty Six - The Pieces of My Heart

Lilas woke up hearing the soft cry of her baby daughter--ready for yet another feeding. Her mother sat in the chair cradling the infant in her arms while rocking her, softly humming a lullaby. When Lilas was fully awake, Lilly gently gave the baby to Lilas.

‘How long as she been cryin’?” Lilas asked, taking her baby to nurse.

“Not long,” answered Lilly. Lilly had been notified of her daughter’s condition the evening before. Saborra had been visiting her sister until the wee hours, but then slept out on the couch when it got too late.

Lilas kissed her daughter, then gave her a tender hug before feeding her, “Its all right, love--yer Ma’s awake now.” Rosebud quieted down as her momma held her--and also sensing food was about to arrive. Lilas smiled wearily, “Most times I’m up before she is.”

Eglantine sat in the other chair, having woke up while Rosebud was crying. “Well,” she smiled, “sometimes we need those extra few minutes--especially when the momma is ill herself.”

Lilas looked around the bedroom, “Where’s Pippin? The last time I saw him was when Cassia and ye came t’ visit.”

Eglantine rubbed her back as she stood up. “He’s with his father and Merimas.”

Lilas looked at the clock on the wall; it was a quarter past seven--in the morning. She knew it by the light of dawn seeping through the bedroom window. “Was it another lads’…night out?” Lilas asked, yet she was halfway through her sentence when she heard the outer door lightly open and close, but no one came into the bedroom.

“No, Lilas, he just needed to talk to them is all,” Eglantine answered, kissing Lilas on her brow. “I’m going to my own rooms to wash up for breakfast. I’ll be back to check on you a little later, all right?”

Pippin quietly stepped back into his apartment, having talked and cried throughout the night with his father. One of the many things they talked about was whether he should he tell her, and if so, how? His own reasoning was--why not let her last days be happy--ones without the horror of knowing that they would be few. In addition, they talked about the other “tasks” that would need seeing to. In the sitting room, Pippin rubbed his tired, swollen eyes, sinking deep into the chair to think things over. It was then that he noticed Saborra sleeping on the couch.

Pippin felt somewhat awkward sitting there while his young sister-in-law slept. He heard Rosebud begin to cry inside the bedroom then heard a muffled voice comforting her. Before contemplating anything further, he decided to look in on his family. He rose from the chair when his mother came out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“Is Lilas awake?” Pippin asked, meeting her halfway.

“Yes, she’s feeding Rosebud now,” said Eglantine. “Lilly is in with her.” She watched him stare at some unknown fixture in the apartment. He looked so weary. “She was just asking about you.”

“And what should I say to her?” asked Pippin, though it was a mere reflection of his own thought.

“The truth,” answered his mother. “She’s stronger than you think.”

“Has she vomited…or anything else?”

“No.” Eglantine replied. She had just been through this crisis a year ago with her daughter Pimernel, now she was going through it yet again with her son. Eglantine admitted to herself that for all the misgivings and shaky beginning, she had grown to love the tween-aged lass who grew up across the Water. The young Broadhammer from Hobbiton brought fresh air to the stuffy Smials even though she had not the remotest drop of Took, Brandybuck, or Baggins blood in her. It didn’t take long for her to become a favorite among the serving staff. Lilas possessed an indomitable spirit, and like her young husband, could charm the milk out of a cow.

Pippin looked at his mother with sorrowful eyes. “I need to talk to her--alone, if you please.”

“Very well,” she said, kissing Pippin. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”

Pippin remained staining in the middle of the sitting room, listening to the quiet; his thoughts sprinkled here and there among the roomful of memories of Lilas. He gazed at the bookcase that contained a growing number of children’s--books that Lilas and Gelly would often read together. The tablet and lead-stick that she used to write down a list of prospective nurses still lay upon the table. He smiled sadly to himself; Lilas wanted to personally interview each one. A game of Draughts, set and ready to play, sat atop a small board near the hearth. Ever since Merry taught Lilas the finer points of the game, she wanted to practice with Pippin at every opportunity until she felt she could win a game against her brother, Dabo.

“Hullo.”

Pippin startled at the voice. “Good morning, Saborra.”

The young lass sat up on the couch, wrapping herself in the quilt her own mother covered her with during the night. “I s’pose it is,” she replied, gawking at the private chattel of her sister and brother-in-law. She had been in her sister’s apartment many times throughout the course of her visit, but the elaborate tapestries and furnishings still mesmerized the Hobbiton tween. Her eyes fell on Pippin’s sorrowful countenance. “Ye’re sad.”

“I am,” said Pippin. “And so are you.”

“I want my sister t’ get better.”

“As do I.”

Saborra took in a long, deep breath, “Our Pa needs t’ know.”

Up until the wooden chair the old hobbit built for Rosebud arrived earlier in the week, Pippin had nothing nice to say about Mr. Silas, yet held his tongue in the presence of Lilas--and her family. In his reckoning, Silas had rejected his eldest daughter not once, not twice, but three times within the past six months. Granted, Lilas had brought trouble upon herself the first time back in Afteryule, but in Pippin’s mind, he saw nothing of what Lilas did as a reason for continual rejection by a parent--one of the two persons in life that should love their child unconditionally. “I’ll ask my friends if they are willing to ride to Hobbiton to notify your father.”

“I’d go there myself if I knew the way.”

Pippin gave his young sister-in-law a weak smile. It seemed that a feisty character was something that she and Lilas shared. Yes, they were indeed sisters. “That won’t be necessary--that is, unless you want to accompany them.”

“I do!” Saborra suddenly jumped up. “When do we go?”

Pippin answered her, “Not just now--I have yet to ask them, remember? Also, you may want to eat breakfast first. It’s a long ride to your house.”

“I know--I’ll go eat breakfast right now.” Then Saborra called over her shoulder as she exited the apartment, “Don’t let them leave without me!”

“Good morning, Lilas,” Pippin said as he closed the bedroom door behind himself.” He had lingered in the sitting room for a while, contemplating on the grim days to come before summoning the courage to face Lilas.

“G’mornin’.” Rosebud just finished up her breakfast as Lilas reclined upon hers and Pippin’s pillows.

Lilas didn’t know what to think; if it wasn’t a lad’s night out, then what in the Shire would keep him out all night? Should she be angry, or should she be concerned? She decided the latter when her eyes met with his. “What’s wrong, Pippin?”

Pippin sat upon the bed next to his wife and daughter, “Nothing,” he answered, then looked away.

“Ye’re a terrible liar,” said Lilas. “Almost as bad as I am.” Pippin didn’t laugh or even break a smile. Rosebud was once again wrapped and warm in her blanket, getting settled into her cradle by her grandma. Lilas waited until her mother was done before posing her question. “Ma--would ye excuse me an’ Pippin?”

Lilly leaned down to kiss her own daughter, “Ye’re not needin’ anythin’?”

“No, ma--thank ye for staying.”

“No thanks needed, lass,” Lilly replied, giving her bravest smile. Though when Lilas wasn’t looking, Lilly glanced at her mournful son-in-law as she walked towards the door. Pippin held her gaze for a second, then looked away.

Once the door was shut, Lilas laid her hand upon Pippin’s arm, “What’s botherin’ ye? Ye might as well tell me, Pippin--ye know I’ll keep pressin’ ye until ye spill it all out.” She smiled when she spoke the last part, but then caught sight of tears welling in his eyes. Lilas grew serious, “Did I say or do something t’ upset ye?”

Pippin shook his head, wiping his tears with his hands. He had tried so hard to hold them back. He felt her fingers slip between his, taking his hand into her own.

Lilas couldn’t remember her husband looking so wretched. She held his hand and kissed it, “Talk t’ me, love.”

Pippin sighed, sniffling as he wondered where to begin. “Well,” he started in a soft, weak voice. “Merimas told me something yesterday that…” He stopped, fumbling for his next words.

Lilas looked towards Pippin, puzzled at his words. “Merimas told ye what?

“How’s your belly ache?” Pippin asked, avoiding a direct approach, though he strained to control his emotion in his voice.

“It’s not any worse,” she answered.

“But it’s not any better, right?”

Lilas shook her head in confusion, “What are ye gettin’ at, Pippin?”

Pippin sighed loudly, wiping his eyes again. “You’re very sick, Lilas.” There. It was about as blunt as he could be at the moment.

“I’ve been sick before,” she said. “It’ll pass.” Why was her beloved on the verge of tears? When Pippin turned to look at her, Lilas saw the dam of emotion waiting to burst forth in the depths of his green eyes. “Pippin?” Lilas returned his gaze, combing his curls with her fingers as she often did, then pulled him into a tender hug. Suddenly her stomach felt heavy; like the weight of a bag of sand, nauseating her. She lay her own face on Pippin’s shoulder as they embraced; they shook as he sobbed. Her own face became pallid, revealing a blank expression. After a moment she loosed her weeping husband, turned away from him, curling up into a fetal position, stunned at the realization. Her voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not gonna get well this time?”

“Lilas…” Pippin faltered, lying down next to her, holding her close, yet she said nothing. Her back was to him as they nestled together, and for a long time they lay in silence. Only when Rosebud awoke for elevenses did they stir from one another. Pippin tenderly kissed Lilas’ shoulder, “I’ll get her for you.” When he handed the baby to her, he noticed her own red eyes and nose. Both tweens had wept long together. Before totally relinquishing Rosebud, he leaned in to very gently kiss Lilas.

Whether he was “in” love with her or not was a moot point now. Pippin did know in his heart that he loved Lilas dearly--most especially as the mother of his child and a devoted companion--yet his heart was breaking all the same. His next words were every bit as truth: “I love you, Lilas.”

For a moment, a flicker of light danced in her soft, brown eyes, and just as quickly it was gone; her attention being given to her nursing daughter.

Lilas wiped her eyes with her free hand, “I am goin’ t’ get better, Pippin. Just watch and see.” Though deep in her heart she knew that this was just meager hope.

Meanwhile, Saborra waited on no one. That morning, after she ate a good breakfast, she enlisted the help of her eldest brother and Mister Meriadoc Brandybuck, who agreed to guide the siblings through the short-cut across the fields towards Hobbiton. Only Milas and Merry were proficient pony riders, however, that didn’t stop Saborra from keeping up with them--racing whenever possible. Along the way, Saborra rehearsed in her head what she would say to her father--and she would win the argument this time.

Pearl Took held the hand of her three-year-old daughter, Juniper, as they made their way towards the Smials’ kitchen. Approaching the doorway, they heard something drop and loudly clang inside the kitchen--and then some very not-so-nice language. “Pippin!” Pearl stood covering Juniper’s ears with her hands.

Pippin picked up the lid from the floor, letting out a grunt--out of frustration of his burned finger and of embarrassment at uttering vulgarity in front of his young niece. He took it to the water pump to rinse off.

“What are you trying to do?” she asked, fully entering the kitchen with her daughter. Sitting Juniper upon a high stool, Pearl poured her daughter a small mug of milk then set a plate of biscuits next to the mug. “Use both hands, Junie,” Pearl instructed, assisting the little faunt.

Still sucking on his burning finger, Pippin answered, “I’m trying to make a pot of chicken stew for Lilas. She wants to see if her grandmother’s stew will have the same effect on her as it had on me a couple months ago--but it’ll never get it done because I keep burning my fingers.”

Pearl, like the rest of Pippin’s dear family, had learned about the gravity of Lilas’ illness the evening before. Gazing about, she indeed saw the makings of a chicken stew were scattered all over the table. She remembered that Pippin had never been a neat cook. “That’s because you’re not concentrating. May I?” Pearl indicated she wanted the wooden spoon her brother held in his good hand. Taking it, she stirred the boiling contents inside the pot. “Smells good.” Then she used the spoon to taste the stew. “Not bad--though I think it’s missing something…”

“I put in all the seasoning that the recipe called for.”

Pearl took another taste, thinking hard this time. “Celery.” She walked up next to her brother to read the recipe. “See--right…there.” It took Pearl a second, but she understood the elementary cursive writing her young sister-in-law wrote--it helped to have three children of her own in which she had a hand in their learning to spell and write.

Pippin looked closely at the paper, “Oh. I thought she wrote “cellar”--as in, the vegetables are in the cellar.”

Pearl went down to the cellar, returning after she found the missing ingredient then quickly sliced it to add to the stew. She and Pippin stood in subdued reflection while the stew was cooking and Juniper ate her last biscuit.

Pearl loathed to ask this next question of her brother, but it was out of concern for her baby niece. “Have you given any thought as to what you will do with Rosebud?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Have you thought about finding a wet-nurse for Rosebud? You cannot wait until the last minute, Pip.”

Pippin felt his anxiety level rising again; that was one of the things his father brought up during their long talk in the night. That was yet another aspect of this unfolding drama that he did not want to face. “Why is everyone wanting to hasten things?! I don’t--” he stopped when he saw little Juniper gaping at him. He hadn’t noticed how loud his voice was getting with every word, and he certainly didn’t want to appear to be yelling at her momma. Pippin took in a calming breath before continuing. “I don’t think it’s needed just yet.”

Pearl also kept her voice low, “Don’t wait on this matter. Pretty soon Lilas is going to feel too sick to nurse your daughter. You can’t expect Rosebud to suddenly jump from her mother to a strange hobbit-woman in one feeding. Choosing a wet-nurse takes time, brother. Just because a woman is able to nurse doesn’t necessarily qualify her milk.”

“I don’t wish to talk about this right now,” he said tersely. “Please,” he added more softly.

Frustrated by her brother avoiding an important issue, Pearl went to the table to check on Juniper’s progress. The child’s mug was empty, along with the plate of biscuits. “Come along, love. Let’s leave Uncle Pippin to his stewing.” She met Pippin’s sharp glance as she led Juniper by the hand out of the kitchen.

“Mmm,” Lilas swallowed another spoonful of stew. “Almost as good as when I make it.” She smiled, though weakly, at Pippin when he looked at her. “I’m jesting, Pippin. It’s very good.” Her spirits rose a tad when Pippin walked in the room with a tray laden with the chicken stew, though her mood was still laced with a certain melancholy. Her hopes were placed on this pot of stew.

Pippin set his empty bowl on top of his night table. Digging into his breeches pocket he pulled out a folded bit of paper. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to a scribbled word.

Lilas glanced at the word on the paper, “Celery.”

“C-e-l-l-a-r-y? That’s not how it’s spelled,” Pippin grinned, doing his best to keep his wife in a light humor.

“That’s how I spell it,” Lilas grinned back, then set aside her half finished bowl. She brought her blankets up, snuggling next to Pippin.

Pippin gasped, nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt her icy hands slip under his shirt and touch is bare skin. He spoke through clenched teeth, “Come here, my little ice block, and get warm.”

“My hands and feet are freezin’,” she replied, nuzzling as close as she could. Just then a soft knock could be heard upon the bedroom door.

“Pip? Are you in there?”

It was Merry. Pippin knew Merry would not enter without his leave, but he had been informed that his cousin had left for Hobbiton with Saborra and Milas. Kissing Lilas’ dark red curls, he got up, “I’ll just be a moment.”

“Hurry back,” whispered Lilas as she nestled upon Pippin’s warm pillow.

Quietly opening the door, Pippin slipped out into the sitting room. “Is he here?”

“He is,” said Merry. “He’s with Lilly and Saborra outside in the hall. While you’re talking to them, I’ll find the caretaker to prepare one of the family suites for the Broadhammers.”

“Thank you, Merry.” Pippin let out a tense breath as he entered the sitting room. What would he say to the hobbit who had done nothing to help his daughter these past six months?

All of a sudden, Pippin felt Merry wrapping his arms around him. Merry spoke softly, “I’ m sorry, cousin.” When Merry broke away, his eyes glistened with tears. “We’re here for you, Pippin--Frodo and I. Anytime you want to talk or just sit in comfortable silence, we’re here.”

Pippin was indeed truly grateful for is friends. “Thanks.”

Merry held the door open for Lilly and Silas to enter, then shut the door as he left to conduct his own task. To Pippin, Mr. Silas had changed quite a bit. He seemed more bent, grayer along his hairline, with somber features on his face. Was this the result of his guilty conscience? He was almost looked too pathetic for Pippin to berate…almost. The young Took went straight to the point. “I won’t have you telling her anything except what a lovely daughter she is and how much she has made you happy all these years. You will not say anything to her that will make her feel inadequate.” He added more firmly, “You will apologize to Lilas for your behavior towards her--for sending her away from her family with no more than a piece of luggage and her wits. And you will tell her you’re sorry for not coming out of your room when we visited a few months ago.”

“Aye,” answered the humbled hobbit. He learned he had truly been a fool to send away his daughter. Lilas may have been the subject of conversation at the Green Dragon for a few weeks, but he had learned the hard way that the cold rejection of his flesh and blood was the topic of discussion all over the Westfarthing these past five months. “Can I see my daughter now…please?”

“Yes, you may.” Pippin stepped aside from his father-in-law’s path, allowing him to see Lilas for the first time since Afteryule, and his granddaughter for the first time ever.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Decisions

Pippin meandered through the long, winding tunnels of Great Smials while Lilas and her father smoothed things over back in their bedroom. Before he left them alone, Pippin set a bed warmer under the sheets to warm Lilas’ toes. When he kissed her brow, he felt just how warm her fever truly was. And it was not abating at all; she felt cold, and slept whenever she wasn’t feeding Rosebud or entertaining visitors. The ache in her belly remained with no sign of any other malady.

Pippin walked the tunnels until he happened upon his favorite hiding place from his early days living in the Smials--an old storeroom filled with mathoms. He entered the dark old room, sitting in one of the dusty chairs. His thoughts reflected upon his life. Everything he dreamed of for his little family seemed to have been washed away. His wife lay abed with an incurable illness…Rosebud would grow up without really knowing her mother. Pippin shook as he began to sob all over again. When his eyes couldn’t make any more tears, he sat up in the darkness, wiping his eyes, thinking about the coming days. Then his beautiful, baby Rosebud came to his mind. He stood up; there would be no more time for tears…for a while. Pearl was right; after Lilas, the first person he ought to be thinking about is Rosebud. Utter certainty hit him; he would be raising their daughter all alone. No, not completely alone, Pippin thought. His family would help him.

For once, Pippin carried a handkerchief with him and used it to clean his face before leaving the room. As he made his way back to his father’s tunnel, Pippin thought about his reaction over a year ago while he stood before the Black Gate; when the Mouth of Sauron held forth Frodo’s mithril vest and clothes as a token of Sauron’s wrath. Pippin forced himself to tuck his emotions deep inside until a later time when he could properly mourn his cousin. He didn’t like hiding his feelings then, and he didn’t want to do it again, but what else was he to do? He wanted to be a strength for Lilas as she grew more ill. When he wasn’t busy comforting his sick wife, his Tookish resolve would have to take over. After all, he still had a baby daughter to care for.

A few minutes later, he stood before a certain door, knocking upon it. “Hullo, Pippin--come in.” The stocky hobbit with dark brown hair who greeted Pippin was none other than his brother-in-law, Will Goodbody.

“Is Pearl here?” asked Pippin as he stepped through the entry.

“She’s in our bedroom showing a …gift to Pimpernel and Pervinca.” Will led Pippin to the bedroom then left the siblings alone for a bit.

Pervinca was the first to catch sight of their brother in the doorway. “I’m so sorry, Pip,” she whispered as she hugged him. Pimpernel had tears in her eyes as she joined in with her brother and sister. Pearl remained standing next to her bureau holding a bundle in her hands. She felt she had already stepped on her brother’s toes earlier in the kitchen, so Pearl was a bit wary of saying anything to him.

Pippin broke away from his sister, saying, “I came to apologize to Pearl for how I behaved earlier.”

Pearl came nearer, hugging her “little” brother, “And I apologize for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.”

“No Pearl, your nose was fine. You were right,” he said, eyeing the article in her hand, but said nothing. “I need to look out for my daughter--that is, now that Cassia’s speculation will come true.” He sighed, slippping his hands into his pockets before posing his next, more uncomfortable question. “Where do I start looking for a wet-nurse? What questions do I ask?” He looked at his sisters, “Does a lad even do this sort of thing?”

Pearl smiled, “Well, you’re not just any lad, Pip--you’re a father doing what’s right for his infant child.”

Pimpernel interrupted the conversation before it went further. “Half a moment--you’re searching for a wet-nurse?” she asked. Pippin and Pearl nodded together.

“Have you two forgotten that your other two siblings are each nursing their own baby? I can’t answer for Pervinca, but I think Hilly can manage sharing his supper with his cousin.”

“I think it boils down to if Rosebud is willing nurse from one or both of her aunties,” said Pervinca. “I think she is more familiar with you, Pim, being that you live here. She at least she’s familiar with your voice--but should Rosebud refuse you and be willing to nurse from me, then I--and Brody are most willing to share as well.”

Pearl smiled, “There you have it, Pippin. Have you talked to Lilas about all this, Pippin?”

“I haven’t been back in our apartment since her father arrived.”

“How was she feeling?”

Pippin gathered his thoughts for a moment. “She was tired, but in good spirits. Her cramping was about the same, but I don’t think it’s going to stay like that with her fever wearing on her. As you said earlier, I’m expecting Lilas to be too tired or too sick to nurse pretty soon.”

Pervinca asked, “Does Lilas know about…you know?” She gently rubbed his arm when he nodded. “Poor lad,” she said with compassion.

“I told her this morning,” he said.

Pimpernel inquired about her niece; “How is Rosebud? She’s not getting sick, is she?”

Pippin shook his head, “No.”

Pearl intervened, “I wouldn’t think so. I already asked Merimas about that, and he told me--for example--that if Lilas had caught a mere head cold, Rosebud would have gotten sick at the same time, or even before. Lilas’ milk is fine for now, but I can’t say for certain once her fever begins to rise.”

Silence enveloped the bedroom as the four siblings stood around in thought. “What’s that?” Pippin finally asked, pointing to the object in Pearl’s hand.

“Oh--I almost forgot I was still holding it.” Pearl said, then held up the “gift” Will referred to earlier. “I made it myself; it’s a gown for Rosebud to wear at her Name Blessing.”

Pippin gaped at the fine handiwork of his talented sister. The long, ceremonial gown was made of an ivory colored, silk fabric with brocade pattern; material obviously not available in the Shire. Lace was sewn along the bodice edge with two rows of lace at the hemline. The neckline and puffy short sleeves were trimmed with piping of the same silky cloth, as the lace would irritate the baby’s skin. Tiny white buttons decorating the length of the back for ease in clothing the babe. “Pearl!” he gasped. “It’s so…so…beautiful!”

“I was going to show it to Lilas,” said Pearl, “but now…it would be most inappropriate. Pervinca made the matching bonnet. I sent her the materials last week by Quick Post so she would have enough time to sew it.”

Pervinca went to the bed, moving a soft knitted baby blanket aside--made of an ivory colored yarn--revealing a small baby’s bonnet, made of the same fabric as the gown. The crown was trimmed in with lace and along the forefront of the brim. More silk piping decorated the inner edge of the brim and was long enough at each end to be tied loosely together under the infant’s chin to secure it. Pervinca held it out for Pippin to see. “I made this, while Pim knitted the blanket.”

Pippin stood gazing at the exquisitely made gown, bonnet, and blanket; imagining his Rosebud dressed in such finery. “Show it all to her,” he said suddenly, an idea forming in his head.

“Pippin--that would be cruel,” Pervinca chimed in. “A newborn’s Name Blessing is held at the end of their first month.”

The tween shook his head in response, “No it won’t be cruel--because there’s going to be a Name Blessing tonight. We can go talk to Lilas first, then I want to speak to father.”

While Pippin was alone in the storeroom and visiting his sisters, Lilas was deep in her own conversation with her father, Silas Broadhammer. The same hobbit who drove her to Great Smials four months ago, scolding her the entire way of how much of a disappointment she’d been. When Lilas saw him enter her bedroom, she wondered what his motivation was--having been hurt by his rejection in the past. However, deep inside, her troubled heart struck a chord; she understood why he was here. Even now, lying abed in the apartment she shared with her daughter and loving husband--who would one day be Took and Thain of the Shire--Lilas desperately desired the approval of her father. In recent months, she had learned her letters and numbers, she had learned to knit, she learned from her mother-in-law how to socialize at a party…but was this enough to gain her father’s acceptance? Would he notice her accomplishments? Would he see how much she had grown in heart and mind? Yet there was no bitterness in her voice when she greeted him. “Hullo, Pa.”

“Hullo, Lilie,” he answered, using the nickname he gave her as a little lass. He slowly took a seat in one of the bedside chairs. Lilly, his wife, remained sitting in the other chair next to the cradle, but said not a word.

Lilas watched her Pa’s bottom lip begin to tremble. He then rose up, going to Lilas he enveloped her in a hug, kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry, Lilie--for all I done t’ ye. I--”

“Shh,” Lilas said, still hugging her father. “It doesn’t matter now; none of it matters.”

Silas kissed his daughter, “I was…a fool, Lilie. I should never--”

“Pa!” Lilas gently admonished her father. “Have ye seen yer granddaughter?” She smiled watching her father look around the room, wiping his face with his handkerchief. “She’s in her cradle, here, Pa.” Lilas pointed downward on her side of the bed.

Silas walked over to where she was pointing; he stood mesmerized for a moment, his jaw slackened at the tiny infant lying in the cradle. “She’s a sight, she is! Beautiful, lit’le babe!” He bent over, gazing at the infant stirring out of her sleep.

“Now look a’what ye’ve gone an’ done,” said Lilly. “Ye’ve gone an’ woke’er up.” She gently took the babe, holding her as Silas drew closer. “Hullo, Miss Rosebud,” Lilly softly spoke, “meet grandpa Silas.”

“Hullo, Rosebud,” he greeted her, taking her into his arms.

Rosebud looked at the big hobbit who held her. He didn’t look like her mum, didn’t sound like her mum, nor smell like her mum--but her empty tummy was telling her that she wanted her mum. Rosebud was hungry, wet--not to mention her nap was cut short--and she was not happy about any of it. Screwing her little face into a scowl, she started to cry.

“The poor baby,” Lilly took back her granddaughter in her arms to soothe her.

“I think she’s wanting t’ eat,” offered Lilas. She held out her arms as her mother placed the crying babe in them. “And she’s needs changin’.”

“C’mon, Silas,” Lilly said, shooing her husband from behind towards the door. “Out with ye. While Rosebud is takin’ her meal, I’ll take ye back t’ the room t’ wash up. Wait for me in the sittin’ room or ye’ll get lost in these old tunnels.”

When she had shut the door, Lilly went back to where Lilas sat up on the bed to help her daughter change Rosebud’s nappy. Handing Lilas the box of powder and a clean cloth, she blurted out what had been growing on her mind. “What are ye goin’ t’ do about her, eh?”

Lilas wondered at her mother’s sudden question. “About who?”

“About ye’re daughter, Lilas. Ye’re baby ought t’ be the first thing on yer mind. Ye can’t long be feedin’ her yer own milk, gettin’ sicker an’ sicker.”

“I’m not sick!” Lilas shouted, then wished she hadn’t when she saw her mother’s face. “I mean…I’m not that sick…yet.” She placed a hungry Rosebud up to her breast, who latched on instantly.

“Say that t’ yerself when ye look int’ her lit’le face as ye feed her this time.” Lilly dropped the soiled cloth into the bin on her way to the door. “I’m goin t’ see yer Pa to our room t’ wash up, then I’ll be back.”

For a long while, Lilas sat staring pensively at the soft, auburn curls of her infant daughter. As Rosebud nursed, Lilas’ gaze drifted deep into her daughter’s dark eyes, that were not yet giving a distinct color. To Lilas, Rosebud’s eyes were pools of innocence, eagerly waiting for the day when they could see the green hills of Tuckborough from her bedroom window. In her mind, Lilas envisioned a young lass of about eight years, running heedless through a summer meadow with long tresses of auburn curls dancing freely behind her, laughing at the ticklish feel of the cool grass beneath her little feet.

Back in reality, Lilas’ eyes blurred with hot tears, realizing that she wasn’t with Rosebud in the meadow. Next, she tried to see the eight-year-old lass as a young hobbit-woman preparing to share her life with a young gentle-hobbit. Again, Lilas didn’t see herself among the celebrators. She saw Rosebud, Pippin, and his friends, but not herself. Lilas braved the weather of emotions flooding her so that Rosebud could continue nursing…but nursing for how much longer?

Pippin and his sisters quietly entered his apartment, each sister bearing the gift she made for their new niece. At once, they began whispering how Pippin should broach the idea.

“Pearl and I will go in first,” said Pippin, taking charge of the Took brigade. “We’ll call you in when we’re ready.”

“Listen!” Pimpernel indicated for quiet. “Do you hear it?” A moment went by without a sound, the others shook their heads. Suddenly, a deep sniffling sound emitted from the bedroom while another soft sigh was heard there in the sitting room.

“Lilas is crying,” said Pippin in a somber voice.

Pearl whirled around when another soft noise came from right behind her on the couch.

“Hullo,” said the smaller form, sitting up on the couch.

“Hullo, yourself!” answered Pearl. “Saborra?”

“Sorry--I didn’t mean t’ startle ye. My Ma is tendin’ t’ my Pa in our room,” Saborra glanced up at the siblings. “I came in t’ watch o’er my sister after our Ma left, but I got a headache from my pony ride earlier. Lilas told me t’ lie down on the bed,” then the young tween blushed, “but I felt funny lyin’ where Mr. Pippin slept, so I came out here.”

“You’re fine, Saborra,” said Pippin. If Lilas’ situation wasn’t so dire, he would be amused by his sister-in-law’s hesitancy--perhaps even tease her a bit. But no; there wasn’t much for him to smile about at present. Pippin offered, “Pervinca’s husband, Merimas, is a healer. His favorite concoction is a medicinal tea. I’ll--”

“I’ll go fetch him, brother,” said Pervinca, “you go in with Pearl and talk with your wife.” She turned towards the door and left.

“Do as your sister says and lie down for now,” instructed Pearl, “Pimpernel will sit out here with you until somebody returns bringing you a nice hot cup of tea soon. Pippin and I are going in to speak with Lilas. You’ll be fine out here.” Saborra nodded, leaning back against the couch pillows.

Pippin entered the bedroom with Pearl behind him. They saw Lilas sitting up in bed, cradling Rosebud while she nursed. “Hullo, Lilas,” he spoke softly, “I‘m going to sit here with you for the rest of the night, all right?”

Lilas looked at her husband drawing near, “Ye don’t have t’, ye know. I’m fine.”

Pippin sat upon the bed next to Lilas. Her pinkish nose and eyes gave away her true feelings. He tenderly swept his fingers across her face, wiping away her tears. “Maybe you are, but I want to make certain of it.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, enveloping her into a soft hug--as much as he could without interrupting Rosebud’s meal.

“I’m frightened, Pippin,” Lilas whispered into his ear.

“So am I,” he whispered in return, then kissed her. “We’ll be frightened together, all right?”

Pearl loathed to break the loving moment between the tween-agers, however, it was the nursing infant that was her primary concern. She cleared her throat to gain her brother’s attention. “Pippin..”

Glancing in Pearl’s direction, Pippin remembered the reason why his sister was there in the room. “Lilas…,” he started. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Lilas listened as Pippin and Pearl spoke about Rosebud’s imminent future. She began to weep all over again when they got to the part of finding a wet-nurse. In an odd way, Lilly’s departing words earlier prepared Lilas for this chat. Her reflective thoughts earlier drove home the truth of her situation. Deep inside, Lilas knew that it was for the best…for the sake of her baby. Still, it broke her heart nonetheless.

Rosebud began to fuss as she sensed her mother’s growing anxiety. Pippin took his daughter into his arms, hugging and kissing her. “Everything will be just fine, sweet Rosebud,” he spoke lovingly to his daughter. He carefully handed the baby over to his sister, “Will you hold her for a moment, please?” Pippin then took Lilas into his arms, cradling her as she sobbed into his shoulder. Consenting another lass to nurse her baby was one of the hardest decisions a mother could make. It was decided that the transition would begin in the morning; giving Lilas enough time to absorb everything. In addition, a very special ceremony was going to take place this evening. Pippin had not yet spoken to his father, but he had no doubt that The Took would make every effort to assist in his son’s endeavor.

TBC

Chapter Thirty Eight - By Your Side

Low murmuring permeated the sitting room of Pippin’s apartment while the hobbits waited for the Name Blessing to begin. More chairs were brought inside to accommodate the relatives--the ones who had been informed earlier that afternoon about the ceremony and were able to attend. Pippin’s sisters, cousins Frodo and Merry, and Lilas’ siblings all sat in the front rows. Three larger chairs sat in front of them; for Silas, Lilly, and Eglantine. As the guests waited, the Blessing participants were in the bedroom going over last minute details of the ritual.

“When do you want me to take Rosebud from you, father?” asked Pippin, sitting on the bed helping Lilas to dress their daughter in the beautiful gown made just for her. Nestled on her mummy’s shoulder, Rosebud made no fuss as her papa nervously fumbled with the tiny buttons on the back of her gown. She tried her best to gaze towards all the voices that she heard around her, but after a while gave up, opting to suck on her fist.

“You don’t take her,” Paladin grinned in reply. “Holding the infant while blessing him or her has been the privilege of every Took since the beginning of this time-honoured tradition.” He winked, “Give me a few proud moments with my granddaughter.” Suddenly, Paladin turned brusquely, looking here and there, “Where is it?”

“Where is what, dear?” inquired Eglantine.

“Yellow Skin,” Paladin replied. “I thought I laid it here on Pippin’s bureau.”

“No, father,” said Pippin. “I believe you gave it to Pearl to hold before coming in here. She’s to give it mother when she sits down, who will then hand it to me when you’ve finished blessing Rosebud.” Hearing his father breathe a sigh of relief, Pippin finished with the dreadful buttons, then placed the bonnet on Rosebud’s head. She started to whimper when he gently pulled her hand away from her mouth so he could tie the strings under her chin. At once, he gave the tiny lass her hand back when she started to cry; he’d have to work around it, however, the wee babe didn’t give her papa much room to work.

“Can I try?” As sick as she felt, Lilas couldn’t help but grin at her husband’s attempts to tie the bonnet. Pippin carefully held Rosebud in his lap while Lilas gave it a go. Pippin faced his father for a moment to receive more instruction about where he and Lilas were to stand during the ceremony. When he looked back round, the strings had been neatly tied under Rosebud’s chin--and she was no longer crying, presently sucking on her hand. He glanced in amazement at his wife, “How did you do that?”

“Tis a lass thing,” she smiled, taking their daughter and wrapping her in the knitted blanket Pimpernel had made. Lilas leaned in towards his ear, whispering, “My hands aren’t as big as yers--it was easier for me t’ do.”

Pippin gave Rosebud to Eglantine as he helped Lilas into the wheelchair. Taking the lap quilt Lilly held out to him, Pippin laid it over his wife’s legs.

“Is everyone ready?” Paladin asked, with one hand on the door handle.

“Half a moment, if you please, father,” answered Pippin, taking his place behind the wheelchair. He didn’t see Lilas slip her hand under the quilt to press in upon her painful belly. She didn’t want anyone to see.

However, Paladin saw her face go pale. “Are you all right, Lilas? We can always conduct the Blessing in private.”

“No, thank ye,” replied Lilas, now neatly tucking the lap quilt around her legs, “I’m fine.” The young mother was indeed guilty of one wee bit of vanity--her beautiful daughter. Wild ponies couldn’t drag her away from this rite of passage.

Pippin wheeled Lilas out to the sitting room as his father held the door open. Silas and Lilly quietly took their seats at the front; Eglantine joined them--as spectators--after she handed the baby over to Lilas. Paladin and Pippin stood before the assembly with Lilas sitting in the wheelchair next to Pippin. When the whispers died down, Pippin carefully took the baby out of Lilas’ arms, cradling Rosebud in his own, turning at an angle for a moment in such a way so that the crowd could see her. He was pleased to hear murmurings of approval; “ooohs” and “ahhs” reverberating throughout the room. When the room grew silent, Pippin handed his daughter over to the head of the Took clan for the blessing. With his hands now free, Pippin took Lilas’ hand in his, as they listened carefully to his father’s next words.

Paladin held his tiny granddaughter, taking a moment to collect himself before starting. Rosebud, dressed up in her Blessing gown, reminded Paladin of some Name Blessings that took place between thirty and forty years ago. Tears came to his eyes as he saw those same “children” now grown and sitting next to wee ones of their own.

“First, I wish to thank those who have come to together to help celebrate the birth of this babe. I will remind us all that in doing so, we are pledging our everlasting love and support to this child. When this child or her parents turn to us for guidance and support--by our symbol of promise today, we shall be obliged to give them that. If there are any among us that do not wish to fulfil this pledge, then I ask that you limit your participation to observance during the ceremony.” Paladin was bursting with pride, but the true reason of conducting the ritual--and so soon--was weighing on his heart. “Who is the mother and father of this infant?” The Took’s question was mere formality of the ritual.

“We are,” said Pippin and Lilas together.

“What are your names?”

“Peregrin Took,” stated Pippin. “Lilas Broadhammer-Took,” said Lilas.

“Very well,” answered Paladin, “and what is your baby’s name?”

Pippin gave a gentle squeeze to Lilas’ hand when they both spoke softly, stating their daughter’s name. “Her name is Rosebud.” Lilas dabbed the corners of her tearing eyes. Lilly, Eglantine, and Rosebud’s aunties were faring no better; they all were dabbing their eyes.

“Let it be known henceforth that this babe shall be called Rosebud Took.” Paladin gave a short nod to his wife, who handed Yellow Skin to the young couple. “Write her name and birthday under yours and Lilas’,” he instructed his son.

Pippin opened the official book containing the Took family Tree while Lilas held an ink jar, quill and a small blotting cloth she took from a table near to her. Finding his page, he began to write Rosebud’s name in its rightful place underneath his own. Depositing the writing articles on a nearby table, Pippin used a bookstand to prop an open Yellow Skin for all to see the new entry. Paladin then turned to his son and daughter-in-law. “Do you, Peregrin and Lilas, promise to raise this child with steadfast love and to protect her from all dangers?”

“We do,” they said.

“And you,” said Paladin, turning to the family and guests. “Do you promise to help this couple in the nurturing of Rosebud Took--to love her and protect her from all dangers?”

“We do,” replied the guests.

Paladin cradled his granddaughter ever so close as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes. “Rosebud Took, may you be blessed all your days in heart and home. May you be surrounded with love and warmth, sheltered in goodness, clothed in compassion, waxing in health, grace, and wisdom. May you be the delight of all who know you.” He whispered to a now sleeping babe, “You already are to me.”

Beset with dizziness several times during the ceremony, Lilas missed a good bit of Paladin’s blessing to her daughter. Surreptitiously, she again slid her hand under the lap quilt, with her hand pressing against the growing soreness in her belly. Lilas said nothing of the pain she was feeling as Paladin encouraged the guests to come up and congratulate the new parents.

After a good many relatives passed by to shake his hand or pat him on the shoulder, Pippin looked down at his wife sitting in the wheelchair to see how she was faring. He saw Lilas’ face was ashen; her hands shook as she embraced a distant Grubb cousin who was congratulating the couple. Pippin turned to look at his father, who was still holding Rosebud, proudly showing her off to the rest of the family. Pippin’s knees grew weak as he thought about what was to come with his young wife. Time stood still as he took his gaze back to Lilas, sitting at his side, who seemed like she was desperately trying not to double over. He gazed about the room as most of the guests stood around chatting with each other, seemingly oblivious to Lilas’ condition. His eyes met with Pearl’s; she looked alarmed--she noticed Lilas, too. Things became a blur as Pippin took Lilas up in his arms, leaving the wheelchair behind. “Open the door!” he shouted to Delia--Pearl’s oldest daughter, standing near the bedroom entryway.

Inside the bedroom, Pippin carefully laid his ill wife down on the bed. Immediately Lilas began to weep, curling into a ball of pain as her frantic husband shouted orders to find Merimas.

“I’m right here, Pippin,” Merimas called, rushing into the bedroom through a crowd of onlookers.

“It hurts,” Lilas cried, her jaw clenched.

“Do something!” Pippin implored the healer.

Pervinca ran into the room with a leather bag, handing it to her husband. “Come outside with me, Pip,” she said, taking her brother by the arm. Pervinca would often assist her husband with certain patients back at Brandy Hall; her natural compassion time and again soothed a sick child or anxious mother.

“No! I’m staying here,” Pippin answered, taking his arm back.

“Not this time, love. He can stay,” Merimas replied, speaking in Pippin’s defense. “Fetch me that water pitcher, if you please.” Grabbing a vial from inside his bag, Merimas quickly poured a measure of brown liquid into the glass on Lilas’ night table then filled it halfway with water from the carafe Pervinca handed him. “Have her drink all of this,” he said, giving Pippin the glass. “It will help ease the pain and allow her to sleep comfortably.”

Pippin took the glass, helping his wife into a sitting position so she wouldn’t choke while swallowing. “Come on, Lilas,” he coaxed her. “This will help you.”

Lilas drank the foul tasting substance, then again curled up against her husband, who was on the bed right beside her. Pippin’s own tears spilled over onto the bed linen as he kissed her head, rocking her in his arms. When will it all stop?, he cried within himself. Young Pippin had seen so much death that past year--and now his wife--dear friend and companion, lay in his arms dying a slow, painful death. He hoped beyond hope that the medicine would indeed take away her pain. Don’t let her suffer, he prayed.

Quietly, Merimas shooed the onlookers out of the doorway, shutting the door to give the tween-agers some privacy. “She will fall asleep shortly,” he said to Pippin, then he, too, left the room.

All through the night, Pippin allowed only his mother, Lilly, and Merimas into the bedroom. Each, in turn, would bring a fresh bowl of ice water for cooling cloths, or stay close by to run errands for the tween. Out in the sitting room waited the rest of the immediate family and closest friends of the young couple. Lilas slept somewhat peacefully, though her fever rose higher no matter what they did.

In the morning, Lilas woke up from her elixir-induced sleep, feeling tired, weak, and very hot. Next to her lay her loving husband of five months, dozing upon his pillows. Pippin stirred when the rhythm of his wife’s breathing changed. He greeted her with a tired smile. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like I’m not myself,” she answered wearily.

He felt the wet cloths to see if they needed to be changed. “Are you in any pain?”

Lilas looked around the room. “Where’s Rosebud? Who’s lookin’ after her?”

The lack of reply for his question wasn’t lost on Pippin. “I can get Merimas if you’re in any pain.”

“No--,” Lilas winced when she turned too fast. “I mean, not yet. But…where is she?”

Pippin couldn’t look his wife in the eye when he answered. “She’s…with Pimpernel,” he said.

“Nursing?”

It was Pippin’s turn to evade an answer. “I wouldn’t know exactly…”

“Pippin--tell me.”

He sighed, “I looked in on her an hour ago--she was nursing.” Pippin saw Lilas’ eyes well up with tears.

“It’s for the best,” she said after a moment, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“She put up a bit of a fuss,” said Pippin, wanting to make her feel better about it. “She wanted her momma, but…well, she eventually got very hungry.”

Lilas wiped her eyes, “At least she’s eatin’. I was worried over her.”

“Of course you are,” he spoke softly, holding her close, “you’re her mother.” Pippin felt Lilas stiffen in his arms. She closed her eyes as a wave of pain washed over her. “Is it bad?” he asked her.

Lilas took in a breath of air before answering. “It’s gettin’ there.”

“Merimas wants you to eat something before he gives you another dose of the medicine.”

“I’m really not hungry,” she said.

“Just eat a slice of toasted bread and a bit of jelly with me--please?”

“All right,” she gave in. Lilas could never say no to those bright green eyes…and yet the discomfort was wearing on her. She sighed, “But in the end, will it matter?”

Pippin tenderly took her chin in his hand, “It will matter to me and Rosebud.” His eyes held her gaze as he leaned down to gently kiss her.

She snuggled closer to Pippin as if his mere presence could ward off anything evil. When he was with her, she didn’t feel alone in this. “I love you, Pippin. Stay with me.”

“I will be here every second,” Pippin whispered his answer. They lay nestled together for a long while, to the point of Pippin thinking Lilas had fallen back to sleep.

Finally, she stirred, “I want t’ hold the baby.”

“I think we can arrange that,” Pippin said, then gave a beseeching glance towards his mother sitting nearby. Without a word, Eglantine rose up from her chair, exiting the bedroom. Some minutes later, she returned with a tray of toast, tea, and jam along with Pimpernel following behind, holding a crying babe. Once placed in the arms of her young mother, Rosebud settled down--hearing the sweet, comforting voice of her mum.

Lilas cuddled her infant daughter while sitting next to her husband. Not yet looking up at her sister-in-law, she asked, “Are ye…? I mean, were ye…” The tween sighed at her own lack of expression.

Pimpernel sat lightly on the bed, taking one of Lilas’ hands in her own. She confessed, “I fed Rosebud during the night and early this morning.” She paused to swallow the rising lump in her throat. “She’d rather nurse from you, of course--her own mother, but somehow…we were able to coax her. She won’t go hungry, Lilas.”

Lilas took her hand away from Pimpernel--to wipe her own tears away from her eyes. She finally looked at the hobbit-woman who would now nurse her daughter. “Thank ye--for not lettin’ a stranger-lass do this.” Pimpernel leaned towards her young sister-in-law, wrapping both arms around Lilas while she reciprocated with her one free arm. Both tearful mothers embraced; crying in mutual love for one another, and for Rosebud.

“Please…,” Lilas sniffed, “I want t’ be alone with Rosebud for a moment.”

“You really ought not to be by yourself right now,” said Pippin, also wiping his eyes.

“All right, Pippin--ye can stay, but ye’re the only one.”

Everyone left the bedroom save Pippin. After the door was shut, Lilas gave a sidelong look to her husband; she feared he may not understand the things that she was about to say. With a bit of trepidation, Lilas began to tell Rosebud how much she loved her--how such a wee lass could brighten up her life in the span of one very short week. Amid her tears, Lilas spoke to Rosebud of how much she would miss watching her grow up into a beautiful young tween.

Pippin said nothing--as this was supposed to be a private moment, but he did listen. He bit his lip as she continued to say goodbye to their daughter.

“I, um…,” she started again, “I’m sorry I didn’t get t’ give ye a sister or a brother.” As she spoke, Lilas combed Rosebud’s soft, auburn curls. “Keep an eye on yer Pa,” she whispered. “Help him t’ find another lass who’ll take good care of him. Don’t let him grow old alone.” Lilas tensed as a wave of pain washed through her belly.

Pippin rose from the bed, opening the door a crack, he called for Merimas. Lilas could hear low murmuring as she cradled Rosebud close. “I’m fi--,” she stopped, grimacing and holding her stomach as the pain became stronger. When it passed, she breathed in, “I’m all right, Pippin.”

“No, you’re not,” he answered, returning to the bed with the same vial of liquid Merimas poured into Lilas’ water glass the night before. Pippin saw that Lilas had eaten several bites of her toasted bread; that was good enough for him. He poured a small amount of the elixir into her tea, then added more honey. “Drink this,” he said. He watched Lilas hesitate, as if weighing a decision. “Lilas--please!”

Lilas shifted the babe in her arm, took the cup Pippin offered her, slowly drinking down all the tea. Pippin took the empty cup, set it aside, then nestled with his little family on the bed. Pippin looked on as Lilas caressed Rosebud’s forehead, her tiny fingers, the curve of her little nose. Comfortable in the arms of her mummy, Rosebud slept as Lilas traced the point of her ear, her jowls, chin, then lips. “I love ye, Rosebud--I always will,” Lilas sighed as she grew more and more relaxed; the pain beginning to fade.

Pippin lay next to Lilas, stroking her soft auburn tresses, watching her long eyelashes blink as she fixed her gaze on their daughter. He kissed her feverish head, “I love you, Lilas.” Those were the last words Lilas heard before falling into a deep slumber.

TBC

A/N: The two chapters I’ve posted today (39 & 40) are shorter than my normal ones. However, put together, they measure roughly the same length as one of the long chapters. In other words, I “split” a chapter because the views were too different to read as one chapter. Thank you to the faithful readers and reviewers--Loveofthering, Grey Wonderer, Carcilwen, Pervinca, Connie, Merrymagic, Pipspebble, Beruthiel--just to name a few--there are a LOT of you! I *never*, in my wildest dreams, ever thought this story would be enjoyed by so many. A very humble Thank you. I plan to give a huge Thank You “card” at the end of the story, naming all the readers who have been kind enough to stick with me and leave reviews.

Chapter Thirty Nine - Dearly and Beloved

The following day, Pippin sat staring into the flames of the hearth, as if hypnotized by the dancing embers that crackled, floating freely up into the dark void of the chimney. Stunned. That was a good description of how he felt. No…empty. Half empty. One-half of his life was gone. Tears glimmered upon his face as they fell down his cheeks, illumined by the golden fire light as he recalled the exuberant life of his dear Lilas.

She woke up twice after he gave her the tea the day before--her mind in a fog, not really knowing her surroundings--probably due to her high fever and the medicine Merimas would administer to ease the pain. Lilas may not have known her surroundings well, but she knew whether Pippin was at her side or not. Delirium took her late in the evening, then her exhausted body weakened more and more throughout the night.

This morning, he was there lying next to her when she drew in her last breath. It was a quarter past six when she died. At first, he said nothing to the healer, wanting to linger, gazing into her tranquil features, committing her face to memory. Pippin held Lilas in his arms for a long while, refusing to leave her side. Merimas finally sent for Paladin and Merry to take Pippin so that the women could tend to Lilas. “She’s just sleeping!” he cried while his father and Merry dragged him out into the sitting room.

“Pippin, look at me,” Paladin commanded, using his voice to calm his son. Fighting his own tears, he continued, “She’s not sleeping.”

The tea , Pippin chided himself, sitting in the chair, eyes fixed on the flames. He should have known better. Merimas was notorious amongst the family for his homemade concoctions. When Frodo handed him a cup of tea, Pippin should have suspected--but he didn’t. Merimas knew that Pippin wouldn’t accept the tea if he offered it, so he asked Frodo to give it to the fretful tween. Pippin didn’t sleep long--perhaps an hour or two. He was far too upset to let the tea do its work.

Had he even moved from this chair all day? Pippin couldn’t recall, except for a few trips to the privy. Did he remember to eat? He sighed. It didn’t matter. It matters t’ me!, Pippin heard a distant voice echo in his head, seeming to belong to his late wife. Rosebud stirred in his lap as he held her. He shifted her to his shoulder, covering her with one of the many baby blankets that Lilas knitted for her; worried that their baby wouldn’t have enough. He felt Rosebud rest her little head on his shoulder near his neck. He could hear her soft breathing as she settled in for another nap. Nap? It was completely dark inside the sitting room, except for the light emitted from the warm fire. It was dark outside, too. The young hobbit blinked his eyes as more tears flowed down his face; weariness covering him like a warm blanket. He heard a rustle of clothing next to him.

“It’s time for bed, Pip,” Merry spoke softly, crouching down next to the chair his cousin sat in. Pippin didn’t move, so Merry slowly reached for the baby. “Pimpernel is here with me,” he said, as Pippin allowed him to take Rosebud.

“It’s time for Rosebud to eat,” Pimpernel whispered, taking the sleeping infant from Merry. “Are you going to help him to his room?” she asked her cousin.

Merry nodded, now standing up. “Come on Pippin,” he urged his young friend, taking Pippin by the shoulder to help him stand.

Pippin felt like a puppet as he mechanically stood up for Merry. “This way,” he heard the elder cousin say, steering him towards the outer door.

“No.” Pippin said flatly. “I must say goodnight to her,” he said, turning out of Merry’s grasp.

Saying goodnight seemed harmless enough to Merry. At least Pippin wasn’t so out of sorts that he would argue to stay the night. Rather than start a disagreement, Merry let Pippin walk in the direction of his bedroom. “All right, but you’re sleeping in my room tonight.”

Walking into the bedroom, Pippin was struck by the piercing silence. The room held the fragrance of cinnamon and spices. In the bed, Lilas lay motionless upon her pillows; her arms resting on her stomach, seemingly asleep. Glowing in the candle light upon her wrist was the bracelet Pippin gave her as a betrothal gift--long after they were married. The ladies had bathed her body and washed her hair earlier in the day, dressing her in the fine gown that Pimpernel had given her to wear at their hasty wedding in Afteryule. Her long, auburn tresses were brushed and swept down over her shoulders. Rose petals had been sprinkled all over the bed and on the floor around it.

Tomorrow morning, friends and family would come and pay their last respects to his dear wife. At noontime, one of the servants would sound the bell of Great Smials as the family trailed the funeral bier to the Tooks’ ancestral graveyard a few miles away. A somber toll it would be; not like the exultant ringing a week ago when Rosebud was born.

Pippin bent down to kiss her brow, nearly recoiling at the coolness his lips felt. This wasn‘t Lilas--at least, not the lively lass he was married to. He whispered in her ear, “Goodbye Lilas. I love you.” Leaning towards the night table, he blew out the candle.

The following day, Pippin walked at the head of the line as a crowd of hobbits trailed behind him. In front of him was a pony-drawn wagon, upon which a long rectangular box had laid. Flowers still lay upon the empty wagon as it made its way back towards the Smials. Pippin could hear the sniffling of Lilly and his mother walking close behind him. Then he felt rain drops fall sporadically from the overcast sky on his head and shoulders, as if the Shire herself was mourning the loss of her dearly beloved, daughter.

Pippin entered the Smials’ main entrance, his face expressionless. He saw the large wreath hanging on the outside of the door, symbolizing a household in mourning. Making his way to his apartment, he hesitated turning the door handle when he saw yet another wreath had been placed upon on his own door. He lifted it up to read the sign behind it: “Pippin and Lilas Took” was written, with a more recent addition of “and Rosebud Took” under their names. Sighing, he dropped the wreath back in place, ignoring the sad reminder the placard held.

Inside his apartment, Pippin took off his dress-jacket, laying it over the back of the couch as he walked towards the hearth. The fire had burned down to ashes while he was away burying his wife. He put more firewood onto the grating, then stoked the ashes with kindling to build another fire. Unfastening the collar button on his shirt, he sank into the same chair that he occupied the night before. Once again he stared into the small flames licking up the new fuel. Pippin didn’t know exactly how much time had passed before he heard footfalls behind his outer door. The door handle twisted, then someone entered.

Merry set the tea tray down on the eating table then took the baby Pimpernel held out to him. “One of us will bring her to you when she gets hungry,” he said to her in a low voice. Pimpernel glanced towards her brother facing the fireplace. If anyone could lighten his downtrodden heart, it would be Merry. Those two had just spent well over a year travelling together, so if any two hobbits were the closest of friends, it was those two. She gave Merry’s arm a gentle squeeze before leaving to mind her own children.

Merry held his Rosebud carefully in one arm as he dragged over a table chair to sit in front of the fireplace next to Pippin. Once seated, he set her in his lap to face her father. “Isn’t this the cutest little dumpling you ever laid eyes on?” Merry asked, his voice soft amid the stillness of the room.

Pippin broke his stare to glance at his daughter, but said nothing.

“What was that?” Merry leaned closer to the infant, sucking on her hand again. “You want your old dad to smile?”

Pippin remained looking at his baby daughter, dark circles under his tweenaged eyes.

Merry knew he now had his friend’s attention. He shrugged apologetically to Pippin, “I don’t know where she gets this wild idea from, but she says she loves you.” Merry watched his young cousin blinking like an owl in the firelight. For a second he was afraid that he overdid it. “I brought a tea tray in with me.”

Pippin’s gaze was now fixed on little Rosebud sitting in her uncle’s lap; staring at her wispy auburn curls. “I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat, Pippin,” said Merry. “You missed tea and supper yesterday. Did you eat anything this morning?” Pippin didn’t answer. Merry rose from his chair, handing Rosebud to her father.

Pippin took her, cradling his daughter in his lap, watching her continue to suck on her hand. He could hear Merry fussing with teacups and spoons behind him. After a couple minutes, he returned with two cups of tea, setting one on the table next to Pippin’s chair. Going back for the plate of biscuits, Merry finally sat down with his own cup of tea, nibbling on one of the wafers. “So, what are you thinking right now?” Merry asked.

Knowing his closest friend wouldn’t leave him alone until he ate something, Pippin resignedly took a biscuit from the plate. “How much I failed her.”

Merry couldn’t believe what his ears just heard. “Failed who? Lilas?” Pippin didn’t answer, instead he bit into his wafer. “How could you have failed her? You loved her.”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied sadly. “At least, not how she deserved. In the beginning, I wanted nothing to do with her. I resented her.”

“Well,” Merry said, “you have to admit your beginnings weren’t exactly traditional.” Then he looked his friend in the eyes, “You may not have been in love with her, Pip, but you loved her the best way you knew how. We all loved her…and she loved you. She was happy with you. Don’t start blaming yourself.” From his vantage point, Merry saw tear drops fall into his cousin’s lap, barely touching his cheeks. Quick to push aside the tea table, Merry sat upon the armchair embracing his dearest friend.

“Merry?” said Pippin, sobbing into Merry’s shoulder. “I buried my wife today.”

“I know,” replied Merry, sharing Pippin’s tears, hugging him tight. “I know,” he sniffed, “everything will be all right.”

Chapter Forty - Starting Over

In the middle of the night, Pippin lay tossing and turning in his bed. His blankets twisted round him with every turn. At first, he thought he was too warm, so he opened the bedroom window, then shut it when the night noises put him on edge, keeping him awake even more. It had been well over a month since Lilas had passed away; Pippin figured he ought to be past the sleepless nights by now. He looked over the side of the bed at the infant sound asleep, nestled in her cradle. At least Rosebud was sleeping--she was finally starting to sleep through the night. The young tween gazed around the room as he lay in bed, his eyes resting on the wardrobe. Half of it still contained frocks and things that belonged to Lilas. He knew that there were also items out in the sitting room that had belonged to her. There needed to be some changes around here. Perhaps that would be the key to moving on with his life.

With a silent grumble, Pippin threw off the covers, getting up…for yet another night without sleep--or, at least, much of it. He walked over to the outer door and opened it up, removing the wreath that still hung upon it. Quietly, he shut the door then went over to the window sash, opening it long enough to fling it out into the dark void. He stood there for a moment, head down, feeling as if he had flung Lilas out the window instead of a wreath. The moment passed; when he looked up, his green eyes were still tired and worn, but they had a new resolve in them. Rosebud lost her momma--she couldn’t lose her papa, too.

An hour later, after searching the apartment for a box he could use, Pippin was rummaging through the wardrobe. He took out all of Lilas’ frocks--which weren’t many, and folded them neatly into the box. Next, he went over to her vanity, packing her mirror, hair combs and ribbons. He’d send the box to Hobbiton--to the Broadhammers. They could take of their daughter’s belongings that they wanted, then donate it to less fortunate hobbits.

Pippin had taken an early morning tea break when he heard Rosebud stirring in her cradle. He looked at the time; almost six o’clock. Had he been packing Lilas’ things for three hours? No, he thought, I’ve been sitting here at the table thinking for most of the time. Like many nights before this one, however, this night was different. This time he had a plan in his head. A plan to move forward; no more tears and no more pacing in the sitting room only to fall asleep at one of his father’s important meetings. Paladin insisted that his son stay away from his duties as the Thain’s assistant for a while, but Pippin argued that it was his duties that kept his mind occupied--that is, when he got a full night’s rest.

Pippin rose up out of his seat, shuffling towards the bedroom when the baby began to cry. “Papa’s coming, Rosebud.”

Rosebud stopped crying when she saw her papa bend down to pick her up out of that stifling cradle. She liked it when he snuggled her up to him, rocking her as he slowly walked. Her bottom lip stuck out to let him know things still weren’t quite where she wanted them.

“My little muffin is wet!” said Pippin, grabbing a clean nappy from the top of his bureau to change her. “As you are every single morning,” he added under his breath. He continued in a soft, singsong voice, “Did you have sweet dreams, love? You did? You must have because I can see the remains of faerie dust in your eyes.” Pippin tickled her chin with the corner of the baby blanket and was rewarded with the sweetest smile. He smiled back at her.

Rosebud loved to hear the voice of her papa--how he would talk to her and make her feel special. Feeling warm and dry, ready to greet the world, she gave him another smile. Pippin pulled her up to his shoulder, giving his daughter a soft hug then kissed her. “I love you, Rosebud.”

He carried her out to the sitting room to finish his tea before taking her to Pimpernel. “I’ll wager you’ll want breakfast--” Pippin was interrupted when he heard a knock on the door. “Now who could that be at this hour?” He drained his cup then went to answer the door. “Merry? Good morning.” Pippin thought Merry looked as haggard as he felt--and most assuredly looked as well. He sighed, “Dreams again?” Merry nodded as he stepped through the doorway.

“I just came to see if you were awake.” Though Merry knew his friend had had difficulties with sleeping of late.

“You want to talk?”

Merry shook his head, feeling that his cousin usually had to deal with his own troubled dreams, not to mention still mourning the loss of his wife.

“Well,” answered Pippin, “I should like to talk to you, if you don’t mind. I’ll only be a minute while I take Rosebud to her auntie for her morning meal.”

Merry waited in the sitting room of his cousin’s apartment, wondering what in Middle-earth Pippin would want to speak to him about so early in the day. He didn’t have long to worry; just as Pippin said, he was soon back inside the apartment--with his baby nephew in his arms and Gelly in tow.

“We sort of exchange children in the morning,” explained Pippin. “I usually get all three to accompany me to breakfast while Pim feeds Rosebud, but it seems Tilby got into his older brother’s paints when no one was looking. His nurse is still trying to get the stain off his hands,” said Pippin. Gelly sat dejectedly at his uncle’s table, glaring his displeasure at Tilby’s insolence.

“None of us seem to be doing too well this morning,” Merry said, observing the youngster. “Come on, Gel. You can ride me pig-a- back while we walk to your granddad’s dining room.” That seemed to appease the lad. “So what are you wanting to talk about?” he asked Pippin, hoisting Gelly onto his back.

“I’ve been thinking,” Pippin began, ironing out the plan as he spoke, though he didn’t know how his dearest friend would respond to it. “I…I need to get on--you know--move forward…without Lilas.” Merry listened, yet he said nothing in response as he walked beside Pippin. “I woke up during the night again, but this time it was different. I packed up Lilas’ things, Merry. I’m going to send them to her family in Hobbiton.” He looked at his cousin before continuing. “I can’t go forward until I change a few more things.”

“Like what?” Merry asked, adjusting his young “nephew” who was riding comfortably pig-a-back.

“Like…,” Pippin hesitated, “the nursery.”

Merry nearly choked. “Pippin, we just helped you to set it up for Rosebud.”

“I know that,” said Pippin, “and we--I appreciate it. But…”

“There are too many reminders?”

“Yes,” answered Pippin. “And I want you to move into it--that is, if you‘re willing.”

Merry stopped walking, gaping as his friend. “Pip--I can’t, I mean…that’s Rosebud’s room. I can’t take a room that belongs to a baby.”

“Yes, you can,” stated Pippin, holding a squirming Hilly in his arms while waiting for his cousin to catch up. “It’s just for a little while. Rosebud is already in with me--she’ll be sleeping in her cradle for some time yet. Admit it, cousin--you need this as much as I do, though for different reasons.”

The little group rounded a corner, passing by a hall table and mirror. Merry stopped to glance at the dark circles under his eyes. “For just a little while?”

“Just until you and I can manage on our own again--or until you and Stella are married.” Pippin grinned, then dispelled it, remembering Lilas’ prediction of the courtship. Lilas gave Merry six months ‘at the most’ before he proposed to Estella.

Merry gave Pippin a derisive look, “Let’s cross one bridge at a time, shall we?” But inwardly, he was glad that Pippin was beginning to heal. He sincerely wanted to be near his friend to help see him through the process of starting over.

“So, you’re saying ‘yes’?”

“I suppose I am,” Merry consented, once again shifting Gelly’s weight upon his back.

“Good! We’ll start right after breakfast.” Pippin felt a great heaviness lift from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

A/N¹ : I’m easing up on the tissues…for now.

Chapter Forty One - Pippin’s Day Out

Merry did move in with his cousin--lending a hand with Rosebud and generally helping his young cousin readjust to life. After seeing first-hand how the War affected the young tween, Merry knew that there would always be something lingering in Pippin’s heart that would remind him of Lilas. Pippin seemed to find comfort in the presence of his cousin, and Merry found solace in talking to Pippin about the dark nightmares that still plagued him--and Pippin.

Pippin spent most of the summer indoors, not yet ready to be social. Summer eventually gave way to the harvest season. Merry and Pimpernel were finally able to talk the young Took into attending the Harvest Fair. Pippin made the effort, but ended up going home after a few hours. He seemed to be answering the same questions over and over and over. “Yes, I’m doing fine, thank you,” he would answer one well-meaning relative, then turn around and speak it again to another. Pippin eventually tired of the inquiries. His excuse was that Rosebud was hungry and needed a nap, but it wasn’t too far from the truth. Pimpernel was at home caring for a four-year-old Tilby who had a tummy ache--having eaten too many sweets at the same fair the day before.

Today, it was the Autumn Festival. Once again, Pippin let his sister and cousin talk him into attending another social gathering. The event of the season, folks from all over the Westfarthing brought their best pastries and stews to the festival in celebration of the harvest’s abundant yield.

Pippin filled his lungs full of fresh air tinged with dried leaves, hot apple cider, and smoke from the open braziers. He and Merry ambled down the middle of two rows of large pavilions deciding which one to enter.

“Which shall it be?” said Merry, indicating to the tents on either side of them. Inside each tent were tables laden with pies, cakes, and a multitude of hobbits eager to consume the sweet fare.

Pippin’s eyes widened, licking his lips at the various selection of desserts laid out under each pavilion. “That one,” he answered his cousin.

“What made you choose this one?” Merry held open the flap of the tent so Pippin could easily push the pram inside the entryway.

“I saw a table full of lasses inside the other one,” said Pippin.

“Are you avoiding them?”

“Not really, Merry,” replied Pippin. “I’m just not…” He sighed, “all right, I suppose I am.”

Merry smiled, “Its all right to steer clear of them for a while yet--just don’t avoid them forever.”

Pippin purposely ignored his cousin’s remark. He didn’t feel ready to socialize with the lasses yet. In fact, Pippin was hesitant to allow himself to fall in love. What if the same thing that happened to Lilas happened again? Settling himself into a chair, Pippin took Rosebud out of her pram. For now, she was the center of his life; she depended on him for everything. Well--nearly everything. He wrapped her close in her blankets to ward off the chill air then made sure her bonnet was snug. He looked at her, half jesting, “Now behave yourself, young lady. We can’t have any of your food antics out here.”

Rosebud looked up at her papa with her big, green eyes as if to say, whatever do you mean? She laughed as he tickled her side then kissed her forehead.

“I’m going to having one of Pimpernel’s tarts,” said Merry. “She makes the best custard tarts--but don’t tell her I said that,” he cautioned, “or she’ll never let me live it down.”

“I won’t tell her--though it may cost you,” Pippin smirked.

“Cost me what?” asked Merry, grinning in response. He crossed his arms over his chest as he straightened to his full four-foot-six inches of height.

In times past, Pippin would see his cousin’s gesture as a playful dare and react accordingly. Today though, he went back to fussing about his daughter, answering in a meek voice, “Your friendship.” Pippin didn’t have the heart to exact a “fee” from his cousin--even if he was only jesting. Merry was one of the few hobbits who had helped him through his recent loss.

Merry’s impish grin turned into a genuine smile. He bent down, planting a tender kiss on top his cousin’s unruly curls, “You’ve always had that. Now what sort of tart--or pie--do you want?”

“I don’t think I shall have a tart or a slice of pie this time. I believe I have a taste for that honey cake.” Pippin pointed towards the desired dainty.

“An excellent choice,” Merry said, then left to purchase the wanted items.

“Again?” Pippin asked, feeling Rosebud grab at his hand to bite on his finger. It was something she was doing more and more lately. Pimpernel had told him the baby was showing signs of teething. At five and a half months, Pippin thought Rosebud was a bit young for teeth. When he checked the inside of her mouth, all he saw was red inflammation at the front on her lower gum. “My poor little lass,” he cuddled her close when she started to whimper. “There you go,” he said, giving her his finger to gnaw again. He turned to see his sister enter the pavilion.

“Oy! My feet are killing me!” Pimpernel plopped down into the chair next to her brother. Tilby followed his brother, whom she sent to fetch a plate of desserts for the three of them. She warned the boys, “Gel, watch your brother--and don’t let him even touch the dessert table!”

“What’s the matter, Pim?” asked Pippin, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not wanting to spend another night with a tummy ache?”

Pimpernel played with the little auburn curls sticking out from under Rosebud’s bonnet. “He’s going to have one anyway--he’s already eaten too much. Besides, little brother--you’ll get yours someday.”

“Where’s Hilly?”

“With mother and father--they’re strolling him in his pram. You know--the proud grandparents.” Pim smirked, “They’ll be searching for Rosebud soon.”

“Hullo, Pim,” Merry greeted his cousin, returning to the table with a custard tart and honey cake. “Can I get you anything before I sit down?”

“No thank you, Merry,” she answered. “Gelly went to get our plate. I see you spied my tarts,” she winked.

“He said your custard tarts are the best he’s ever tasted,” Pippin put in, then felt a kick under the table.

“Really?” There was an unmistakable gleam in her eye when she looked in her cousin’s direction. “Better than Estella’s?”

“Rosebud!” Pippin looked down to see his daughter had made a few craters in his slice of cake with her little fingers. She stuck the small chunks of cake in her mouth then drooled out what she didn’t want--all over the front of her dress. “You promised to behave yourself this time.” He took a cloth from the sack inside her pram, wiping her hands, face, and dress with it. “What am I going to do with you?”

This was the first time Pimpernel witnessed Rosebud’s…adventures in food tasting. “Pip? Have you been feeding her your food?”

“No--she simply takes it off my plate whether I want her to or not,” he said, then looked at his sister with deep concern. “She'll still nurse, right?”

“Uh--Pip.” Merry nudged his cousin next to him. While her papa’s attention was busy elsewhere, Rosebud had evidently decided her uncle’s tart looked enticing, too. A small hand print could be seen in part of the custard.

In spite of being caught in the very act, Rosebud focused on the task at hand--or on it. Her thin, wee eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as she ate the custard off her fingers. Then she held her hand up to Pippin as if to share her plunder. “Ay!” She smiled sweetly at her papa--just as her momma used to do. Pippin startled at the resemblance, then quickly recovered. He recalled how he could not resist a lovable smile from Lilas--nor could he do so nowadays from his beloved daughter. “You’re forgiven,” he said, kissing her head, then held on to her little arm as he attempted to wipe her sticky fingers. He explained to his sister, “She kept taking the green beans off my plate while Merry and I were eating our stew, but she didn’t eat them--she’d put one up to her mouth to taste it then drop it to the ground. Yesterday at supper she kept taking my roll.”

“Sounds like she’s just discovering what food is--what it feels like, what it tastes like. You shouldn’t give her everything she wants though. Keep your eye on her to make certain she doesn’t burn her hand on something hot, or eats something small enough that will make her choke. She still nurses, and will continue for some time yet, but as her teeth come in--and from the look of things, it isn’t too far off--you may want to give her something you know she’ll be able to chew and swallow. However,” she turned to look at Tilby trailing his brother as they approached the table, plate in hand. “I’d keep her away from the sweets for a while. When her first tooth comes in, try starting her on a bit of porridge.”

“She’s been taking food off our plates for almost a week,” Pippin admitted. “Merry and I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you would see it as a sign that she didn’t want to nurse anymore.”

“No,” Pimpernel assured him. “Remember, I’ve been through this three times. In fact, she reminds me of another young hobbit, who had a voracious appetite as a babe--and still does!”

“Surely, you don’t mean me.” A faint smile was on Pippin’s lips.

“Yes, I mean you--and that half-Took cousin of ours, too.”

Undaunted by a baby’s handprint in his custard, Merry forked another bite into his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pimpernel took Rosebud to hold her for a bit--to allow her papa to eat in peace. “Has she been coughing at all today?”

“No,” Pippin replied, and very grateful that she hadn’t. “I’ve kept her warm and wrapped up all day, but I don’t want to keep her outdoors for too much longer. I think we’ll head for home right after tea--I don’t want to take any chances.”

“I agree,” said Pimpernel. She feared that Rosebud was about to take the same route in infancy that her papa did. “Why don’t you lads take in the other sights of the festival while I find a secluded corner in this tent and feed Rosebud?” This was a way to give Pippin a rest and ensure Rosebud kept warm in a chilly environment.

“I don’t see why not,” said Merry. “How ‘bout it, Pip? We could take the boys to watch the games.”

Pippin’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to nurse Rosebud--in the middle of this tent full of hobbits?”

Pimpernel sighed, “Pip, I’ve done it before in the Smials with Hilly--I use one of the baby blankets for privacy.”

“All right then. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt--and I do think my wee lass is ready for her afternoon meal--not to mention the cake and custard might go down better with a bit of…” Pippin blushed, realizing his near slip of the tongue.

Pimpernel still loved to tease her brother. “Oh, go on, Pippin--you can say it!”

Pippin turned three different shades of red again, “No, I won’t--come on, Gelly…Tilby. Let’s go watch the three-legged race.”

After the three-legged race, the lads ventured over to see what games the smaller children were playing. Pippin and Merry were laughing as they watched the lads play a variation of tag--where the person tagged had to keep his hand on the part of his body where he was last tagged until he tagged the next person. Poor Tilby ran around in circles with his hand on his head trying to tag someone--anyone. Pippin saw Gelly purposely slow down to let his little brother tag him. The lads walked a leisurely pace as they made their way back to the dessert pavilion. Just before they reached the tent, Pippin heard his name called out behind him.

“Hullo, Pippin!”

All four turned to see who the caller was. Pippin sighed; another lass wanting to “greet” him. He didn’t mind the ones who merely stopped him to say hello, but there were a few who he felt had…intentions.

“Hullo, Larrea,” he said in response.

Larrea stopped to catch her breath; no need to seem desperate. “Hullo, Pippin…Merry.” She ignored the little ones. Not too far from the tent, Merry took the rude cue, “Come along, lads--certain folk should be seen and not heard.” Larrea didn’t feel insulted; she thought Merry meant his last remark towards the children. Gelly knew better though--he knew exactly how both his uncles felt about children.

“Shall we walk for a bit?”

Pippin squinted in the afternoon sun, “Well, I suppose once around the pavilions, but I can’t walk for too long.”

“Oh, are you under the weather today?”

“No,” Pippin smiled, “I just need to get back to the Smials directly after tea.”

“I’m having tea with my friends. Would you care to join me?” Larrea made her first attempt. Her lass-friends would be green with envy if she brought the Thain’s son to tea--and being recently widowed, he was once again available--or so that was what she assumed.

“Thank you, but I cannot,” Pippin answered.

“Very well,” Larrea smiled, “then we’ll just talk…for now.”

Pippin nearly choked at her statement.

“Where is she at?”

“Whom do you mean?”

“Your daughter--Rosie.”

“Her name is Rosebud, not Rosie.”

Oops. “Sorry.” 

Pippin upped the pace just a tad as they rounded the first corner--the sooner this walk was over with the better. “She’s with my sister,” he responded to her question.

“I’m sure that was a hard decision. It’s for the best though.”

“Pardon me?” Pippin didn’t know if he gasped from the pace he was setting, or Larrea’s statement.

“You know--it’s easier to catch a new lass that way.”

“Really? I wouldn’t know because I’m not trying to ‘catch’ a new lass. I’m just trying to raise my daughter--who lives with me, by the way.”

Larrea looked in the opposite direction of Pippin, rolling her eyes. Details, details. What will it take for him to wake up and smell the buttermilk? In Larrea’s mind, Pippin ought to be grateful for any lass who would be willing to take on a ready-made family. And he’d better hurry up--the older the baby gets, the less of a chance he’d have. “Don’t you employ a nurse? That would leave you plenty of time to--I mean, time for yourself.”

Pippin once again hastened the pace after the second corner. “I have just one child, Larrea. How difficult should it be for me to spend my free time with my only daughter?”

“Well, I suppose it’s not my place to tell you how to raise your child,” answered Larrea, trying to recover from yet another blunder. “I plan on hiring at least one nurse when I have children.”

You mean you plan to marry someone who can afford more than one nurse for your children!, thought Pippin. Thank the stars it won’t be me. He was relieved to finally turn the last corner.

Larrea knew she lost out on the prize catch of the Shire. She stopped before Pippin could quicken their steps again. She let out a breath, wiping perspiration from her brow, “That was…invigorating.” Dare I ask?, she thought to herself. “Shall we do this again sometime?”

When I’m old and grey, Pippin said to himself. “We’ll see,” he answered aloud. “Perhaps after I hire a nurse.” His eyes took on a distant reflection as recalled the decision he and Lilas made over not employing a nurse for their baby. He bowed as a gentlehobbit, “Good day, Larrea.” He turned and walked towards the door of the pavilion. Pippin met up with Gelly as he approached the door--where Merry took over with the lads earlier and abandoned him to Larrea.

Pippin swept the child up into his arms. “What are you doing out here, Gel?”

“Uncle Merry said that you’d need res…cu…ing.”

“Rescuing?” he laughed, kissing Gelly’s cheek. “That word is almost as big as you! You’re a very thoughtful lad, Gelly.”

After tea, the extended family gathered up, walking towards the Thain’s carriage to head home. Along the way they stopped at the confectioner’s table to purchase toffee apples for the older children, but when Hilly saw his brothers getting one, he had to have one, too. Pimpernel shared an apple with Hilly, though she would eat most of it. Then Rosebud took up whining where Hilly left off. If her cousins got one, then where was hers? From her pram, she reached out for Gelly’s apple, nearly knocking it out of his grasp. Pippin took her and held her snug in his arms.

“You can’t have an apple, Rosebud. You’re too little to eat it--not to mention you don’t even have teeth.” Large tears ran down her cheeks as she cried at the injustice of not having her own apple. Pippin was nearly in tears as he cuddled her close.

“What took you so long?” Paladin asked Pippin as he entered the carriage. Rosebud was in her papa’s arms--smiling joyfully. In her fist she firmly held a small toffee apple as if it were her favorite toy.

“More lasses--but they wanted nothing to do with me,” Pippin replied. “They wanted to see Rosebud.”

Eglantine was shocked when she saw what her granddaughter held. “Pippin! You’re not going to let her have that, are you?”

He sat down between Merry and Pimpernel, “Well, I bought if for me, but I see no reason why I can’t let Rosebud think it’s hers for a while. When she begins to doze during the ride home, then it will inexplicably make its way into my hand.”

“You’ve always had a naughty streak, Pip,” Merry jested. “Taking a toffee apple from a baby!”

Pimpernel joined in the banter. “He’s going to end up like Tilby and be up all night with a tummy ache. You’ll end up with two babies to care for, mother--your own and his!”

“Will not,” said Pippin.

“Will!” answered Merry and Pimpernel in unison.

“Not!”

“Will!”

Listening to the repartee, Paladin eased himself back against the bench with his eyes closed, leaning his weary head on his wife’s shoulder. “I thought we were done raising our children, Tina.”

TBC

A/N² : I have to thank Connie for the “ready-made family” bit. It’s been niggling at the back of my mind ever since she made a comment about it in one of her more recent reviews. Thanks, Connie!

A/N: So sorry for not posting last week--it’s been hectic with the house. Please cross your fingers (pray) for Nov. 12^th. (The closing date for the sale.) Thank you for your patience!

Chapter Forty Two - Happy Yule

“Shh!” Pippin whispered, holding his finger to his mouth as he cautioned the infant. “This is a very important meeting, Muffin! There shall be no screaming, crying, talking, tantrums, or worst of all--laughing.” Rosebud looked at her father as he spoke solemnly. It was all gibberish to her, but as long as she was with papa, she was fine with whatever he was saying. Rosebud smiled at him, placing her wooden teething spoon up to her drooling mouth. “All right,” said Pippin, giving his daughter a kiss, “smiling is allowed.”

“Da!” Rosebud put her spoon up to her papa’s lips--surely he would want to share!

Pippin gently pushed the spoon away as they entered the Thain’s office. The drone of about twenty five voices filled his ears as he quietly slipped past his Uncle Adelard to sit in the chair in front of him--second from the last row. Pippin wanted to “blend” into the crowd--however, that would be near impossible with him being the only Took in the room holding a baby.

“Peregrin,” Paladin sighed, calling out to his son as he took his place behind his desk. “Were you not going to leave Rosebud with her auntie or grandmother?”

“Paladin, you old fool,” a grey-haired Adelard cackled from behind the young father. “The baby is fine where she’s at!” Sitting next to Adelard was cousin Fiodrin, who lived in Michel Delving; he assented with a nod.

“You know the rules, Pippin,” Paladin charged his son. “If she interrupts at all…”

“I know,” Pippin answered, timidly looking around at the stares he was receiving from other, less indulgent Tooks.

With that said, Paladin began the annual family meeting. It was held at this time every year to coincide with Yule--the time of year when most Tooks living abroad would return to the Smials for a brief visit; celebrating the Yuletide with a feast while keeping up with news of the various relations.

Things went smoothly for about…five minutes. Pippin heard the spoon drop to the mat on the floor. He bent over to pick it up, wiped it off on his shirt then gave it back to Rosebud. A few seconds later he heard it drop again. He repeated the process several times, picking it up, giving it to the baby. Rosebud was enthralled with this new game! I drop spoon, papa picks it up for me. The next time Pippin felt her lean over his arm to drop it yet again. He watched her purposely let it go, watching it fall to the mat. She looked back at him, clapping her hands together in pure delight.

“Rosebud!” Pippin whispered.

From where he stood speaking to the group, Paladin hesitated a moment, then went on, choosing to ignore the wee outburst. He could see Rosebud and knew exactly what she was doing--he’d been through the “drop & pick up” stage four times. He knew he’d be able to enjoy his granddaughter’s stage a little later, so he continued with the meeting.

Rosebud sat quietly in her papa’s lap gnawing her spoon for a while then grew bored watching the backs of chairs--she wanted to see what papa was seeing. “Uhhh,” she whimpered, arms and spoon held upwards.

Pippin could feel impatient eyes boring into him as he tended to his daughter. He quickly held Rosebud up against his shoulder to quiet her. “Shhh,” he whispered into her little pointed ear. He thought she was merely enjoying the sights behind them from her new vantage point, but then she started squirming in his arm. Pippin held her securely as she began to squirm more and more--he could feel Rosebud’s spoon-arm waving behind his head. Pippin cringed when he heard a wee bit of baby laughter… then whack! He turned in his chair, rubbing the back of his head--and just quick enough to catch Adelard and Fiodrin making smiley faces at Rosebud then abruptly straighten up in their seats as if they were innocent the whole time. Keeping a wary eye on the elder Tooks, Pippin turned back round in his seat, taking the spoon out of the baby’s hand, which Rosebud did not like at all.

“Aiiyy!” she shouted her protest, then began to cry…loudly.

Paladin stopped speaking, “Peregrin…I’m sorry.” All eyes turned towards the Thain’s son, who blushed with embarrassment from the fur on his feet all the way to the tips of his own pointy ears.

Minutes later, Pippin had Rosebud in his arms, walking into his apartment. “You realize that you got me kicked out of the most important meeting of the year, don’t you?” Pippin asked, though he knew she didn’t understand a word he spoke.

And the truth was…she didn’t. He did sound grouchy though--perhaps all he needed was to bite on her spoon and all would be better. Rosebud offered her spoon up to her papa again.

“I don’t want your spoon, Rosebud,” said Pippin, though a bit more firmly than he wanted. You ninny! She’s just a baby!, he scolded himself.

Too late. Rosebud’s bottom lip stuck out, tears welling in her eyes. Pippin sat down in the chair in front of the fireplace, holding her close to him, tenderly rubbing her curly head and back. “I’m so sorry, Rosebud,” Pippin spoke softly, his own eyes tearful with remorse. He cradled her in his arms, kissing her tears away. “It seems papa needs a nap--does my little Muffin need one, too?” Without really waiting for a reply, Pippin carried Rosebud over to the bed, laying her atop the blanket on the far side--next to the wall, then lay down on the bed to hem her in.

Rosebud had woke up once or twice crying in the night the week before; his solution was to have the bed pushed up against the wall in order to allow the baby to sleep along side him. His wardrobe and bureau also surrounded the bed. She seemed to like this arrangement and hadn’t woke up crying in the night since.

Before settling down himself, Pippin took away the huge pillow from above Rosebud’s head then covered the baby with her own blanket and a lap quilt. He covered himself with a spare blanket. Rosebud knew this was nap time for her, so she made no fuss as papa got in bed with her. She lay on her tummy sucking her thumb while papa leaned in to kiss her. “Sweet dreams, Rosebud--I love you.”

Propped in the corner, sitting between the headboard and wall was the rag doll that Lilas loved--and now belonged to Rosebud. He lay his daughter’s wooden spoon within her sight next to her then lay himself down to sleep, making a mental note to get a new spoon. Her wee teeth had gouged into the handle, which would eventually splinter the wood, making it unsafe for her to teethe on. She was currently on her third spoon. Pippin kept a handy supply in his bureau to swap while she was asleep.

Hours later, Pippin’s awareness rose to the surface as he heard coughing; it was Rosebud again. He expected it, but nothing truly prepares a young parent for a sick babe. He expected it in the way of her having been born pre-term, yet it took a toll on him just as well. His mother kept telling him this is how he was as a pre-term babe. A few days previous, Rosebud had yet another chest cold--which left Pippin still recovering from his own fatigue.

Pippin picked up the little baby, holding her up to his shoulder to help her catch her breath and let loose the thick phlegm in her chest. He wrapped her snug in his warm blanket then carried her over to the chair in front of the fireplace. They had been spending a lot of time there of late. During the winter months, in front of the hearth was warmest place in any apartment in the Smials. And there they sat together for a few minutes, allowing Rosebud to slowly awaken. Her coughing subsided the warmer her little body got.

Since becoming a widowed father, Pippin had learned how to hold a baby and work deftly with one arm or hand. On the table next to the chair, he uncorked a small bottle of aniseed, pouring a bit into a cup. He briefly rose up from the chair, taking the tea kettle from the hearth to pour into the same cup. He measured it only halfway so he could fill the rest with cool water. He next opened the honey jar, scooping two teaspoonfuls for the concoction. Pippin tested the warm tea mixture to ensure it wasn’t too hot. It was just right. On days--or nights--that her cough was too much, Pippin would break up some leaves of a special herb and boil them in water then set the kettle on the bedside table, filling the bedroom with the steamy aroma.

When she finished with her aniseed tea, Pippin showered her with kisses and tickled her chin to make her laugh. Rosebud had an infectious laugh; Pippin couldn’t help but laugh along with his daughter. “Are you hungry, Rosebud? It’s almost time for tea.” He turned towards the door, hearing it open. “Oh, look, Muffin--it’s the love-birds!”

Rosebud squealed with delight at seeing her Uncle Merry--her third favorite person in the world, coming after Auntie Pimpernel--for obvious reasons.

“Are you coming to tea, you loafer?” Merry teased back, sweeping Rosebud up into his arms.

Pippin grinned, “Don’t call my daughter a loafer!”

“I’m talking to you, my dear slacker,” answered Merry, then gave his undivided attention to his niece. “How’s my little Rosebud?”

“Hello, Pippin,” Estella smiled, greeting her cousin. “Are we still on for exchanging presents, then?”

Pippin sat back in his chair watching the couple amuse themselves with his daughter. “I have yet to wrap my gifts, but yes we are.”

“I wrapped yours long ago--right along with Rosebud’s,” said Merry with a wink. He was hoping little hints dropped here and there would perk up his young cousin just a bit more. “I got them in Bree!” he winked again.

Pippin indeed had brightened up this past month; was time truly a healer? Pippin seemed to be happier these days, getting back on his feet, so to speak. Merry felt comfortable with Pippin’s recent good humor, and as a result, finally got up the nerve to ask Estella for her hand in marriage. He was taking her home to Brandy Hall tomorrow morning to give the good news to his folks, accompanied by Fredegar--Estella’s brother, who had healed up nicely from his suffering last year in the lock-holes. “I’m going to miss her,” Merry spoke softly.

“Rosebud will miss you, too, but you’ll be back,” said Pippin. With an impish gleam in his eye, he added, “What you and Stella need to do is hurry up and get married so you can have your own daughter.”

Merry went red to the tips of his ears at Pippin’s remark. “Are you coming to tea or not?” he asked.

Later after tea, back in the apartment, three grown hobbits and a wee baby sat on the floor near the hearth with boxes set before them.

“That one is Uncle Merry’s, Rosebud,” said Pippin, taking one of the pretty boxes out of her reach. “We’ll open our presents first.”

“Ba!” Rosebud replied, pointing at the pretty box no longer in her grasp.

“This one is yours,” Merry announced, setting another box in front of the baby. “It’s from me and Stella.” In seconds, Rosebud had yanked at the bright yellow bow--untying the ribbon and had one end of it in her mouth.

“She’d be happy with just the ribbon,” laughed Estella.

“Trust me,” Merry put in, “I didn’t go all the way to Bree for a yellow ribbon.”

Pippin took the ribbon out Rosebud’s mouth then helped his wee daughter along with opening the box. “Merry!” Pippin exclaimed, “It’s….beautiful!” Rosebud’s first Yule gift was a finely crafted music box made of mithril. Pippin opened the decorative lid to find the inside was adorned with red velvet material. Upon the red velvet rested a small silver key used to wind up the music box.

“Well, she can’t really play with it now,” said Merry, “but at least she can enjoy the lovely music.” He showed Pippin where the keyhole was on the box.

Pippin turned the key a few times then listened to the tune for a moment. “It’s a lullaby,” Pippin smiled, starting to sing along with the music. Rosebud thought it was time for bed--she leaned back in her papa’s lap, sucking her thumb. “No, Muffin!” Pippin laughed, “if you sleep now, I’ll never get you to sleep later on--music box or not.”

“I’m glad she likes it,” said Merry.

Pippin lifted the baby up, handing her over to Merry, “She wants to thank you and Stella.”

Merry quickly took Rosebud into his arms, smothering her with kisses as she giggled her delight--basking in everyone’s attention. In the midst of her giggles she began to cough again. Merry immediately closed Rosebud’s blanket around her. He sighed, “She’s still coughing.”

“The poor lass,” Estella stroked Rosebud’s wispy curls as Merry held the babe.

Pippin responded, “Well, the worst of it is over--or so it seems. I gave Rosebud the medicine cousin Donnabelle told me to give her.”

“At least she’s not feverish,” Merry said, putting his hand to her forehead. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave for Buckland just yet.”

“Don’t you dare, Meriadoc!” Pippin shook a finger at his friend. “We’ll get on fine. Besides, in the past year, Aunt Essie and Uncle Sara have been left out of a wedding, missed a birth--and now is threatened to miss their only son’s betrothal announcement? Not while I draw breath!”

Still holding Rosebud, Merry reached one-handed behind Estella. He smiled as he held out another wrapped gift; this one was a leaf of paper rolled up like parchment and tied with a green ribbon. “This one is for you, Pippin--from me. Happy Yule.”

Pippin carefully took the gift from his cousin, unravelled the green ribbon then gently pulled as the edges came apart. “Merry!” Pippin drew in quick breath of pure wonder. Merry had the incredible talent of being able to draw just about anything with a little shaving of charcoal. Pippin gaped at the portrait of his baby daughter. “I don’t know what to say!”

“A mere ‘thank you’ would be appropriate,” Merry jested. “Until a few days ago, I never realized how difficult it was to get a seven-month-old to be still.” He leaned down to kiss his favorite niece, “It was soooo hard for you, wasn’t it?”

“She’ll be eight-months in a week,” Pippin reminded his roommate. “She was actually still for you?”

“For all of three seconds,” said Estella, who was an accomplice in the deal. “But I kept her busy with Lilas’ rag doll. She loves that dear old toy.”

Pippin smiled, recalling the sweet, open lass who was his wife--for a while. Sad memories took him back to the nursery--a few days before Rosebud was born. Lilas had made Pippin kiss the rag doll in effigy; making him promise to tell their baby how much he loved him/her every night before bed. Pippin’s thoughts came back to the present, replying to Estella, “Yes, she does. I was going to wait and give it to her on her first birthday, but as it is, she won’t go to bed without it. I don’t have the heart to hide it from her.”

Rosebud’s attention was on biting her wooden spoon as Merry held her face next to his. “How can you hide anything from this sweet little lass?” he said, then kissed her cheek.

Rosebud lifted the spoon to Merry’s lips, “Baba!”, then dropped it. “Deh,” she said, watching it tumble off her uncle to the floor.

Pippin chuckled, “It’s not hard at all when she continually drops whatever she has to the floor just to watch you pick it up.”

“Before you know it, Pip, she’ll be picking things up from the floor herself,” said Estella. “Babies grow up so fast.”

Pippin sighed at the prospect of his baby daughter growing up. “But she’ll always be my little lass.”

Several days later, on 2 Yule, Pippin woke up with anticipation of the new year; no more mourning or sadness as during the previous year. He stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about what lay ahead in the approaching months. Pippin turned his head towards the babe lying next to him in the bed, though her face was looking in the other direction. Throughout the night, Rosebud had inched closer and closer towards her papa; drawn by the warmth of his body. Just like your momma, he said to himself. He listened to her soft breaths for a minute then saw the corner of her eyelashes flutter. “Are you awake, Rosebud?” asked Pippin.

With a twist and a wriggle, Rosebud turned towards her father, looking up at him with bright green eyes. Pippin smiled at his beautiful daughter, “Good morning, Miss Took!” Rubbing the faerie sand from her eyes, Rosebud returned her papa’s smile. Then Pippin whispered, “Happy Yule!” Suddenly he remembered about the snow last night…

With the enthusiasm of a child, Pippin threw off his blankets, running towards the bedroom window to see if the new year was blessed. It was an old tale passed down from generation to generation of children that the Shire would be bountiful in the coming year if a new snow covered the ground the morning of 2 Yule. It was an ancient tale, and only believed by the very young until older, more “wiser” children came along to bestow their knowledge to the younger ones--but even as a tween, Pippin couldn’t help but feel the excitement in the air.

Halfway to the window, Pippin skidded to a stop, nearly forgetting about his own child still lying upon the bed. He dashed back to the bed to wrap her in a blanket, taking her to the window with him. There was snow! It wasn’t enough to cover every bit of the ground, but it was enough to declare that good things were going to happen in the Shire--in his life. One good thing he knew had already happened in his life was Rosebud. He couldn’t imagine his life before his sweet baby daughter arrived. In fact, if it wasn’t for her, he would have went to pieces after Lilas passed away late last spring.

“Look, Rosebud!” he pointed to the white flakes still falling outside the window, “Snow!”

“Eh,” Rosebud responded, but instead of looking at the snow, she was more intrigued with squeezing her father’s nose.

“No, Muffin,” Pippin laughed, “I said snow, not nose!”

Pippin washed Rosebud’s face and hands, changed her, then took her out to the sitting room to set her in her cot. He and Merry moved it out of the nursery for when they had to have their hands free for other tasks. It was situated near the hearth--since that’s where the cousins and Rosebud spent most of their time. Pippin stirred the burning embers with the poker then put more logs on the grate. Soon, the room was feeling very warm again. “All right, Miss Took,” he stood next to her cot, “It’s my turn to wash up now, then I’ll take you to Auntie Pim.”

Back in the bedroom, as Pippin filled the wash basin with water he heard Rosebud begin to cry. She had been doing this for a two weeks now; crying whenever he left the room, though Pippin didn’t understand why. He went back to the cot to soothe his daughter. “I’m only going to be a few minutes, love. I’ll be back.”

Pippin had plunged his hands into the cold water and had splashed his face when he heard Rosebud start to cry again. She didn’t sound injured or like she needed more sleep, but…she sounded needy. “I’ll be right--” he stopped. Oh, what’s the use, he said to himself, walking out to the cot again. Rosebud was still crying when her arms went up in the air. “Come here, Muffin,” Pippin lifted her up, speaking softly to her. “Papa’s right here.” He walked her around the apartment in his arms for a few minutes until her crying subsided, though he continued to wonder at her unrest.

At breakfast, Pippin blurted the question that had been burning on his mind since appeasing his daughter back in the apartment--when he scooted the cot into his bedroom so that he could finish washing. He spooned a bit of porridge into Rosebud’s mouth, asking, “Am I spoiling her?”

Pippin’s question took the grown-ups by surprise. Paladin looked around the table, “Hmm?”

“What do you mean by ‘spoiling’, son?” asked Eglantine.

He went into the morning’s adventure in washing for breakfast--and how Rosebud’s temperament had been building up to the present.

“You’re not spoiling her,” Pimpernel reassured him.

“She’s an eight month old baby, Pip,” said Eglantine. “She too young to be spoiled by you holding her.”

“It seems to me that Rosebud is at the separation age,” Paladin put in his advice.

“Separation age?” Pippin puzzled at their answers. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon--and neither is she.” Why were his parents and sister laughing?

“What father means, is that there is an invisible cord between you and Rosebud,” Pimpernel explained. “She feels safe when you’re holding her, or where she can see you.”

“But isn’t constantly holding her going to spoil her?” asked Pippin.

“No, son,” replied Eglantine, then added with a grin, “after all, you turned out just fine, didn’t you?”

Pippin understood his mother was saying that he was the same way as a baby. “I guess so,” he answered, looking at his sister for any sibling objections. Time to change the subject before she had a chance to.

“Did you see outside this morning, father?” Pippin asked excitedly.

“Yes, I did,” said Paladin, seeing the green sparkle in his son’s eyes. “It looks absolutely beautiful out there.”

Pippin smiled, “This is going to be a good year!”

“It is, indeed,” Paladin smiled.

“When are we going to get to open our presents?” Gelly asked.

“Never, if you don’t stop asking,” said Pimpernel, wiping dried sausage gravy from her son’s mouth. Then smiled, “After breakfast--we’re going to grandma and grandpa’s apartment.”

Later, in Paladin and Eglantine’s sitting room, sat five young Tooks near hearth playing with new Yule gifts. Gelly received a spinning top, Tilby got a ring-toss peg with four colourful rings, and Hilly got a dozen toy blocks to stack. Rosebud sat on a thick quilt near her papa, holding onto him with one hand while examining her gift with the other. Rosebud’s wooden blocks were a bit larger than Hilly’s and hollowed out for nesting inside one another. Needless to say, Rosebud had to taste-test all the gifts. At eighteen months, Hilly thought that was a great idea, so he helped out his younger cousin.

The biggest surprise of all was when the Broadhammers arrived that afternoon--weathering the snow to bring their granddaughter her Yule gift all the way from Hobbiton. Silas had handcrafted three other faunt-sized tea-chairs to go with the one he gave Rosebud when she was born--and a wee tea table of the same size to match.

Much later in Pippin’s apartment, an exhausted little lass finally fell asleep in her grandma Lilly’s lap. And what a day she had! As long as papa was nearby, Rosebud was content. Pippin said his goodbyes to the Lilly, Silas, and their family, bidding them to stay the night in the Smials. Once everyone had left, Pippin took his sleeping babe into the bedroom, putting her down on the far side of the bed, laying her momma’s rag doll close by. He smiled; she looked so innocent and beautiful. “Good night, Rosebud--I love you,” he whispered, tenderly kissing her auburn curls. “Happy Yule.”

- TBC

Chapter Forty Three - A Peculiar Place

“Why are you sitting in an empty parlor all alone?”

Pippin made no reply to his sister; his eyes remained staring at the ray of sunshine near his feet upon the mat. No good to let Pimpernel see him upset.

His sister entered fully into the room, her voice compassionate. “Merry told me you seemed troubled about something.”

“I’m fine,” answered Pippin, though his eyes had filled with tears. He sat in a large chair with his head facing down, his arm supporting his head to hide the sad expression his face held. After a moment, he heard the rustling of her frock as she stepped closer to his chair, holding out a handkerchief.

“Here,” she said, holding the cloth where her brother couldn’t help but see it.

“I don’t need a handkerchief,” he replied--just as a tear ran down his cheek, dropping onto his breeches for the entire world to see. Pippin reluctantly reached out and took the cloth, wiping his eyes.

“What else were you going to use then? Your shirt sleeve?” Pim asked, trying to lighten his mood. She took a seat in the chair on the other side of the table.

“I came out here because I wanted to be alone,” said Pippin a bit nasally.

“Why? You’re obviously upset about something,” she said in response. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Pippin sniffed, wiping his nose. “Not unless you can turn back time.” He threw caution to the wind--perhaps he should talk to someone about it before he exploded--verbally lashing out towards someone dear and innocent, like Rosebud or Merry.

“What are you talking about -- ‘turn back time’? I wish that I could. I’d turn it all the way back to before you left with your friends on your foreboding Quest.”

“Why all the way back there?”

“Because that little expedition of yours was the beginning of all sorts of trouble in the Shire--and in the Smials.” Pim drew in a long breath, remembering her dear husband, then chose her next words carefully. “I wish you and Merry had stayed here where you were needed.”

“I needed to be with Merry and Frodo,” said Pippin. “Trust me, Pim, we wouldn’t be sitting here having a nice conversation if I hadn’t.” Pippin wasn’t tooting his own horn; the fact was that his two most foolish moments on the Quest ended up for the good of all Middle-earth.

“I’m sorry, Pippin,” Pimpernel folded her arms across her chest, shuddering at the horrors she knew her little brother left untold. Pippin had confided a few stories with her before moving in with his cousin at Crickhollow. Pippin felt he had to say something in explanation for why he was plagued with so many nightmares. The stories he opted to tell her, he thought were rather harmless. However, after the traumas he experienced in the War, what he considered harmless, was not so harmless to her. She asked Pippin in turn, “Where would you turn the time back to?”

Pippin turned in his chair to face his sister. “To the night of the Battle,” he began. “I never intended to behave…improper that night, Pim. Thinking back, I’d walk on past the lot of lasses and not…well, you know.” He paused before going on. “But--if I did do that, then Rosebud wouldn’t be born--and I love her, Pim. I love her so much it hurts to see her struggle they way she does.”

“Struggling? How so?”

“First of all, she’s eleven months old--she ought to be trying to walk by now. Instead, she’s just now getting on all fours to crawl.”

“Who says she’s supposed to be walking?”

Pippin let out a long breath, “No one…in particular. And when Rosebud does crawl, she tires after a few feet.”

“Pip,” Pimpernel reached over the table, taking Pippin’s hand in hers to calm him, “you can’t go by what other people say about your child. I’ve had plenty of old matrons tell me how Gelly wasn’t talking soon enough or that I didn’t nurse Tilby long enough. One hobbit-woman had me so wound up I was in tears over why Gelly was such a quiet child. She said I wasn’t giving him enough attention. Mother finally got hold of me, telling me not to pay that woman any mind. Every child is different. Rosebud will try to walk in her own time. You also have to remember that she wasn’t supposed to be born until the last week of Thrimmidge. If she was born at the right time, how old would she be now?”

“Ten months.”

Pimpernel gave his hand a squeeze, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve yet to see a ten month old babe toddling after his mother--nor many eleven month olds, either. But I can tell you one thing.”

Pippin felt a little bit better. He wiped his eyes again, “What’s that?”

“That in many ways she’s just like her father.” Pim waited for Pippin to look in her direction. “She’s a very clever, precocious lass. In many instances, Pip, she’s every bit an eleven month old baby. When she’s not nursing, she’s chatting away to Hilly--who I think is the only person in the world who understands her. He tried to take her spoon from her yesterday, but she cried and told him ‘nuh!’,” Pimpernel chuckled, imitating her niece’s protest. “Of course I got it back for her, but she’s doesn’t take any nonsense from the boys. It’s as if they’re siblings.”

Pippin smiled briefly, “I do like the idea of her having three older brothers to look out for her, but…”

“But what?”

He sighed, gazing at the handkerchief in his hands, holding back yet more tears. “What do I do, Pim? She is constantly fighting off chest colds. Every night I set out a steaming kettle, while in the mornings and afternoons I give her aniseed tea. What more can I do? She doesn’t seem to be getting better--will she be like this her entire life?”

“I can’t answer your last question, Pip,” said Pimpernel. “No one can. All you can do is what we did with you when you were a babe; live one day to the next, doing the best you can, the very best you know how. Our entire family was there at Rosebud’s name blessing--pledging our support to help you and Lilas in nurturing her. We’re all here to help you whenever you need it.” Pim wiped away a tear, “You’re a good father, Pippin. It’s normal to worry over our children--it’s because we love them.”

Pippin began to weep, hot tears flowing down his face, “All I want is for my daughter to grow up strong and healthy.”

Sometime later, Pippin was wandered the web of tunnels in Great Smials, walking in no particular direction. He purposely steered clear of his apartment for the time being. Merry was inside keeping an eye on Rosebud, so he felt free to use this time to do some thinking. This was a rare occasion that Pippin didn’t have Rosebud in his arms. He folded them across his chest as he walked, feeling drained and miserable, his thoughts ever on his sick daughter back in the apartment. He decided to go back, as there was nothing else--other than worry--that he could do.

“Hullo, Pip,” called Everard from the farther end of the tunnel. Pippin startled, thinking he was alone.

“Hullo, Ev,” Pippin replied. “What are you doing?”

“Helping Reg store Little Reggie’s cot,” said Everard.

“Oh,” answered Pippin, remembering the faunt blessing his father attended to the week previous, then puzzled at the sound of heavy things tumbling inside the storage room. “Does he need help?”

Everard leaned lazily into the doorway, “Do you need any help, Reg?”

A muffled string of expletives was heard coming from deep inside the room. “I…stubbed my toe…on this wretched cot leg!” More noise of something being shoved.

Everard winked, “He’ll live. How are you faring?”

It seemed everyone knew Rosebud was ill again. Pippin shrugged, “I’m all right, I suppose.”

Everard studied his friend, knowing it wasn’t exactly the truth. His own daughter, Laurelie, had been sick once or twice, but never to the extent that Rosebud had been. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

“Scary?”

Everard leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “You never know with a young babe. Being a father is scary sometimes. Last week my wee lass almost choked on a bit of cork. Now that she’s walking, we can’t leave her alone even for a second.”

“That had to be frightening for you, Ev.”

“That’s what I mean by it all being scary. If you want to talk or something, just drop by my apartment.”

Pippin didn’t feel like talking at the moment, so he only nodded his head. “I…I need to get back.”

“Hope Rosebud--and you--are feeling much better later.”

“Thanks, Ev,” said Pippin, then continued on his trek through the tunnels.

Pippin felt a heavy cloud of gloom hanging in the air of his apartment as he entered. It had been close to two hours since he left Rosebud in the care of his cousin Merry. The sitting room was empty; he scanned the room and the alcove that served as his--and Merry’s office. It was quiet. He silently walked in the direction of Merry’s room. He gasped when he nearly collided with Donna belle - Everard and Reg’s eldest sister, and also served as the Smials’ healer.

“Shhh!” she whispered, using a finger to caution any sudden outburst from Pippin. “They’re finally asleep!”

“Rosebud and who?”

“Merry, you goose--who else!” She tilted his head back as if examining it. Dark circles shadowed his usually bright green eyes. “You look as if you could use a long nap yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. “How’s Rosebud?”

Donnabelle saw through to the real question of--why was the healer here? “You had just left when I arrived some time ago to check on your daughter,” she began. “Rosebud’s fever broke, then she promptly had a coughing fit in which she vomited all over your cousin. I cleaned her up and fed her some medicine while Merry went to take a bath. Merry and I had a quiet teatime before he decided he was tired. I’m glad he came to his senses--he looked as bad as you do now. They’re both sleeping peacefully now in his bed.” She reached out to hold Pippin back as started for Merry's bedroom - a worried look coming over his features. “They’ll be fine where they’re at, Pip. She’s too weak to be an active baby right now.” She gently turned him around in the direction of the eating table. “Why don’t we have a bit of tea ourselves?”

Pippin sat down, resting his head in his hands, sighing his despair. “She’ll always be weak, won’t she?”

Donnabelle was busy pouring them both tea. “Hmm?”

“Rosebud--she’ll always be too weak to run and play with other lasses her age. She’ll spend most of her childhood in bed nursing one sickness after another. She’ll always be smaller than the rest of her playmates--always trying to catch up to them.” Pippin looked up at her for any sign that he may be wrong in his assessment.

Donnabelle set Pippin’s cup before him, sitting down with her own across from him. “Pip…I remember what it was like for you while growing up. It doesn’t have to be like that for your daughter, but I can’t say one way or the other at this point. She’s too young.” She reached over the table, tenderly touching his arm to comfort him as his eyes brimmed with tears. She spoke softly, “Drink your tea--it’ll help you.”

Pippin drained his cup, then realized it had a familiar flavor. “Donnabelle Took-Boffin, did you put something in my tea?” Donnabelle didn’t answer her cousin, she continued straightening out the napkins and spoons near her teacup.

Pippin snapped at her, “Donna--how could you? I need to watch over my sick daughter!”

“You need to sleep if you want to do that properly!” she retorted in a hoarse whisper. “Neither you nor Merry have gotten enough of it these past few days--am I right?” Not waiting for an answer she went on, “As I said before, her fever has broken--and I will be here watching over all three of you until someone relieves me, or one of you two adults wake up.”

Pippin put his head to his hands again, running his fingers through his hair in irritation. His eyelids began to feel extremely heavy. Cursed tea! “I want to see her before I lie down.”

“Very well--just do it quietly, please.”

Once Pippin had looked in on his little one, satisfied that her fever was indeed gone, he shuffled back to his own bedroom, leaving Donnabelle in the sitting room to bide her time until he or Merry woke. Pippin lifted the blankets of his bed, nestling himself underneath as warmth enveloped him. He closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slowly drift off into the deep recesses of his mind….

Pippin found himself sitting on the edge of a bonny brook in the midst of a green meadow enjoying the feel of the cool water running past his feet. He eased himself back upon the grass to look up at the bright summer sky with puffs of white clouds sailing over the blue Shire sky. He looked to the right to where a coppice of trees stood with arms open wide, filled to the top in leaves of green. Birds twittered from treetop to treetop in air that was not too warm or too cool, but it had a lovely scent that tickled his nose. He smiled at the feeling of no cares upon his shoulders.

“Hullo!” said a cheery voice, just out of his eyesight.

Pippin sat up, turning to look at the speaker. It was a little girl of about eight years old; auburn curls flowing down her back with a red ribbon tied into a bow at the top of her head. She wore a yellow dress underneath a white pinafore with ruffles, and red flowers embroidered along the hemline. He knew within himself that this beautiful young lass was Rosebud. “Hullo, yourself!” he replied, watching as she precariously balanced herself upon a rock in the brook while the water splashed about her feet. “Rosebud, have a care--you’ll get sick!”

“That’s silly, papa!” she laughed at what she took as a jest. “I don’t get sick anymore.”

Pippin wondered at her words but said nothing in response.

“It’s been a long, long time since I got sick,” she stated firmly, then hopped onto the slippery bank. Rosebud shot out her arms towards her father when she nearly lost her footing.

Pippin quickly stood up, catching her flailing arms, pulling her into a comforting hug. “I’ve got you, my dear lass. Now be careful.”

Rosebud lovingly wrapped her arms around her father’s waist, never wanting to let go. “I will, papa.”

Pippin breathed in the fragrance of roses in his daughter’s hair as he embraced her. Then taking her hand in his, he spoke again, “This is a beautiful place--and a lovely day. Let’s go for a long walk along this brook.”

“All right,” she replied, smiling up at her father, “but first you must promise me something.”

“That’s an awfully big request, Muffin,” laughed Pippin; promises were taken very seriously, however, he was truly enjoying this time of intimacy with his young daughter - and loved indulging her. “What shall I promise you?”….

“Pippin!!”

Pippin woke up in his own bedroom to the sound of someone shouting his name--along with brilliant rays of sunshine pouring through the open drapes, stabbing into his eyes. He threw his hand over them to ward off the brightness.

“Are you awake, Pippin?”

“Father?” His voice full of sleep, Pippin rubbed his bleary eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his words revealing his anxiety over his young daughter. The fuzz in his mind cleared away, realizing his daughter was still a wee babe--he himself was still a tween. “How… where…?”

“Rosebud is fine, son,” Paladin quickly put in to allay Pippin’s fear. “You slept through supper last evening and now both breakfasts--Donnabelle was beginning to worry if she had put too much potion into your tea. I agreed, so I decided to wake you up to make sure you were all right.”

Pippin rubbed his face with his hands, “I had a very odd dream.”

“At least you didn’t wake up threatening anyone,” said Merry with a bit of humor, offering a breakfast tray to his dear friend.

“When did you wake up?” asked Pippin, now sitting up in his bed.

Merry gave his cousin a small grin, “I woke up at second breakfast. Far be it from me to miss out completely on two scrumptious meals.”

Just then, Pippin’s stomach began to make noises. Paladin smiled, knowing his lad was indeed all right.

Pippin looked from father to cousin, “Where’s Rosebud? Is she awake?”

“She is,” said his father. “She’s been basking in everyone’s attention all morning.”

“But she’s not been playing, has she?” Pippin asked sadly.

“Give her time, son. She needs time to recover from her illness,” he said. “If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be back to her normal self within a day.” He ruffled Pippin’s curls before going off to get his daughter for him.

“Merry?”

“Yes?” Merry poured a cup of milk for his friend as they talked.

“Did you…” Pippin began to ask then stopped in his thoughts, shoving a bit of bread into his mouth.

Merry looked at his cousin while helping himself to one the breakfast rolls. “Did I what?”

Pippin waited until he swallowed his bite of roll smothered in honey. “Did you have any sort of…odd dream last night? Nothing with Uruks in it or the Dark Lord, but…a nice one for a change.”

Merry puzzled at Pippin’s question, but shook his head. “I take it that you did. What was it about?”

“I’ve forgotten half of it already,” Pippin answered wistfully. “Rosebud was in it, though. It was in a peculiar place that we met; it looked like the Shire, but…it felt different - like no place I’ve ever been.” He stopped speaking to smile and greet his squealing baby, receiving her from his father, “Hullo, my Muffin!” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “No, you can’t have that,” he told her when she tried to grab at the piece of roll he had stuffed into his mouth. “Here, have your own bit,” he said, handing her a small chunk of bread.

Merry smiled, watching his baby niece slowly nibble away at the piece of bread. “She’s definitely a Took through and through.”

“Mey-mi,” Rosebud offered her uncle a squished, soggy bit of her bread.

“No, thank you, Rosebud,” he said, kindly declining her offer.

She next held the bread to up her father‘s mouth, “Ba-ba” - then went into a chattering spiel that only she understood.

For a moment in time, Pippin felt as if he was back in the meadow sitting next to the bubbling brook talking to an eight-year-old girl. He swallowed the lump in his throat, gaping at his beloved daughter. “Merry...did you hear what she said?”

TBC

Chapter Forty Four - Alone in the Dark

Pippin let Rosebud splash the water with her wooden spoon for another minute or so before lathering the wash cloth. He always enjoyed his daughter’s bath time near the warm hearth, which at all times had a fire in it to help keep the chill out of the apartment. He laughed as Rosebud squealed with glee at the sight of water drops rising into the air around her--and most of them landing on him. Pippin was getting soaked. He listened as she babbled…barely catching “Buh”, in her words which usually indicated she was talking about herself, “Rose-bud”. Lately, Pippin began recognizing a bit more of “Ba-ba”, which was the equivalent to Papa, “Meh-mi” was Uncle Merry, and “Pi-ma” was Auntie Pimpernel. That was the extent of labels for her closest, favorite people. Pippin understood her inflections and gestures more than the actual words. They sometimes helped him to know if she was asking a question or demanding something. He was getting the hang of it though. Like this morning at breakfast, she pointed to his glass saying, “Muh!” wanting a sip of his milk.

One of her favorite words--though not so new, was ‘no’. Later, after breakfast, when Pippin tried to feed her the aniseed tea, she vigorously shook her head, telling him ‘no’. No matter how sweetly he spoke to her, she shook her head. In the end, she repeatedly turned her head in every direction except the cup of tea. This worried Pippin greatly; Rosebud needed her medicine, how else now was he to coax her to drink the tea? He puzzled on this whenever time allowed. He’d have to ask Merimas what to do - later at the birthday party for Rosebud.

Pippin put his hand in the bathwater to check the temperature. It had grown tepid. He called out to his cousin sitting in the “office” alcove nearby. “Merry, could you please bring more hot water for Rosebud’s bath?”

Merry put down the piece of charcoal in his hand, “Sure.”

As his dear friend poured hot water from the steaming copper, Pippin kept his hand inside the tub to make certain the water didn’t get too hot for the baby. He noticed Merry glancing at his and Rosebud’s faces in a strange way. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” came Merry’s casual reply, “I’m pouring hot water into your daughter’s bath.”

Pippin smiled, “You’re not writing a letter to Stella--you’re drawing another portrait of Rosebud!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, you ninny hammer,” Merry retorted. Well…at least half of it should still be a surprise, he thought to himself. Truth of the matter was that he had already finished his love letter to his betrothed--who was staying with her mother in Budgeford for a couple weeks. Hanging the copper on its hook near the fire, Merry went back to the desk with a fresh picture of his subjects in his mind’s eye.

“I suppose it wouldn’t take long at all to write a bunch of X’s and a few O’s across the paper,” Pippin teased his cousin. He felt a wadded ball of paper deflect off his head.

Merry grinned impishly, “There were a few words I wrote.”

“I love you, Stella,” Pippin sang in a jesting manner. Another paper ball whizzed past him.

Rosebud pointed towards the paper balls on the mat in a demanding gesture. It was an obvious one for the young father. “After your bath, Muffin,” he replied firmly. “We can’t keep you forever in the water.”

“There! That’s the final touch,” said Pippin, leaning back just a bit to observe his handiwork. Over the past few months, as Rosebud’s hair grew long enough, Pippin became quite adept at putting frills in her hair. Today, for her birthday, he tied a red ribbon to a thin sprig of auburn curls on top of her head. Her dress was a pale pink with a pink satin sash to match. To Pippin, she looked every bit to be his very own wee faerie princess. “Your loyal subjects are out in the garden waiting for you, m’ lady,” Pippin bowed low. The “princess-in-waiting” smiled at her papa, biting on her wooden sceptre. Pippin, the proud father - Ernil i Pheriannath, took her up in his arms. “I love you, Rosebud. Happy birthday,” he said, then kissed her cheek. Rosebud reciprocated the tender feelings by reaching up to squeeze his nose. “No kiss for papa?” he asked, feigning a sad voice. Rosebud leaned forward to touch her smiling lips to her papa’s cheek. Not a real kiss by a long mile, but it was more than enough for Pippin. He enveloped Rosebud in his arms, hugging her.

“Your carriage awaits,” Merry announced from the doorway - bowing as he played along, having caught the last bit between his cousin and niece. Her pram was set behind him.

“Wait--I need to put her royal robes on her,” said Pippin, wrapping his daughter in a thick, pink baby blanket. The weather was fair and sunny on this wonderful Thrimmidge morning, but a touch of coolness remained in the air.

In the north garden, where the rose bushes were known to be in bloom, a large pavilion was set up near the veranda. Open braziers cooked the food that the various Took relations, Broadhammers, and guests would dine on. Paladin held a feast for each of his grandchildren on their first birthday, but no one blamed him if he went out a little more for Rosebud.

Resounding cheers met the threesome as they rounded the last bend of shrubs to greet the families. “Happy birthday, Rosebud!” they shouted in unison. Rosebud was quiet, sucking on her finger. She became a bit anxious as her father wheeled her into the waiting crowd containing unfamiliar hobbits. Well…most were unfamiliar. Inside her pram, she turned round to make sure papa was still there. Pippin gave her a huge smile--now she smiled. As long as Pippin was in view, she would be all right.

After the sumptuous dinner was finished, Pippin sat Rosebud in her high chair at the head of the table, her cousins sitting on either side of her. It was time for cake.

“Is everyone ready for cake and presents?” Paladin asked his grandchildren. He laughed, putting his hands to his ears as when they shouted all at once in their high, shrill voices. Wee lads and lasses devoured sweet cakes and plenty of other tasty treats in Rosebud’s honor. Hilly, Brody, and Rosebud were the slowest of the eaters, filling their mouths with a handful of cake and then taking five minutes to chew and swallow.

The birthday lass sat with an empty plate in front of her; cake crumbs in both hands, around her mouth, all over her pink dress, and in her hair. Tackling cake is a huge task for a wee child. She rubbed her weary eyes with her crumb-laden fists, about to drop off into faeryland. “Is my Muffin tired already?” Pippin asked her as he cleaned her up. He then lifted her into his arms, limp as a rag doll, sucking her thumb. A contented Rosebud lay her head upon her papa’s shoulder, too tired to make “conversation” as she usually would. Pippin grabbed the blanket from her chair, seeing this was about to become another naptime.

Pippin cradled Rosebud in his lap as she dozed while he himself sat talking with the adults at the head table. She had been resting for almost a half-hour when she suddenly began to cough, drawing out the congestion in her chest. This deeply concerned Merimas, who was sitting nearby with Pervinca busy cleaning up their own fauntling. “Is this the same cough she had back in Solmath?” he asked.

“Well…I guess so,” answered Pippin, although Merimas’ question unnerved him a little bit. “It never went away…and she got sick again last month.”

Merimas nodded, taking in everything Pippin was telling him about Rosebud’s illnesses. “When was the last time Donnabelle examined Rosebud?”

“Two weeks ago,” Pippin replied. “Her cough hadn’t gone away, and so I asked her to look at the baby again.” Merimas made no reply, making Pippin feel even more uneasy. “Why do you ask?”

“I was merely inquiring,” Merimas said, curious about Rosebud’s cough, but not wanting to agitate the tween. He’d ask further about her later.

Little did Merimas realize that his “inquiry” had the opposite affect--however, Pippin didn’t want to ruin his daughter’s birthday party with a healer examining her. Pippin recalled that it was Merimas who had examined his late wife, Lilas, and found her deathly ill. Pippin wasn’t so sure he wanted to know if Rosebud was sick yet again, but he resolved to corner Merimas later after the party and question him. “Very well,” he replied to Merimas, “for now.”

“Pip?”

Pippin turned in his seat towards Pervinca, who addressing him. She grinned and asked, “Do you share like mother taught us?”

Baffled by his sister’s question, he answered, “Of course I do--why?”

“Then hand my niece over, if you please!” Pervinca said, giving Brody to his father.

Pippin held Rosebud protectively--she had stopped coughing and was occupied with her cousins. “I’ll have you know that I indeed share my daughter…sometimes.”

Pervinca laughed, “No, you don’t--not even sometimes! Every time I come to visit I have to use a crowbar to pry her out of your arms. You look as though you could use a rest, so why not just give her to me?”

Listening to the repartee, Merry came to his friend’s defense. “That isn’t true--Pippin allows other people to hold Rosebud.”

“You stay out of it, cousin,” Pimpernel jumped in. “You’re just as bad as he is!” Merry’s jaw slackened then clamped shut at the jesting insult.

“I’ll settle this,” Pearl announced. She rose up from her seat and walked over to Pippin. “May I?”

The dumbfounded expression on Pippin’s face made his other sisters giggle. Pervinca felt justified, “See? You refuse to give her up!”

Pearl shot a look over to her sister to stifle any further remarks that might hinder the progress. “Please?” she asked kindly. “I rarely get to see--or hold--my nieces and nephews.”

Pippin looked at Pearl--he could only remember a few times in his life when he told his eldest sister, ‘no’. He wanted to this time, but she was giving him that look--the one where her eyebrows would lift up in a pleading manner, her hazel eyes beseeching him. Reluctantly he let Rosebud loose as Pearl smiled in triumph, tenderly taking the babe out of his arms. Instantly, Pimpernel and Pervinca were at her side cosseting Rosebud.

Perhaps his wife was right about parental fatigue; Merimas couldn‘t tell who had separation anxiety the worse--Rosebud or her father. He said, “Why don’t we lads walk over to that bench yonder and have a smoke? I have a feeling the hens are going to start cackling in any minute.”

Pervinca paused in her coddling, “You’re going to regret your remark later, Merimas Brandybuck!”

Merimas smirked in reply, “Will I?” Pervinca caught the twinkle in her husband’s eye and returned his smile. Pippin looked at Merry, both rolling their eyes.

“Why are you rolling your eyes, cousin?” Merimas spoke to Merry on their way to the bench. “Soon, you and Miss Estella will be married.”

“Not until midsummer,” Merry sighed. “Right now, she’s with her mum in Budgeford planning the whole affair.”

“You’re not happy about that?” asked Pippin, walking beside Merry.

“Of course I am,” he answered, “but I miss her terribly.”

Pippin grinned, “She’s only been gone a few days, Merry.”

Merimas smiled at his cousin, “For young hobbits in love, a few days is a lifetime, isn’t it?”

Much later, after the wee ones were ushered off to bed, Rosebud lay asleep in her Grandma Tina’s lap. Eglantine relished every bit of time she had with her newest granddaughter - it was highly unusual that Rosebud was away from her father’s arms for this long. The small babe put up a little fuss when she grew tired, but Eglantine had experience with this sort of thing--however long ago it was. Fussing was naught that a little bit of rocking and a soothing lullaby couldn’t cure.

Meanwhile, after they lit their pipes, Pippin’s little smoking party at the garden bench increased when a few more cousins showed up. Eglantine let her hazel eyes wander over to the group of lads talking and jesting amongst themselves. Her own son sat in the center of the group, yet she observed that he wasn’t participating much in the conversation. He looked as if he was missing something. He slumped against the bench with his arms crossed over his chest to occupy their need to hold Rosebud. Tina had learned that her grown daughters had coaxed tweenaged Pippin into taking time out with the lads, sending him off with his cousin Merry. She also spied sitting at his feet was a glass filled halfway with a dark liquid. Eglantine was none too happy about that. Her daughters were correct in that Pippin needed to relax, however, Eglantine felt there were other ways to do this.

Eglantine occupied herself with gazing at the patches of various flowers in bloom inside the well-tended garden--the roses in particular. Situated near the veranda was a red rose bush, planted for Rosebud a year ago. Underneath was a clay placard with Rosebud’s name and birthday engraved in it. It was now early evening--and as it wasn’t yet summer, it was also getting cool now that the sun had set. Pretty soon Pippin would return to take his daughter inside. In her mind, Eglantine debated with herself what she would do should Pippin be inebriated. She sighed in response to her decision, wrapping the extra blanket snug around her granddaughter, giving the wee babe in her arms a gentle, loving squeeze.

“Let’s go, Merry,” said Pippin, nudging his friend then standing up. He swayed a bit, reaching out to his dear cousin.

“Are you all right?” Merry asked, taking hold of Pippin’s arm, becoming concerned.

Pippin wiped a bit of perspiration from his forehead, “I’m not feeling so good.”

Thinking it was more of a runny nose or sore throat, Merry thought it was no good to be sick and then give it to the baby. He put his hand to Pippin’s brow; no fever. “What’s wrong, Pip?”

“I think…I think…” Pippin held tight onto Merry.

“He thinks he drank too much port!” snickered one of the lads.

Everard looked at Pippin, “Gracious me, you barely drank one glass. When was the last time you drank anything stronger than your daughter’s apple juice?” Everard expertly blew smoke rings towards a small branch sticking out from a shrub. He nailed it with two of them.

“It’s been a long time,” Merry answered for his friend. “He’s not had anything strong since before Lilas passed on.” Merry stood up just a tad too quickly, grabbing onto Pippin’s shoulder, trying to make it appear that it was Pippin he was holding up.

Everard caught Merry’s stealth. He knew Merry was as dry as the young Took standing next to him; Merry wouldn’t go out drinking without his closest friend beside him, nor would it be the other way around. “That’ll do it,” he said, feeling a bit on the jolly side himself this evening. “When was the last time you drank a glass of wine--or beer, for that matter, Merry?”

“I’m fine,” Merry replied, straightening his waistcoat while evading Everard’s question. Merry fretted over his young cousin, “It’s my fault, Pippin - I should have watched you closer.”

Pippin waved his arm at nothing in the air, “No, Mer. I shouldn’t have listened to…to….”

“Pervinca,” Merry helped Pippin finish the sentence.

“Yes--her.”

Merry put his arm around Pippin’s waist, guiding him back towards the veranda. “We need to get you in bed, cousin,” he said.

“Wait!” Pippin fairly shouted, grimacing at the loudness of his voice. He put his finger to his lips. “Shhh!” He then leaned in to Merry, “What about Rosebud?”

“You can’t care for her in your condition--I’ll watch over her tonight.”

“Excellent!” he answered, then thought about it a little more. “No--you can’t! You’re not doing so great, either.”

“At least I can stand on my own!”

With a quick, albeit jerky movement, Pippin stepped away from his cousin. Merry slipped behind Pippin, dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Merry leaned onto his elbows, shouting in a whisper, “Are you mad? Your mother is looking in our direction!”

Pippin shot a worried glance over to the veranda; sure enough. Then Pippin became furious with himself--not because his mother saw him, but because of whom he saw in her arms. Would he dare hold Rosebud in his own arms now? He regretted ever accepting the glass of port. How could he be so foolish? With a petulant groan, Pippin bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

Baffled at first, however, Merry followed where his cousin’s eyes had been fixed. He fell onto back in disgust of his thoughtless action. “I’m sorry, Pip.”

“You’ll wake me up at dawn, Father?” asked Pippin with a heartfelt plea, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He and Merry were each shown to his own bed by Paladin and Merimas while listening to one of Paladin’s lectures the entire way from the garden. Rosebud was sleeping with her grandparents this night - the first night of Pippin and Rosebud not being in the same room together.

Once Pippin was dressed for the night, Paladin made sure his son got in bed safely. He could never stay angry with his son for long. The elder Took gave his lad a faint smile, “I will.” Presently, Paladin sat on the edge of the bed “tucking” in his tweenaged son. It had been a long time since he had done this--and probably the last, so he savored the moment.

“Promise?”

“Pippin,” Paladin drew the blanket up to his son’s chin, “my granddaughter is completely safe in my apartment. Could you say the same if she was in this apartment right now?” It was a rhetorical question, yet Paladin paused for effect. “If you or Merry had planned a night of drinking with the lads, ensuring that Rosebud was looked after beforehand, then your mother and I wouldn’t be vexed.” Paladin sighed, “You’re still a lad, Pippin, and you’re also a young father who needs a little help every now and then. Never hesitate to ask when you need it, all right?” Seeing the remorse in the tween’s eyes, Paladin withheld further lecturing. He leaned down and kissed Pippin’s forehead. “Goodnight, Pip. I love you.”

Pippin was suddenly filled with alarm, “Did I kiss--”

“Yes, you said goodnight to Rosebud and kissed her right before coming in here.”

With a great sigh, Pippin eased back upon his pillow, feeling a bit dizzy. “Oy…,” he put his hand to his head, “I think I’m going to have a bad headache.”

“Merimas left something on the table for treating that in the morning.” Paladin turned down the lantern and quietly left the room.

Alone in the dark…all alone. Pippin tossed and turned in his bed as his body protested sleep--for lack of Rosebud. Sleep eluded him for a little while…until he succumbed to the relaxing effects of the liquor.

TBC

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.

A/N: I just wanted to thank all the readers who have been reading and leaving kind reviews and words of encouragement since the very beginning of Roses, or, at least, for the majority of the time. Even a line dropped once or twice just to let me know you’re reading is more than I ever thought imaginable. Thank you.

In the past few weeks, I’ve received more than one hint from readers about how emotionally stressful it would be for them to continue reading, seeing the direction this particular storyline is going to go. I certainly would not want anyone to continue reading if this particular plot is going to bring about ugly nightmares for them. I, however, have to continue writing this story--not because I’m an ogre, but for my own personal reasons. I should have listened to Grey Wonderer’s advice: never get attached to your O.C.s. Too late. I’m attached to Rosebud--and I was attached to Lilas, too.

If you, the reader, decide to continue on, then I look forward to travelling this difficult road with a friendly companion. If you decide to stop right here, or after reading this particular chapter, then I thank you from the bottom of my heart for hanging in there this long. Take care.

Chapter Forty Six - No Promises

Merimas returned the water pitcher on the nightstand, handing his wife a glass of cool water. He let out a long breath before speaking. “You’re still experiencing nausea?”

Pervinca drank all of the water before replying to Merimas, “I am presently, but not all the time.”

“Your headache is gone?”

“Yes,” answered Pervinca, dabbing at her chin.

Merimas tried to repress a smile. “Then perhaps we ought to let the midwife have a look at you.”

The implication of her husband’s prognosis sunk into Pervinca’s head. She smiled from ear to ear. “Do you think so?”

Now also grinning, Merimas nodded, “Well, it’s my guess, but it’s quite plain to me.”

“I want a lass this time--someone to dress up and put pretty frills in her hair.”

“I’ll be satisfied with a healthy child, my love,” said Merimas.

“Oh, I will, too,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “but there are already two lads in our family. It’s time to balance the scale, dearest.” Merimas leaned forward to give his lovely wife a tender kiss…then it deepened into a very passionate kiss.

Not far into the kiss, Pippin could be heard shouting for Merimas in their sitting room. When he didn’t hear his brother-in-law respond, Pippin barged right into the bedroom with Rosebud in his arms--still coughing.

“Pippin!” Pervinca scolded her brother, quickly bringing the blankets up to cover her nightgown. Her disposition changed when she realized something was wrong with the baby. Then she saw the back of Pippin’s jacket when he turned to address her husband, who was taking the child into his arms. “What wrong with Rosebud?”

Merimas motioned for Pippin to follow him out to the sitting room. “Let’s go to your apartment across the hall to examine her. Grab my bag off the couch, if you please.”

A half hour later, a sleeping Rosebud lay curled up in her papa’s lap. Merimas had given the child something to relax her and to help her sleep. He now sat in front of the fireplace sipping a cup of tea. “I do want to apologize for not asking about my niece after her birthday party--as I truly wanted to,” he whispered.

“Well, I know that Pervinca’s not been feeling well,” said Pippin, also speaking softly. Now that things had calmed down, Pippin thought to ask about his sister. “How is she?”

Merimas smiled, “We suspect that she’s pregnant, but we don’t know for certain yet.” Then setting down his tea, he asked, “Tell me again how long Rosebud has been coughing like that.”

“I’m happy for you both,” said Pippin. He smiled for a quick second despite his own circumstances. “It’s been a few weeks now, but my daughter has always had a cough. Ever since she got sick the first time.”

“And when was that?”

“I believe it was a couple weeks after Lilas died,” answered Pippin. He sighed, gently caressing the baby’s soft cheeks. “Donnabelle gave me a recipe of aniseed tea to help Rosebud’s cough, but after a while, she refused to drink it. I tried mixing it with her apple juice then switched to blackcurrant juice. At first, she didn’t seem to mind the herb in its new juices, but after a couple days,” he looked up at Merimas, “she’d eventually taste the herb then reject it. My Rosebud can be a very clever lass.”

“She is a clever lass,” said Merimas. He smiled at the sweet face in slumber. Maybe Pervinca was right; having an adorable little daughter would be delightful. Merimas shifted uneasily in his chair, sitting up straight to give his verdict to his brother-in-law--again, the bitter aspect of being a healer. “However…her cleverness is what’s helped the cough get this far. There’s no doubting it. Her cough is very serious.”

Pippin tried his best to hold his composure, but was losing the battle. He wiped his eyes, asking, “How serious?”

“Serious enough to make me concerned,” said Merimas. “When I examined Rosebud, I could detect…” Merimas paused to gather himself, feeling like a cloud of doom that incessantly rained misery upon this young father. He could hear Pippin swallow his emotions, waiting for the pronouncement. Merimas went on, “I could detect fluid in her chest.”

“Fluid? What does that mean?”

Merimas sighed, sitting back into his chair. He found that he could not look at his brother-in-law while he explained what he meant. Speaking barely above a whisper, he replied, “It means that her lungs are filling up with liquid--she’s not getting enough air.”

“But…you can stop it--right?”

The earnest expression on Pippin’s face told Merimas that the lad’s hope rested entirely upon him--and for this brief second--Merimas wished he hadn’t chosen healing as a vocation. Pippin’s world was in jeopardy of crumbling down upon him--yet again. Merimas paused in giving his answer, searching for the right words.

“Right?” Pippin asked again.

Merimas looked into the lad’s weary eyes. “Children are resilient, Pippin. There are things we can yet do to help her.”

“And if they don’t work? What if she refuses to take her medicine again?” Pippin felt as if a double-edged sword had pierced his beating heart.

“Sometimes a child doesn’t know what is best for him. It’s our job as his mother or father to see that what is good for them is…carried out.”

Later that evening, Pippin held Rosebud in his lap, humming her favorite lullaby as he rocked her to sleep in front of the hearth. In her fist she held her wooden spoon, absently gnawing on it as her papa held her. Eyes of both father and daughter were red and exhausted.

“I’m sorry Rosebud,” Pippin softly whispered in her ear, resting his tear-stained cheek on the baby’s head. “Papa didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Rosebud put her thumb in her mouth, closing her eyes as she leaned her tired head against her father’s chest. It didn’t matter what had taken place minutes earlier, she still loved her papa the most in all the world. On the other hand, Pippin was having difficulties forgiving himself. He still sniffled, giving his beloved baby a gentle hug, stroking her soft curls.

Ten minutes ago, he took the healer’s advice about a child not always understanding what is best for him or her. Pippin held Rosebud secure in his arms while Merimas tried to force spoonfuls of aniseed tea into her mouth. Rosebud tried to fight, but she was too frail. Squirming and screaming, she finally cried out to the one who would--or should--rescue her.

Pippin’s heart went to pieces when she looked directly at him amid her tears, crying for her papa. Pippin called a halt to everything. “Stop, Merimas,” he practically shouted.

“I almost got another spoonful into her mouth,” Merimas replied, holding the spoonful ready. “If you stop now, she’ll be coughing again at bedtime.”

With Rosebud in his arms, Pippin leaned back into his chair exhausted. “I can’t do this,” he said. If it had been over whether she got to sleep with one of her favourite toys, or if he allowed her an extra slice of honey cake at dinner, then his will wouldn’t have been so quick to give in. However, his beloved Rosebud was frightened…and yes, once again sick.

“Can’t do this? Pip, this isn’t about what you can’t do,” replied Merimas offhandedly. Laying down the cup and spoon. “This is about Rosebud--and helping her to live.” He sat down in the other chair nearby, rubbing his tired eyes. “We’ve tried hot steam and now the tea. No matter what we do for her, she’s going to cry because she’s too young to know we’re trying to help her--and there’s not much else we can do. She’s ill, Pippin--can’t you see that?”

“Of course I can see that my daughter is ill!” the tween replied emphatically. “You don’t think that I’m worried for her?” Pippin lowered his voice, his shouting only antagonizing an already distressed baby. “Since Solmath she’s experienced violent coughing spells that leaves her little body gasping for air. Everyday I wonder if she’ll celebrate her next birthday--that is if she lasts through to next spring.” Pippin paused before he could go on, his voice quivering. “Everyday I wonder what I did or didn’t do that made her get sick this time, or the last time, or the time before that. Why? Why my Rosebud? She only a baby--she deserves a life better than this.”

“I don’t know why some children are born earlier than others,” answered Merimas, now speaking in a calm voice. He put his arm around the lad, “But I do know that there is nothing that you did or didn’t do to make your daughter sick.”

The hobbits sat in front of the fireplace in silence while Pippin comforted Rosebud. Watching the young father soothe the crying child, Merimas regretted his previous outburst. “I’m sorry, Pippin. I’m just frustrated at the persistence of her illness. I wasn’t questioning your abilities as a parent.” Merimas got up to walk towards the door, taking his leave. “I’ll check in on her later.”

Pippin now sat alone in his apartment, rocking his little daughter to sleep. He glanced up when he heard the door open, but said nothing.

“Hullo,” said Merry, closing the door behind him. Something didn’t seem altogether right about his cousin. “What’s wrong, Pip?”

“Rosebud is sick again.”

Merry let out a heavy sigh. “Bad?”

“Not yet,” answered Pippin. “We tried to feed her a bit of tea a while ago.”

“I take it by both of you sniffling that it didn’t go well,” said Merry, sitting down in the other chair. “Who helped--Merimas?” Pippin nodded. Merry said further, “I love my cousin dearly, Pip, but he can sometimes be too eager in his work.”

“He was fine, Merry. He was only trying to help, but…,” Pippin trailed off.

“But what?”

Pippin gently untied the pink ribbon from Rosebud’s little spray of hair, then smoothed out her auburn curls with his fingers. Her eyes were now closed as she dozed quietly in her father’s lap. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?” asked Merry.

“I couldn’t…I…,” Pippin was near tears again, “I’m not a good father, Merry.”

“Good father? What are you talking about, Pip?” said Merry, now sitting on the edge of his chair. Merry rarely had to defend Pippin’s abilities as a father--mostly because no one had ever dared challenged him about it. Perhaps an old matron or gaffer once or twice because of Pippin’s young age, but none of their younger friends ever questioned Pippin’s love for Rosebud. They had witnessed firsthand how lovingly the tween doted on his baby daughter. Rosebud was Pippin’s pride and joy, and everyone who saw them together knew it. However, Merry never imagined that he would end up defending Pippin to…Pippin. Merry stood to his feet, “Did Merimas fill your head with this?”

“No,” said Pippin in the healer’s defense, “Merimas was fine, I tell you. It’s just that--”

“Let me interrupt and say just this one thing,” Merry broke in, pacing in front of the hearth with fire in his blue eyes, “then I’ll let you have your say.” It was a sad day when either of the merry young hobbits succumbed to a depressive state, and it was sadder still when the light in Pippin’s bright green eyes was quenched. However, this was only when the nightmares took their toll on the two travellers.

Merry paused just long enough until he was sure he had his cousin’s undivided attention then continued on, “I have seen you pinch apple pies cooling on window sills, sneak mugs of ale at parties you were too young to attend, break expensive vases at Bag End after you were specifically told not to go tumbling on the couch--”

Pippin watched his cousin pace around like a mad-hobbit while he spoke. What was he getting at? Pippin interjected, “But--”

“I’m not finished, Pip,” said Merry. “You have tossed pebbles down empty wells, stolen Seeing-Stones that didn’t belong to you, and had relations with a lass you didn’t even know. However,” Merry knelt down in front of Pippin, tenderly holding one of his cousin’s hands, “I have seen you grow up and become a responsible tweenager--saving lives of Men you barely knew, becoming a husband to that stranger-lass and growing to love her as best as you knew how. Also, I have had the honour of being a witness at your daughter’s Name Blessing--pledging my love and support to her all the days of my life. I take my pledges very seriously. If for one second--one second, Pippin--I thought that you were not a fit parent or a ‘good father’ as you said, I would have told you so. You have grown, my friend. I consider you to be a very good father--never forget that.” Merry reached up, wiping a tear from Pippin’s eye. “Rosebud may be ill, but I’m positive there was nothing you did to bring it on. You’ve known since she was born that she would probably be a sickly child--because you were always in poor health as a child yourself.” Merry briefly looked away from Pippin. “Then there’s my brother Saramac…who…”

“Who died as an infant,” Pippin finished Merry’s sentence.

“Because he also was born too soon,” said Merry. He gave Pippin‘s hand a gentle squeeze. “Everyday we have with Rosebud is a blessing, Pip.” Merry smiled at the innocent babe, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her warm forehead, saying, “You’ll always be my favourite niece, Rosebud--no matter what happens.”

It was a quarter past three in the morning; Pippin felt like he would collapse if he didn’t sit down soon. He had walked the floor with a fussing Rosebud in his arms for the past five hours. Many times he tried to soothe Rosebud with a soft lullaby to no avail. His wee lass was not feeling well at all and was quite warm. As he was contemplating his and Rosebud’s future together, he heard Merry stirring inside his room.

“Good morning, Pip,” Merry yawned, shuffling into the sitting room. “I thought to see how you and Rosebud were doing.” It was a good thing Merry got up to check on his friend; Pippin was so tired he was stumbling over his own feet. “Off to bed with you,” Merry said to Pippin.

“I can’t,” Pippin replied, “Its my job as her father…to…to…” his mouth opened wide with a great yawn in response to Merry’s. “Excuse me.”

“To do what?” asked Merry with a wry grin. “You can’t even think straight right now to explain what that is. If you continue on you’ll drop her. If you sit down you’ll fall asleep and drop her. She’s too miserable to go to sleep herself, the poor lass.”

Pippin let out a tired sigh. “Very well,” he said with a hoarse voice, handing Rosebud over to Merry. Since his cousin put it that way, Pippin now feared to continue holding her in his tired arms. “Wake me if anything happens. Merimas was by a hour ago to check on her, so she’s fine for now unless…unless…her fever rises.”

“All right,” answered Merry, nestling the baby against his shoulder. “Now off with you.”

A while afterwards, Rosebud began to fuss again. Merry shifted the baby to his arms, then saw that her nose was running. “Let’s get you tidied up,” he said, taking Rosebud into his bedroom. While he dabbed her nose, Merry heard noises out in the sitting room. It had to be Pippin, yet Merry wondered why his cousin was still up. He watched Pippin stumble inside the bedroom. Pippin’s eyes were glazed over, but they were firmly fixed on the child in Merry’s arms. “No,” said Pippin, looking directly at his daughter. “I will not promise!”

TBC 

Chapter Forty Seven - A Day at a Glance

“You’ve gone and done it,” Merry said in wonder, responding to his cousin’s outburst. “You’ve cracked.”

“I’m not cracked,” said Pippin, sitting next to Merry on the bed with his face in his hands.

“Then you were sleepwalking,” said Merry. “You’ve done it before at Crickhollow.”

“I wasn’t sleepwalking,” Pippin snapped.

“Then how do you explain reprimanding your sick daughter for something she has no control over?”

“She’s done more than you think, Merry,” said Pippin. “She’s in my dream, I tell you. She’s the one who asks me to make that ridiculous promise.”

Merry protectively lifted the baby to his shoulder, “There you go on again about this sweet infant compelling you to give your word about something at a strange place somewhere in the Shire.” Merry turned Rosebud in his arms to face her father. “Look at her face--this adorable child has done nothing except behave as a baby ought to. You’re exhausted, Pippin--go back to bed.”

Pippin did not take in his cousin’s words; instead, he sat on the bed gazing at his daughter. Rosebud rested peacefully in her Uncle Me-mi’s arms with her head on his shoulder. She returned his gaze with her big green eyes, removing her fingers out of her drooling mouth long enough to reach out to Pippin with her wet hand, “Baba.”

“Oh, Rosebud,” Pippin quietly spoke, arms held out to take his baby daughter. “I’m sorry.”

Merry obliged by handing the babe over to her father. “I hope you have come to your senses.”

“I’ve had them all along,” replied Pippin, cuddling his daughter. “I never lost my wits,” he said, feeling his daughter’s warmth on his cheek as it caressed hers. However, a bit too warm for his liking. “Though I may have briefly lost sight of what’s truly important. My riddle can wait.” He then stood up with Rosebud nestled in his arms, “I’m going back to my own bed.”

Merry got up to ensure Pippin and the baby got into bed all right. “That has been your most rational remark yet.”

~~

Later that morning, after breakfast, the lads had gone to market to procure the ingredients Merimas would need in the coming days to help Rosebud. There was no question of whether or not to take a sick child out of doors, so Pippin asked his mother and father to watch over Rosebud while he, Merry, and Merimas proceeded with the errand.

The Thain and his wife were minding their granddaughter in Pippin’s apartment when a servant-lass arrived with a tea tray and a small bowl of porridge that they had ordered. The lass curtsied to the Thain and Mistress before taking her leave, “Will there be anythin’ else, sir?” Paladin looked to his wife, then shook his head, “No, but thank you.”

“No, thank you, Bluebell,” replied Eglantine. “We can manage from here.” Deftly holding a squirming Rosebud on one hip--as she tried her best to reach for the steaming bowl of oatmeal--Eglantine set up the table for tea. Fortunately, after raising four children, clutching a young child while doing several tasks at once had come back to Eglantine like swinging on a rope-swing.

Even so, Eglantine worried for her young granddaughter. She inwardly wished that Rosebud’s health was as hearty as her appetite. However, if her memory served, even that wouldn’t last much longer. How sick would Rosebud get this time? Was Merimas thorough enough in his examination? Would the baby respond to the herbs and spices the healer ordered for her? Instead of reprimanding the child by pulling her arm away from seeking the hot bowl, she shifted Rosebud in her arms, giving her a gentle hug. In the midst of the embrace, Eglantine heard in Rosebud’s breathing what Pippin had pointed out to her before going into town with the lads.

She gave the baby one last snuggle before handing her over to Paladin so that he could feed her. Eglantine had fed their precious granddaughter the last time they minded her, so today was Paladin’s turn, and yes, she felt a bit jealous. “Place your ear against Rosebud’s chest and then listen quietly for a moment.”

Paladin did as his wife instructed then without a word cradled Rosebud in his arms. Eglantine waited for him to comment. When she perceived none was forthcoming, she asked, “Well?”

“What do you wish for me to say?” he answered softly. This territory was all too familiar for the elder Took and his wife. They had gone down this same path when Pippin was a baby, and yet having had this experience didn’t make it any easier to bear. Above all else, Rosebud had stolen the Took and Thain’s heart the day she was born. Paladin was well aware that the road ahead for his granddaughter would be difficult, yet had always been confident that things would turn out fine--just as it did for his son.

Eglantine listened to her husband’s remark, sighing at the omen of Rosebud’s present illness. “I remember that sound in Pippin’s chest a few times when he was a baby--”

“And he still lives,” Paladin firmly objected, then gave Rosebud another spoonful of porridge. “That’s it, love--eat up.”

“For as many times as I thank the Valar for our own fortune, there are many children who do not,” she answered in return, absently folding a lap quilt then laying across the back of the couch. “I don’t know if I have the strength to do it again.”

Paladin paused in feeding his granddaughter, asking, “The strength to do what?”

Eglantine sat down on the chair next to her husband. “To stand by watching our flesh and blood suffer through illnesses that could very well take her life.”

Paladin whirled in his seat, “We don’t know that, Tina. Besides, we found the strength for Pippin, and we’ll find the strength for Rosebud.” Paladin then switched his attention back to the baby, who had turned her head towards her grandma just as he was about to give her a bit of porridge. He ended up scraping the results off her chin with the spoon. Rosebud began to get fussy when her grandpa tried to feed it to her again. “I’m sorry, dearest,” said Paladin, laying aside the spoon and bowl, then lifted the baby from her highchair. “Is your tummy full?” Rosebud liked the view from her grandfather’s shoulder in the sitting room as he walked her round to the window then back towards the door. She calmed down for the moment.

Eglantine smiled and waved to Rosebud as Paladin walked by. However, the young babe was feeling out of sorts; Rosebud put her thumb in her mouth then lay her head on grandpa’s shoulder. “Is she warmer than before, dear? Bring her round again so that I can feel her forehead.”

“She was warm before I fed her,” answered Paladin. When he took Rosebud away from his shoulder to cradle her, she started to carry-on again. She liked being up by her grandpa’s shoulder because she could breathe easier.

“Well, her continually being a fuss-button isn’t a good sign,” said Eglantine, placing her hand upon Rosebud’s brow. “My poor, wee lass,” she sighed, coddling the babe. “I wonder how the lads are able to be around her all day and night yet never seem to become ill themselves.”

~~

“Achooo!”

“Good gracious me!” said Pippin, “I hope you brought along enough handkerchiefs.”

Having finished making their purchases, Pippin and Merry were ambling in the direction of the Thain’s carriage. Merimas was delayed with paying for a last minute acquisition.

“I hab plenty dear cousid,” said Merry, shifting the sack in his arms, pulling a white cloth out of his breeches pocket to blow his nose. “I always have sneezing fits in the sprig.”

“Not this late in springtime.”

“Remember the spring when we had our Conspiracy? I was sneezig all the way through to midsummer.”

“I hope you’re not catching anything.”

Merry became subdued, but knew his next action was for the best. “To be sure, I’ll keep away from Rosebud until I’m considered safe.”

“I’m sorry, Merry,” said Pippin, genuinely sympathetic. He put an arm around his dear friend, “but I am grateful your consideration.” At that moment, Merimas had caught up to the lads, walking beside Merry. Pippin saw the small sack the elder Brandybuck carried. He asked his brother-in-law, “What did you purchase?”

“A small quantity of ginger,” he answered the inquisitive tween. “For Pervinca’s nausea, if you must know.”

“Then I take it you add Pervinca won’t be makig any gingerbread this tibe of year,” Merry teased his cousin. “Aaachooo!”

“No, we won’t,” Merimas answered, gazing oddly at Merry. “Are you getting sick, cousin?”

“No!” Merry stated with emphasis, taking out yet another handkerchief. “I’m telling you both--this is just my recurrent sneezig from the growing seasod.”

“I’m certain it is, Merry,” Merimas caught Pippin’s eye, then both nodded with a look of unbelief. Merimas decided he would have a look at his cousin when they all returned to the Smials.

As Pippin, Merry, and Merimas rode inside the carriage along the country meadows on the path towards home, they passed by a young lass walking in the road, lugging a heavy bag. She appeared to be in her tweens.

“It seebs she’s all alode,” said Merry, before blowing his nose again.

“Stop, Matt!” Pippin called out the window to the driver. When the carriage came to a halt, Pippin didn’t wait for Matt, the foot hobbit, to open the door. He opened it himself then jumped out with Merimas behind him.

“Good day, Miss,” said Pippin as he met up with her. He saw that the young lass wore a simple summer frock of blue with an apron tied in front. Gathering her long chestnut-colored hair in the back was a blue ribbon. He saw the lass wipe beads of perspiration from her brow with a pocket-handkerchief that had decorative blue embroidery around the edges. Her eyes…Pippin was mesmerized by them; he would long remember her large hazel eyes with their long, dark eyelashes. “Peregrin Took at your service,” he added hastily, then introduced his brother-in-law.

“Hullo,” said the lass, dropping her bag to the ground, which sent up a plume of dust. She curtsied, saying, “Thank you--thank you both.” Pausing to catch her breath, she added, “My name is Sapphira North-took. I am pleased to meet you.”

Merimas looked up at the warm afternoon sun, shining brightly in the over-heavens. “’Tis a warm afternoon to be out walking alone in the road--and with a heavy bag.”

“Where are you going?” asked Pippin. “Perhaps we can assist you.”

“I am on my way to Great Smials,” she answered, dabbing at the back of her neck. “The coach I was riding from Long Cleeve had a delay in Waymeet, so I missed the carriage that would take me there.”

“It just so happens that we’re headed in the same direction,” said Pippin. “Would you care to join us? Merimas is correct--it’s far too warm for a long walk in the sun today.” He cast a quick glance up towards the sun, “She’ll drain every bit of strength from you.”

Opening her handbag, Sapphira took out an envelope, offering it to Pippin. “Here,” she said. Pippin took the envelope, pulling out the stationery to read. After a while, he looked up, smiling. “This letter is from my sister. You’re replacing Molena--who’s moving to Pincup to get married.”

A worried expression came over the young lass. “And a lovely first impression I have made today. I’m afraid I am over late for the meeting Mistress Pimpernel specified in the letter.”

Pippin offered a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry--once she knows the situation, Pim will understand.”

“Come along, Miss Sapphira,” said Pippin, lifting her bag from the road. “I’ll escort you to my sister, if you don’t mind. It’s not proper for a lass to travel unescorted.”

“Very well,” answered Sapphira, allowing Pippin to stow her bag. Tucking her handkerchief back into her handbag, she followed the lads into the carriage.

Now back at Great Smials, the four young hobbits traversed the winding tunnels towards the Thain’s residence. The first hobbit to be dropped off was Merry--at his old room. It was the room he had occupied during his visits before moving in with his younger cousin. Pippin stayed out in the hallway to keep Sapphira company.

“Get into your nightshirt and then to bed with you,” said Merimas, standing in the entryway.

“I’b not sick,” Merry whined, then wiped his nose with his handkerchief. “If you haven’t doticed, I haven’t sdeezed once since we arrived back at the Sbials.”

“Your nose still sounds stuffed,” Merimas countered. He stood with arms crossed over his chest like a sentinel guarding the door.

Merry gazed directly into his cousin’s eyes; perhaps the old Brandybuck stare-down would work. However, Merimas was undaunted; he held his ground against the future Master of the Hall. He asked, “Do you really want to endanger our niece’s health when there is even the smallest possibility that you may be ill and bring more so upon her?” Merimas could be sly when the moment called for it. He knew all he had to do in this situation was bring up the subject of Rosebud.

Merry let down his defences, sitting on his bed with a defeated sigh. “All right,” he conceded, “I suppose I cad take a dap for a few hours. But all my clothes are in my roob inside Pippid’s apartment.”

Merimas relaxed his stance, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ll bring you a nightshirt, then.” He turned to walk out the door when he heard Merry call to him.

Merry sniffed, glancing sheepishly at Merimas, “and…bring me clean handkerchiefs.”

Merimas walked with Pippin and Sapphira until they came upon the guest quarters that served as his and Pervinca’s rooms whenever they visited Great Smials. They were presently on an extended visit from Rosebud’s birthday party until his wife was up to travelling back to Buckland. “I will see to Pervinca first, then take Merry one of my nightshirts to use. I’ll check in on Rosebud after that. See you shortly, Pip.” Merimas took his leave from Pippin and Sapphira, entering his flat then closing the door behind him. From there, Pippin escorted his nephews’ new nursemaid towards Pimpernel’s apartment.

Before long, Pippin entered his own apartment with Sapphira in tow. Seeing no one in view, he called out, “Mother?”

Eglantine emerged from Pippin’s bedroom with her finger to her lips, “They’re asleep!” She then pointed to the couch behind Pippin.

“Sorry,” whispered Pippin, turning to see his father stretched out on the said couch. “How’s Rosebud? Where is she?”

“She’s fine--she’s also sleeping,” said Eglantine softly, then used her thumb to indicate behind her, “on your bed. You really ought to get Rosebud her own cot, Pippin.”

Not willing to discuss a private matter in front of guest, Pippin chose to change the subject. “Where’s Pimpernel? She and the boys are not in her apartment.”

“They’re out in the garden this afternoon. She was supposed to meet with a young lass earlier but tired of waiting for her. Honestly, Pippin you tweenagers--”

Pippin cleared his throat, hinting to his mother to withhold further comments. “Mother, this is Miss Sapphira North-took of Long Cleeve. She is the lass Pimpernel was to meet with before luncheon.”

Eglantine raised her eyebrows in uncomfortable surprise--silently thanking the over heavens that her son had the consideration to interrupted her. After an awkward moment, she replied to Sapphira, “You’ll find my daughter and the boys in the north garden having a picnic. I’ll take you to her. And you, dear son,” she took Pippin by his shoulders, gently twisting him round in the direction of his bedroom, “will find your daughter fast asleep on your bed.”

Shutting the bedroom door, Pippin stepped gingerly into the darkened bedroom, listening to Rosebud’s soft breathing. He brought a chair near to the bed to sit in, gazing at her while she slept. He loved to watch Rosebud sleep; her body seemed so at peace.

For a long while he sat there, watching her small chest rise and fall with each breath. Pippin imagined she was probably dreaming of sweet cakes covered with fresh butter and honey. Love of food was something father and daughter shared. All of a sudden, food lost its appeal--Pippin put his hand to his stomach. He had felt a headache coming on while at the market, but then forgot about it when he and Merimas spied Sapphira walking in the road. He leaned back in his chair, envisioning Sapphira’s eyes again…her large, bright hazel eyes. Pippin imagined them shining with love and laughter.

Pippin rubbed his temples, feeling his headache return with force which made his stomach feel a bit nauseated. He rose up from his chair with no other thought than to lay down for a while to ease his throbbing head. Gently, he crawled onto the mattress, careful not to disturb his slumbering baby daughter. Pippin breathed a sigh, feeling the softness of his bed meet his weary, achy body.

TBC

A/N: This is as close as I’ll ever get to writing Diamond in this AU story. I figure I’m the last author in LOTR fanfic to put my thumbprint on her character in my universe, but…oh, well. I imagine Diamond looks much like her elder sister, Sapphira, as I described above, and also works as a nursemaid. Oy…the wheels are turning…but not for a story so soon. Sorry. Keep your eyes peeled for Marigold’s Challenge--something might present itself there…that is, if the muse remains undisturbed. My apologies for a late update--I’m finding that I need peace and quiet for my muse to run wild (which is hard to come by at my sister’s house!). Thanks to everyone who has responded to chapter 46 for your support--and thank you for reading Roses! Take care.

Chapter Forty Eight - Hearts in Despair

Pippin felt his consciousness rise to the surface of the living world as he felt someone’s warm breath upon his face. He winced in protest, then tried to turn his tired body over. Next, he felt a wee palm against his face. “Just five more minutes,” he groaned.

The real eye-opener came when he felt the owner of the wee palm crawl up against his shoulder, facing the “entryway” of his bed. The attempt to crawl over him was half-hearted, thought Pippin, however, his parental instincts kicked in. His eyes shot open, then shifting his position, he took hold of the young child, sitting her back into the safe recess of his bed. In a firm, but gentle voice, Pippin reprimanded his daughter, “No, Rosebud. You mustn’t leave this bed without papa’s help--understand?” Unfazed, Rosebud sat there sucking her thumb, blinking at him with her green saucers. “Of course you don’t understand me,” Pippin muttered to himself. “You’re only a baby.”

“What time is it?” Pippin sat up, straining his eyes to see the clock on the wall in the dim candle light of his room. “Nearly eight o’clock,” he said with a yawn. Pulling Rosebud into his arms Pippin got up, padding over to the bureau to turn up the lantern. “How long have I been asleep?” he wondered aloud, then looked at Rosebud, “and just how long have you been awake?” He felt her forehead. Still warm, he thought. Carrying his daughter, Pippin meandered out to the sitting room, which was dark, the drapes pulled shut. “Where is everybody?”

Feeling a bit dizzy, Pippin quickly sat down in a chair, holding Rosebud snug in his arms. He sighed to himself, “I feel like I’ve just fallen off a wagon.” Pippin’s head felt heavy, his throat burned, and he felt hot. He’d experienced these sensations many times in years past. He laughed to himself, “and I accused Merry of being sick!”

“You and I are both sick, Muffin. It’s a wonder they don’t quarantine us in here.” He gazed about his empty apartment. “Let’s say we go rescue Uncle Me-mi out of his self-imposed lock-hole.”

“Me-mi,” repeated Rosebud, her congestion bubbling in her throat as she spoke, then coughed for a spell. Pippin waited on pins and needles for his wee lass to stop coughing.

“My sweet Muffin,” said Pippin, comforting her when she finally drew clear breath. She used to cry after such spells, but Pippin noticed increasingly that she now merely laid her head down afterwards. He wiped Rosebud’s eyes, nose and around her mouth then wrapped her in her favorite blanket. “We’re going to get Uncle Me-mi.”

As Pippin approached Merry’s old bedroom, he thought he could detect a song resonating just behind the door, then it all but disappeared as the singer went deeper into the room. Grinning, Pippin knocked. The song ended abruptly.

“Hullo,” said Merry, opening the door. The Brandybuck was still dressed in his breeches with braces relaxed at his side and shirt untucked. The nightshirt Merimas lent his cousin remained slung over the back of the chair, being too small to wear. Merry gasped with lively enthusiasm, “Rosebud!” Finger in her mouth, Rosebud responded with her own smile. Then Merry turned to Pippin, “How is she doing? Is she faring better now?”

Pippin spied his dear cousin’s hands dithering at his side while he spoke. He knew they were itching to hold Rosebud. “No, but here,” said Pippin, shifting the baby in his arms as he offered her to Merry. “You can hold her for a bit. She missed you.”

Merry kissed the smiling baby, “My beautiful niece missed me?”

“Yes. I don’t understand why, though,” Pippin answered with a grin. He waited for his cousin to finish hugging and cuddling his niece. Pippin added, “She is still sick…and…so am I.”

Merry glanced up at Pippin, “You’re sick, too? How do you know?”

“Trust me, I know,” answered Pippin.

“Let me see,” said Merry, reaching out with one arm to test Pippin’s forehead. Merry slowly took his arm back, eyes filled with concern, “How do you feel right now?”

“Like I want to go back to bed,” Pippin replied wearily leaning against the doorjamb, “but I can’t -- not without someone to watch over Rosebud should I fall asleep. She’s tried to crawl over me once already. You’re the first person I thought to search for.”

Pippin’s kind remark wasn’t lost on his closest friend. Merry put his free arm around Pippin’s shoulder, drawing the lad into the warmth of the room. “Come in out of the draft, dear cousin,” he said. “Everyone else is probably eating breakfast in the dining room,” he said, guiding Pippin to sit down in one of the chairs, then set Rosebud in his lap. “Let me gather a few items then we can be on our way back to your apartment.”

“Breakfast? You mean it’s not eight o’clock in the evening?”

Merry laughed, smoothing out his bed linen, “No, silly, it’s morning.” Then he looked at Pippin strangely, “You actually thought it was evening?”

“Yesterday evening apparently,” said Pippin. “I didn’t realize I had slept for so long. No one was in the apartment when I woke up.”

“I should have been there,” said Merry, without so much as looking up.

“You couldn’t help it, Merry. Merimas and I thought you were sick. Which reminds me -- you don’t sound like you’re sick anymore,” Pippin observed.

Merry smiled regretfully as he tucked in his shirt. “I knew from the first that I wasn’t,” he said, adjusting his braces. “You know as well as I that I’ve had sneezing fits since I was a child. However,” Merry paused, looking at Pippin, “I did want to give you peace of mind--for Rosebud’s sake.”

“Thank you for the trouble you took,” said Pippin.

“Was no trouble at all, Pip,” Merry replied kindly. Picking up the last of his things, he scanned the room one last time, “Well, lets get you two back to your apartment and into bed.”

Having returned to Pippin’s apartment, Merry began putting his things away in his room when he heard the baby crying. He walked through the sitting room to his cousin’s bedroom. “Do you need any help with Rosebud?” he asked, standing in the doorway. When Merry saw Pippin, he was sitting upon the bed holding Rosebud, his face gaping in shock. “What’s wrong, Pip?” asked Merry. He crossed the distance between him and his cousin, kneeling at Pippin’s feet. “What is it?” he asked again.

Pippin choked back a cry, “I tried to lay Rosebud down to change her, but her face went white as a sheet--no sound came from her mouth. A few moments later, her face went red as if she couldn’t breathe. I instantly picked her up…and then she gasped for air. I’ll never forget the sound of it as long as I live.”

Merry swallowed hard, “I’m going to find Merimas.”

* * *

“Pippin.”

Pippin’s eyes snapped open. He looked around for the person who called his name. Pippin was a little disoriented, but observing the familiar portraits of Rosebud hanging on the wall, he understood that he was lying on the couch in his own sitting room. He could hear soft whispers of other voices all about him.

After Merimas arrived, Pippin had been waiting on the couch for the healer to finish examining Rosebud. After a while, his head and eyelids grew heavy; he didn’t mean to fall asleep.

“Pippin, I’m sorry to awaken you,” whispered the voice, “however, I must speak with you.”

The tween looked up, seeing it was Merimas. Pippin’s head felt hot, stuffy, and not quite attached to the rest of his body. Feeling a chill, he reached for a the lap quilt that was lying on the back of the couch. “I --” Pippin’s hand immediately went to his throat. It felt dry and scratchy. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he whispered hoarsely. “How’s Rosebud?”

“She’s resting at the moment,” said Merimas.

“Which medicine did you try first?” asked Pippin, referring to the ingredients they had purchased the day before at the market. “The ointment or the tea?”

“She um…,” he began, “she vomited the tea.”

Pippin felt his head clouding over. He leaned back against the couch, “So you’re going to try the ointment now?”

Merimas nodded. “Yes, I’m going to attempt that path next, but Pippin,” he paused, “if this doesn’t work, I don’t…I don’t know what else…” Merimas took in a calming breath. “She’s a very sick little baby,” he ended.

“Just how sick?” Pippin demanded. His anxiety began to rise.

“More than I first anticipated.”

Pippin quickly threw off the quilt and stood up. Then the room began to spin; he felt Merimas catch him. “Easy, Pip. You’re not exactly hale yourself.”

“My daughter comes first,” said Pippin through clenched teeth. He was trembling as Merimas set him back down on the couch. Pippin shivered as he continued his query. “I thought you said you could help her!”

“I said we could try a few remedies,” Merimas stated.

Pippin stood up again, more carefully this time. “Where’s Donnabelle?” he shouted to anyone listening within the room.

Merimas offered, “If you want someone else--”

The tween turned on him, “What I want is for someone to heal my daughter!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do--”

Ignoring Merimas, Pippin yelled again, “Somebody find Donnabelle!” He then overheard his sister Pimpernel give a young servant orders to fetch the Smials’ healer. Pippin yelled after the lad, “Tell her that the Thain’s son requires her presence at once!”

Merimas understood his brother-in-law’s anger to be that of a desperate father, yet Pippin’s reaction bothered him nonetheless. “I understand,” he said softly, then sat down in one of the chairs.

“Peregrin Took!” Eglantine reproached her son. She started to speak further then stopped short when she felt her husband touch her arm. Paladin leaned in, whispering into her ear, “Let him be, love--he’s upset. I’ll talk to Merimas.”

Paladin was unruffled by his son’s outburst. “Sit down, Pippin,” he said calmly.

“I will not,” Pippin shot back to his father. “I stood by while my wife died a year ago. I will not stand idly by and watch my daughter perish as well!”

“You may not have a choice in the matter,” Paladin spoke softly but firmly to the tween. He recalled the many times when Pippin was an ill child. For all the times that he indeed was hopeful, Paladin understood the pendulum could have swung in the other direction. “Donnabelle may not be able to do any more than what Merimas has already done. What will you do then? She has two young apprentices, other than that, the next healer is in Tuckborough.”

“I’ll search through the Westfarthing--the whole Shire if need be,” Pippin spat back.

“Pippin,” Paladin sat wearily on the couch, indicating for his son to sit next to him. Pippin hesitated, but he sat down next to his father. Paladin re-wrapped the quilt around Pippin’s trembling shoulders, then continued. “The healers can only do what they have been trained to do. Help them if you must, but do not hinder them. If your mother and I did not trust the healers to do their best when you were a babe, then you would not be alive today. You must trust them.”

Physically and emotionally spent, Pippin burst into miserable tears. “She’s my daughter, papa,” he cried softly, wiping the tears from his eyes. “She’s my little lass--my only child. I love her…it tears at me to see her suffering like this.”

“I know, son,” Paladin spoke tenderly, putting his arm around the tween. “And you’re still my laddie.” The elder hobbit reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, giving Pippin a handkerchief. “Merimas,” Paladin spoke to his son-in-law, “when Donnabelle arrives, please give her a full report of your examination of Rosebud. I believe it is in my granddaughter’s best interest if you both work together to heal her. Will you do this for me?”

Merimas looked up, silently nodding.

“Very good,” answered Paladin. “The next order of business is for you, Pippin--to look in on your daughter then come back here and lie down. That is, unless you are a healer--and I don’t remember you accepting an apprenticeship with anyone. There is nothing for you to do except to be near Rosebud for when she wants her papa. Are we agreed?” Pippin sniffed, wiped away more tears then nodded.

* * *

Sick, tired, and dragging his feet, Pippin went into his bedroom. He stood in the doorway, leaning and resting his head against the jamb. He watched as Merry paced the room with Rosebud in his arms. She was awake, though sluggish, sucking her thumb while her favorite uncle rubbed her back, humming the same song to her that he had been singing to himself earlier in his old room. When Merry turned around, he saw Pippin, then stopped singing. He went red from head to toe.

“Why did you stop?” asked Pippin wearily. “Rosebud likes for us to sing to her, and that is her favorite song -- the lullaby from the music box you gave her at Yule.”

“I know, but…well,” Merry stammered. “If you must know--I sometimes fancy that she’s my daughter. I was doing that when you walked into the room.”

Pippin was tired, yet smiled warmly at his friend. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about, cousin.”

“It isn’t something that I go round confessing at every turn,” Merry replied, then gave Pippin a faint, but relieved smile in return. Merry continued, “Someday, when Stella and I have children…I should want a daughter like Rosebud. She’s a bright and beautiful lass, Pip.”

Pippin walked fully into his room to stand next to Merry. He gently combed his daughter’s curls then kissed her forehead. Rosebud instantly held forth her arms towards Pippin, uttering “baba,” then coughed a bit. Pippin took the child into his arms, cradling Rosebud as he settled himself in the rocking chair. The baby quietly dozed while Pippin rocked her, continuing the lullaby where Merry had left off.

Taking an extra blanket from inside Pippin’s wardrobe, Merry laid it across the tween’s lap. “I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything,” he whispered, then tenderly kissed the top of Pippin’s curls before he left.

Merry stood Just out of the doorway, listening to snips of Pippin softly singing the lullaby to Rosebud. He gazed about the sitting room, watching his cousin Merimas speak in whispers to Donnabelle; probably discussing which course of action to take next with the baby. His Uncle Paladin, Aunt Tina, and Pimpernel talked among themselves, no doubt in concern over Rosebud and her young father.

Forgotten for the moment, Merry took in a deep breath to calm the growing fear within. Only two weeks ago, Rosebud babbled up a storm and wriggle in his arms when he minded her, however, Just minutes ago, she barely moved or fussed the entire time that he held her. Apparently, it had been a gradual process. Rosebud had been ill many times, yet quickly recovered after a few days. She had never been this ill before, though, and for so long. Would this child be as lucky as her father when he was an infant? The growing fear began to spread throughout his being--the same fear that used to ravage him when Pippin was a small lad in bed with a devastating illness.

Unnoticed by the others, Merry crept towards the empty corner near the window that held little light from the main part of the sitting room. The young hobbit stood alone in the shadows, partially hidden by the drapes as despair overwhelmed him. Leaning against the wall, Merry’s knees weakened under the weight of cares upon his shoulders, tears falling as he himself slipped down on his haunches in the nook of the corner…where he quietly wept.

TBC

Chapter Forty Nine - Where’s Rosebud?

Carefully, Pimpernel entered Pippin’s bedroom without so much as a rustle of her skirt. In her hands she held a tray with a covered bowl, a pitcher of water, and a small loaf of bread on it. “Is he awake?” she asked, setting down the tray on the bedside table. Merry silently shook his head in reply.

“Mother made the broth herself,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “An old recipe handed down from her grandmother’s grandmother, who came from Bree.” Merry’s eyes wearily locked onto the steam rising from the bowl when she uncovered it. Pimpernel continued, “Pippin liked it years ago when he was ill, so today mother decided to make a pot special for him.” Pim looked at her brother lying in bed fast asleep, cheeks flushed, damp curls clinging to his brow. Beside him, elevated and nestled against several pillows lay his baby daughter, also asleep. “When Rosebud wakes up, let me know; I want to see if she’ll nurse for a bit. If not, perhaps she’ll eat with her father.” Pim gazed at Merry who still had not uttered a word. Waiting in the wings while Pippin was ill had always been hard on her cousin--now Rosebud was added to his worries. Pimpernel turned to leave, “I’ll be in the sitting room when she awakes.”

Once Pimpernel left the room, Merry’s eyes fixed on his closest friend lying motionless in his sickbed. He waited for Pippin to suddenly sit up and tell everyone that it was all a joke--that he wasn’t sick and neither was Rosebud. But no, the tweenager just lay there asleep. As Merry replaced the lid on the hot broth he heard Pippin take in a deep breath, immediately coughing right afterward. He left the bowl as was, giving his attention to his young cousin. “Pippin?”

Pippin stopped coughing, grimacing as one hand went to his chest. “That hurt,” he said in a gruff voice.

“Shall I get Donnabelle?”

“No,” whispered Pippin, then was quiet. His thoughts had returned to earlier that day, remembering the manner in which he requested the healer, Donnabelle. After a moment of reflection, he finally spoke in a husky voice, “I was horrible to Merimas.”

“You know better than to talk so much,” Merry said, giving the best smile he could. “Besides, he understands, Pip.” Glancing at the sleeping babe, he added, “Rest assured, if the sick child was Brody, he would’ve behaved in like manner. In fact, I’d expect it--and I’m sure he expected it from you.”

“The look on his face told me he wasn’t expecting it,” replied Pippin.

“Don’t worry on it, Pippin--he’ll live,” said Merry. Again, Pippin lay quietly for a few minutes, eyes closed. The familiar drone from blocked-up ears and a fever buzzed around in his head. At length he whispered, “My chest hurts.”

Merry got up, walking towards the door. “I’m going to call Donnabelle and Merimas in here. They can help.” Pippin made no argument; he felt too weak to protest. He went back to dozing.

“Lets get you to sit up.”

Pippin startled at the sound of the new voice breaking into his sleepy silence. “Merimas?”

The healer wore a wry grin as he took a firm hold under Pippin’s knees, “Yes, I’m afraid I’m still here--like a niggling insect.”

Merry wedged himself between Merimas and the night table as the two prepared to help Pippin sit up. Merimas then pushed the bureau further down the side of the bed for more leverage. The plan was for Merry to pull up from under Pippin’s arms while Merimas scooted the tall lad upwards from under the legs.

“You’re not an…insect,” Pippin said, wearily.

“On three,” Merry to his older cousin. “One, two…” he nodded to Merimas, “three!”

Merimas had his eyes on the baby the entire time while they hoisted Pippin up onto his pillows. Sure enough, Rosebud stirred awake.

“I’ll take Rosebud out to Pimpernel,” said Donnabelle, who had been standing nearby. She took the baby from Merimas, wrapping her in a blanket. Rosebud made no objection; she lay her head down as Donnabelle carried her towards the sitting room.

Merimas sat down on the side of Pippin’s bed. “While Donnabelle is seeing to Rosebud, I’m going to examine you, all right?”

Eyes closed, Pippin didn’t say a word, quietly allowing himself to sink into a light slumber. The tween drifted in and out of sleep as Merimas began the assessment with listening to his lungs.

Merimas unbuttoned the top of Pippin’s nightshirt then leaned forward until his ear touched the lad’s feverish bare skin. The healer breathed a sigh of relief -- no sound of gurgling in Pippin’s lungs, however, there was much congestion in the upper chest. The herbal ointment would be perfect for the lad. He leaned over his young brother-in-law, prying open one eyelid at a time.

“What are you doing?” Pippin mumbled.

“I want to see if you’re sensitive to light,” answered Merimas.

“I’m sick, you goose -- of course I’m sensitive to light,” said Pippin, his voice tired and hoarse. Merry stood to one side of the room suppressing a grin; Pippin still had his Tookish spirit.

Merimas also couldn’t help but smile. “I know that, you ninny,” he said, refastening Pippin’s nightshirt. “Now that we’re once again speaking to each other with endearments, I should ask you one question…silly though it may sound.”

Pippin sighed heavily, feigning annoyance, “What is it?”

“Are you hungry?” asked Merimas.

“Not really,” answered Pippin.

“Whether you are hungry or not, you should eat, Pippin,” said Merimas, nodding towards the tray. “Besides, your mum made the broth. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would you?”

Pippin groaned, rubbing his eyes, “I suppose not.”

“I must go now to prepare the liniment,” said the healer. Pippin made a sour face, remembering years before when he had been treated with the herbal ointment. Merimas chuckled, “It doesn’t smell that bad.”

“Yes, it does,” said Pippin, slipping further down on his pillows. He wanted to go back to sleep for the time being. The buzz in his head was getting louder and slumber was calling him. He muttered, “Must we start right away?”

“Well, not right away,” Merimas replied, rising to leave. “It will take at least half an hour for me to make enough balm for you and Rosebud--and to properly mix it.”

Merry stepped up to the food tray, uncovering the bowl of broth. “Before you fall off to sleep again you should eat,” he said to Pippin.

“Very well,” Pippin whispered.

“Well, it seems I’m leaving my patient in good hands,” remarked Merimas, then left to see to his duties.

* * *

All the following day and the next, Merry stood nearby watching as Merimas administered herbal tinctures to Pippin. Dark circles had formed under the younger Brandybuck’s eyes in the past few days as he helped to care for his cousin and niece. The rest of Pippin’s family waited close by as well, however, it was Merry whom Pippin would ask for between naps.

More and more, Rosebud refused to nurse from Pimpernel; she wasn’t very hungry, and primarily, she could no longer lay down without nearly coughing to death. During supper, Rosebud sat with her grandparents eating small spoonfuls her grandmother’s broth. It was the only thing that allowed her to breathe, quickly swallow, then breath again. All Rosebud’s energy went into breathing. Twice a day, after feedings is when Donnabelle would take the baby into Merry’s room for examining.

Currently, Merimas had just finished treating Pippin with an herbal liniment and was headed out the bedroom door when Donnabelle called to him from across the apartment. The elder healer stood in the doorway of Merry’s bedroom holding a lethargic Rosebud in her arms. “Come here Merimas,” she spoke in a low volume as Merimas drew nigh to her, not wanting to draw too much attention. “Listen to her breathe for a minute,” she whispered, “then tell me what you hear.”

Inside the bedroom Merimas set down the small vial of oil he carried with him while Donnabelle held Rosebud. He put his ear to the baby’s chest. What he heard made his heart sink to his toes. “I need a stronger recipe,” he said in reference to the medicines he had been administering to Rosebud. He sat down despondently in one of the bedside chairs. “Perhaps a brandy tincture might help her as well -- warm brandy combined with dash of garlic--like Pippin’s. She couldn’t stomach the teas I fed her.”

“She won’t be able to stomach that either, Merimas. All the garlic or brandy in the Shire won’t help her now,” remarked Donnabelle sadly.

“No,” Merimas shook his head, “she still has a chance. I can ask mum to add more garlic to the broth -- that may help Rosebud, too. Or maybe at full strength--”

“Merimas,” Donnabelle gently disputed. “Look at her. She constantly sleeps, and for what little time she’s awake, she’s listless. Her breath is short, filled with gurgling sounds--and the slightest movement sends her into a coughing fit that often ends with her spewing vomit.”

“I’m not giving up on her!” said Merimas.

“I’m not giving up, either!” Donnabelle shot back. “However, if Rosebud were anyone else’s child, what would your evaluation be I wonder? Hmm?”

Merimas had no argument for that. Rising from the chair, he mumbled something about checking on Pervinca and Brody then left Donnabelle in the bedroom alone with Rosebud. Ignoring the startled looks of his in-laws as he passed through the sitting room, Merimas nearly slammed the door behind him as he settled against the wall in the hallway. Deeply he breathed in the cool air, then remembered that Rosebud wasn’t able to do so. Why? Why this innocent babe? He wiped away the tears that slid down his face. In his mind, he pictured the wee, year-old fauntling at her party mere weeks ago. The thought of her bright eyes and contagious smiles made his heart break even more. Merimas stepped away from the wall, walking resolutely towards his and Pervinca’s quarters. Going inside Brody’s room, Merimas quickly found the baby napping in his cot.

“What’s wrong, Merimas?” asked Pervinca, following her husband into their son’s room. Pervinca had never seen her husband this upset before, so she was naturally concerned. When he took the baby up in his arms, she asked, “What are you doing?” She watched as the obviously distraught father picked up the sleeping child, nestling him in a loving, snug embrace. Then she saw the tears. Being a young mother, Pervinca’s instinct sensed the desperation in her husband. “It’s Rosebud, isn’t it?”

* * *

“Just one more sip, love,” Eglantine coaxed her son. She held the glass up to his lips while he sipped. Before being called away by Donnabelle, Merimas had left a small bottle of garlic and brandy for his patient to consume with help -- mostly to ensure that the tween truly ingested it, and didn’t dump it in the convenience usually kept under the bed when he was sick. He had been known to do that once before.

Pippin winced, “It tastes worse than it smells.” As if on cue, the lad coughed until his faced turned beet red, spitting the results into a small pail nearby.

“It works,” Merry put in wearily. He sat in a chair off to the side with one leg drawn over the knee of the other, watching his aunt feed Pippin more of the tincture. If his aunt had not insisted on giving Pippin his medicine herself, Merry would be doing it. He had stayed by Pippin’s side since his cousin first became ill a few days ago, and even helped the healers out in walking the floor with Rosebud whenever she fussed.

“Where’s Rosebud?” asked Pippin between swallows. “I want to see her.”

“Donna is examining her at the moment,” said his mother. “I can have her bring in Rosebud when she’s finished.”

“Please,” said Pippin, becoming drowsy, “I haven’t seen her since I woke up this morning.”

Eglantine smiled; the medicine was doing it’s work. “I shall do just that, now that you’re finished. However…if you’re asleep when I return, then we’ll wait--I mean--I’ll wait until you’re up before letting you hold her.” Placing the glass on Pippin’s night table, she got up, walking to Merry kissing the top of his head. “This one has promised me that he would at least try to sleep as well.”

“I will try, but I won’t promise anything, Aunt Tina,” said Merry. “I haven’t been able to sleep much lately.”

“It’s not a wonder--I wouldn’t put it past you to have been sleeping in this awful chair, lad. Your mother and father would be quite displeased with us if we didn‘t take good care of you.” She tenderly took Merry’s chin in her hand. “Please do your best. I shall have one of the servants bring in a small moveable bed for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eglantine then went over to Pippin and kissed his forehead. “I love you Pippin--sleep well.”

Pippin was already half asleep when he mumbled, “Love you too…”

“Rosebud?” Pippin looked about him. His eyes scanned the clump of bushes, the tall green grasses near the bubbling brook, then over to the copse of trees standing tall a stone’s throw away. “Rosebud!” he called again. No answer. He had an odd feeling about the trees in the distance; nothing evil, however he kept away from them just the same. Instead, he opted to walk through the tall grasses first. Where has that lass gone to? This time Pippin cupped his hands around his mouth, “Rosebud! Where are you?” As he drew near to the brook he stopped, thinking he heard sniffling.

“Rosebud?” he called in a normal voice, pushing aside huge blades of grass in search of his young daughter. Pippin walked several more strides before spotting whom he sought. Sitting among the tall, thick grasses was Rosebud with her hands covering her face, obviously in tears.

Pippin crouched down to her level, lovingly putting an arm around her thin, slender shoulders. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying, Muffin?” His daughter’s shoulders seemed leaner than usual. Pippin reached inside the pocket of his waistcoat to give her his handkerchief.

Rosebud took the offered kindness, wiping her eyes, dabbing at her nose, however, she said nothing for a long minute.

Pippin observed her hesitation, listening to her sniffling and short spurts of breath. He spoke softly to the lass, “Rosebud, you know that you can talk to me; we’ve always been able to open hearts to one another.”

Rosebud did not look up when she answered her father. “Somebody waits for me beyond those trees, papa, but I can’t go to meet her.”

Pippin blinked in confusion, thinking Rosebud was referring to a playmate; the distance between them and the trees was not that much. “Why not?” he asked.

Rosebud wiped her eyes again. “Because.”

“Because why?” Pippin asked. Lasses! He had often played this “game” with his sister Pervinca when they were young children. Pippin gazed at the trees again. How green they looked! “Are you in need of my permission to go there? It’s not that far, love.” He was taken back when Rosebud almost imperceptibly nodded her head.

He grinned, “When has my permission become a prerequisite? It’s not stopped you before.”

“This time is different, papa,” she said. “This time…” she now looked up. Pippin fell back onto his bum at the sight of his daughter. Her face was pale and sickly; the sparkle in her eyes dimmed to nothing. Dark shadows lay under her tearful eyes. There was no hint of a smile when she spoke again, “This time I won’t be coming back.”

“Of course you will,” said Pippin, thought Rosebud made no answer in assent. When he perceived otherwise, Pippin looked at his daughter in disbelief, “You mean, this is the promise you wanted me to make all this time?”

“Yes, papa.”

Pippin stood up, glaring at Rosebud, “Absolutely not!” Yet the tears that streamed down the girl’s face started to soften Pippin’s heart. Rosebud always had this way with him; he was wrapped around her finger, yet she never seemed to exploit his indulgences. She had always been a well-behaved young lass. “Pippin held out his hand to his young daughter, “Come home with me, Muffin.”

“But…” Rosebud started to protest, then relented. She reached out for his hand, “Yes, papa.” Slowly, she stood to her feet. It was then that Pippin realized just how thin his eight-year-old lass really was.

“What…” he gaped at her, “what happened to you, Rosebud?” They began walking back hand-in-hand in the direction of which they came.

“Nothing, papa--this is how I have always been.”

“No, Muffin,” answered Pippin, “it seemed just minutes ago you were hale and smiling as you traipsed upon the rocks in the brook.”

“That…was when…I thought I could…go back,” the young lass explained. The more she walked, the more out of breath she became.

Pippin stopped and turned to her, “Go back? To where--the trees?”

“I…must stop…for a rest, papa,” Rosebud said, then sat down where she had stood.

“Young lady, what sort of games are you playing with me?” he asked firmly.

Rosebud burst into tears. “I’m not…playing games, papa--I’m sick!” she said. “I can’t walk, I can’t breath, I constantly cough, I have not played with my cousins in a very long time--I miss them terribly.” She sniffled, using the handkerchief again. “I’m always miserable, papa, and I hate it!”

Deep in his heart, Pippin knew she was speaking the truth. He sat down next to her, nestling her head upon his chest, her wrapped his arm around her. “Things will get better, my dearest Muffin. You’ll see.” He kissed her long, auburn tresses. “I love you, Rosebud.”

“I know you don’t want me to leave, papa,” she wept. “I will stay if you want me to.”

Those last words of his daughter struck Pippin deep in his heart. A debate began between his head and his heart. “I won’t let her leave,” said his head. ‘You selfish hobbit!’ Pippin’s heart admonished himself. ‘What sort of father are you, eh? Forcing your sickly daughter to remain behind just so that you won’t be left alone. I can’t think of anything more self-serving!’

He leaned down, kissing the dark, reddish curls of his sweet Muffin. “You know that I love you more than my own life, don’t you?” He felt her nod. Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave,” he wept, holding her tight. Little by little, Pippin felt his heart shattering to pieces. “Who will wake me up at the crack of dawn so that we can hurry up and eat breakfast--just so that she can spend time walking in the garden with me?” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “What other little lass will wrap me firmly around her heart so tight that I can’t ever see having another little girl?”

“You mustn’t talk like that, papa,” said Rosebud. She reached up, wiping away her father’s tears. “I love you, too. But I’ve heard grandmum say that you have far too much love in your heart to not have any more children. I think she’s right. I should love to have had a little brother or sister.”

Pippin buried his face in her hair, weeping hot tears of anguish. “No…” he sniffed, listening to his head. “I can’t do this.”

Rosebud stopped crying, wiping away her own tears. “Then I shall live in my bed for the remainder of my life,” she answered simply. “I shall never again play with my cousins like I used to. I shall never again know what the wind feels like rushing against my face as I run upon the green grasses near home.”

* * *

“Pippin, it’s all right.” As the tween came to his senses, he felt someone cradling him in their arms. It was Merry.

Pippin could feel that his eyes were wet--just as they had been on another occasion of having this dream. He sniffled. Had he truly been crying? Then the whole dream came back to him as if someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. His voice thick with emotion, he demanded, “Where’s Rosebud?”

TBC

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

Chapter Fifty One - Reaching Out

Three days later…

Esmeralda peered around the edge of the bedroom door, seeing a lone silhouetted figure sitting in a chair before the window. She entered into the bedroom, lit only by the daylight coming inside from the window. As she passed by the wardrobe, Esmeralda surveyed the familiar dress jacket and breeches hanging on a peg inside the open door. A mound of used handkerchiefs had collected upon the unmade bed. She spoke ever so softly, “Hullo, Merry.” He did not answer.

“Your uncle asked me to ensure you were in all right,” she said, slowly approaching her son. “Are you feeling better?” she asked, trying her best to spur the young hobbit into conversation.

Merry sat by the window that looked away west, his tearful blue eyes fixed on a line of trees away in the distant hills. After a long pause, he spoke; his voice sounding small and far away. “I’ll live,” he said.

“When have you eaten last?” his mother asked, then looked over to the tray still sitting on the table. She observed a bowl of half-eaten stew, probably from yesterday’s supper, long since cold. Esmeralda brought her own chair up next to the young hobbit. “Merry darling,” she said, “you must take care of yourself. How do you expect to be able to care for others when you disregard your own needs?”

“I haven’t,” Merry replied a bit nasally, wiping his eyes and nose with a handkerchief.

“Tina informed me that you haven’t been eating or sleeping as you should,” she said, then waited for an answer. Merry continued gazing out the window. His mother pressed, “The situation was understandable, love, but...Paladin said you went pale yesterday and would have fallen over had he not sat you down in a chair.”

“I’m all right, mum,” Merry replied wearily.

Esmeralda gazed at her grown-up son, resembling his dearest friend in the other bedroom mourning the recent loss of his baby daughter. Rosebud’s life--and death--touched every hobbit in Great Smials, the Tooklands, and far abroad in the Shire. Even Pippin didn’t anticipate the amount of hobbits attending the burial march. Word had quickly spread that the Thain’s son and granddaughter had taken ill…then days later, the sombre toll of a single bell sounded. For a while, rumour spread that both father and daughter had perished. Overall, it had been an especially difficult week for the Thain’s family--including Merry.

Estella Bolger returned in haste from her home in Budgeford for the burial of her baby cousin. During the ensuing days, she visited her grieving betrothed every day to check on him, to talk…and to postpone the wedding, originally set to take place in just over a month on the first day of Lithe.

Estella genuinely considered her beloved’s suffering. Taking his hand in hers, she reasoned, “We both need time to pull through this heartbreak--you more so than I. You were the closest to her--next to her own Dad, of course.” She kissed Merry’s hand, “it’s just a delay, my love, not a cancellation. Your heart needs to mend first.”

At present, sitting in the former nursery, watching the tears her son shed, Esmeralda’s heart went out to Merry, “It might help to talk about it, son. I know you’ve found solace in speaking with Pippin about your nightmares. I think I can help in this particular instance, don’t you think?”

Merry looked at his mother, a haunted expression on his face. “Does it ever go away?” he asked, pressing the handkerchief to his eyes brimming with tears.

Esmeralda scooted her chair nearer to Merry, placing an arm around his shoulder, drawing him close. “Does what go away, sweetheart? The pain of losing a child?” she asked, combing his curls with her fingers. Slowly, his mother shook her head in reply, “No…I’m afraid not. It may lessen as life goes on, but no…it never completely goes away.” Her own eyes glistened as she went on, “My heart aches for your brother as if he lived yesterday.”

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Merry buried his face into the safety of his mother’s loving shoulder and sobbed.

* * *

Across the apartment, Pippin lay abed recovering from his illness. His fever was gone; however, the past four days were an utter blur for the recuperating tween. He could only remember being extremely warm, extremely cold, then being plunged into freezing water. All other recollections seemed to have a greyish haze about them. Drifting in and out of slumber for the past few days, Pippin finally woke up in a damp nightshirt this morning. When he spied the empty space on the bed next to him, he cried. One memory surfaced all too clearly; the dreadful memory of saying goodbye to his baby daughter.

One of the first things his mother tried to do, after he woke up, was feed him--even though he said he wasn’t hungry. Initially, Pippin refused to eat the toasted bread his mother offered to him -- his heart being nowhere near food today. In spite of this, he would never forgive himself if he purposely put his own parents through the same torment that he himself was experiencing. In the end, he nibbled at the bread and sipped the broth that accompanied it, but like his cousin now weeping in the arms of his mother, Pippin couldn’t finish it.

Throughout the day and the next, misery took hold of Pippin’s heart as he grieved over the void within. The darkness inside his heart reflected the darkness inside his bedroom. The drapes were pulled shut to keep out all light; not one candle or lantern was lit. The grieving father lay lifeless upon his bed ever since he woke up the morning before. The furniture, still arranged to keep Rosebud inside niche of his bed emphasized the tragic loss of his dear child. Pippin never knew such profound, emotional suffering.

Fever or not, Pippin most certainly did attend his daughter’s burial four days ago; no amount of persuading from Donnabelle--out of concern for Pippin’s health--would change his mind. Paladin didn’t argue with his son, however, he did insist that Pippin ride in the Thain’s carriage underneath a pile of blankets instead of walking.

This day--the fourth since sweet Rosebud died--at this moment, pacing the floor outside Pippin’s bedroom was another mournful father. Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, tread uneasily in front of his nephew’s bedroom door. His brother-in-law, the Thain, requested in confidence that he speak with Pippin--having been through the same tragic loss as the tween, albeit nearly forty years ago. Naturally, Saradoc agreed to it; the personal agony he and Esmeralda endured with their first-born son, Saramac, would time and again come to his mind--oftentimes unbidden. Therefore, it wasn’t hard at all to empathize with his nephew.

Better go in and get it over with as soon as possible, he thought. Anxiously, Saradoc knocked on the bedroom door then waited, tugging on his waistcoat from nervous energy. No answer. He knocked again. He shot a glance at Paladin sitting on the couch, who nodded towards the door, mouthing, “Go on”. Once again, Saradoc knocked upon the door, this time opening it.

The elder hobbit flinched at the stagnant air he breathed in. Looking about the room it was virtually pitch-dark inside. The light only that seeped through was where the drapes met the wall; otherwise, no candles, no lanterns. The only sound emitted in the room was Pippin’s nasal breathing. Flashes of memory pierced Saradoc’s awareness. He recalled himself doing this very same thing. All those years ago when his son died, he had locked himself inside his room--not accepting visitors or the compassion of others who had lost a child. Deep inside his room, Saradoc touched no one and no one touched him. His pain was his own.

Today, however, Saradoc was long past that dark grievous period that lasted for some long years--and costing him a great price as it lasted far into Merry’s childhood. Over and over again, Saradoc regretted that period of his life, allowing his misery to control him. He would not let that happen to Pippin. To mourn one’s beloved child for a time was one thing, but to hide away was another.

Bracing himself, Saradoc walked forward. “Are you awake, Pippin?” he asked into the darkness.

“Go away, please.”

Ignoring the request, Saradoc felt the air around him until his hands came upon a bedside chair. Easing himself into it, he said, “Your family is concerned about you.”

Pippin emphatically restated his previous answer, “Please go away.”

“All right…” said Saradoc, quickly thinking up another perspective to express his counsel. “Let me put it to you this way…I am concerned about you, my lad.”

Pippin moaned, “I want to be left alone--if you don’t mind.”

The Brandybuck gave a sad sigh, “That is how it starts--wanting to be alone.” Saradoc bided his time with the tweenager, letting his words sink in. “Then slowly it eats at you…consumes you, festering away inside your mind. Questions like, Why my child?, or Why wasn’t I able to stop it? constantly plague your thoughts.” Saradoc’s voice gradually took on the air of a distant ache. “I was his father--his protector -- I should have been able to stop the sickness. Saramac was a poor, defenceless infant.”

Pippin said nothing, however, Saradoc felt he had gotten the lad’s attention. He went on, “he had the same color of eyes Merry does…the same hair color--the smile…the laugh.” Saradoc could see his first-born’s face clearly before him. “There’s no mistake about it; those lads are--I mean, were--brothers.” He smiled sadly in the dark, “I can still feel my son here,” he patted his heart. “It will never fully go away.”

The elder hobbit let a few silent minutes pass between him and his nephew, allowing Pippin to ponder his words. “Rosebud was a sweet, little lass, Pippin. You must be proud of her.” Saradoc further reached out emotionally to Pippin. “Merry would write to his mum and me--telling us all about Rosebud and what she would do to make life interesting at home.”

Pippin remained silent. Saradoc forged on. “He sent us a letter just before her birthday. In it he told funny anecdotes about his favorite niece. He said that one time at supper, Rosebud pointed towards a custard tart, meaning that she wanted it. You told her she had had enough.” The Saradoc smiled at recollecting the letter, imagining the miniature lass-version of Pippin at her finest. He continued, “Merry said that the very second you turned your head, her wooden spoon went straight into the custard, then she smiled so innocently as she ate what clung to it. Another time…he wrote in his letter how she would laugh and splash to her heart’s content whenever you gave her a bath.”

Pippin still did not speak, but Saradoc could hear muffled sobs. Pippin was crying into his pillow. Saradoc got up from the chair, taking a seat on the bed, tenderly rubbing his nephew’s shoulder, speaking softly. “Cry as long as you want, son. Eventually, you will learn to breathe again; your heart will slowly begin to beat. The scars will heal over time…though they will never disappear.”

Deep in his heart, immersed in endless pain, Pippin knew his uncle was reaching out to him. After thinking about it, he realized that within his circle of family and friends, if anyone could know what it was like to lose a child it was his auntie and uncle. Pippin turned over to face Saradoc. “She was my child, Uncle Sara,” he wept. “She was a part of me.”

Saradoc lifted the lad up to sit, rocking him in his arms, letting him cry on his shoulder. “I know, son--and she always will be. Don’t give in to the fear that no one will remember her. Anyone who has been touched by Rosebud’s laughter and smiles will always keep her in their hearts.”

“It’s too hard to talk much about her right now, Uncle,” said Pippin, wiping his nose.

Saradoc wiped away a lone tear running down the lad’s cheek. “It won’t always be this difficult. There will come a time when you’ll be able to tell these same stories to your other children--ones that you will have when you’re a bit older.”

“I--I can’t,” Pippin sniffed, wiping his nose with a wet handkerchief. “I don’t think I can do this again.”

“You don’t seriously mean that, do you?” Saradoc looked at his nephew, handing him a fresh handkerchief. “Pippin--everyone knows that your heart is far too big to not share it with another. It’s…” he hesitated, searching for the correct word. “Unnatural.” Saradoc smiled, trying to lure Pippin into a smile. When Pippin only blinked like an owl, he added, “Well…it still may be too early to smile, but that, too, will come back in time--in little steps.”

Pippin was comforted in having someone nearby who knew how he felt. Merry was close, however, he was hurting as well. Pippin felt powerless against helping his closest friend get through the sorrow of losing his niece. His Uncle Saradoc knew the pain first-hand; perhaps he could help them both. The only the problem with having the Master of Buckland as his uncle was that he lived too far away. Through tearful eyes Pippin asked, “Are you going to stay for a while, Uncle Sara?”

“For a while, my lad,” replied Saradoc, still hugging the tween. “Though I can’t stay more than a fortnight. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did, Pippin--and I will be visiting you quite often to make sure.”

* * *

The following morning, Pippin opened his eyes to a dark room. He dwelled on is uncle’s words from the day before, ‘I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did’. Suddenly, the room with no light seemed stifling and oppressive. Pippin sat up in his bed, turning up the lantern on his nightstand. He sat there gazing at all the reminders of his beloved Rosebud. Her rag doll…the wooden spoon with it’s multitude of indentations--from Rosebud cutting her wee milk teeth on it…her nappies, clean and folded on the bureau…and the biggest heartbreaker: the silver music box. One part of him wanted to wind it up to listen to his Muffin’s favorite song while another part of him didn’t even want to touch it. Pippin held her much-loved pink blanket under his nose; it still carried her fragrance. Tears threatened to overwhelm him again as he sat there on his bed. Pippin’s heart ached for his daughter. Life would never be the same.

Pippin’s personal goal this morning was to walk to the window. Don’t make the same mistake I did… Reluctantly, Pippin swung his legs down from the mattress, his toes touching the mat on the floor. For a long moment, he sat there staring at the pattern of colors. The quiet was deafening, his thoughts racing.

Before Rosebud became ill, she would be chattering away to him as if he understood every syllable, or pointing at her favorite toys--wanting to share playtime with her papa or cousins. No matter where he looked in the bedroom, there were reminders of his Rosebud. Pippin sighed, his heart no longer desiring an attempt to reach his goal. He lay back down, pulling the covers over himself, sinking back into his dark depression.

“Pippin?” Merry had knocked upon the door, stepping inside. His hair had been combed and face washed, however, his features could not hide the fact that he still lacked sleep. Merry came over to the bed, sitting down next to his young friend. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I feel like I want to die,” replied Pippin matter-of-factly.

“You don’t mean that,” said Merry.

“Yes, I do,” said Pippin, speaking barely above a whisper. He turned over onto his back, wearily drawing his arm over his eyes. “Whatever reason I had to live before is now gone. I can’t even get out of my bed.”

Merry looked sympathetically at his dear cousin, “That is what friends are for.”

Pippin peered at Merry from under his arm, chuckling derisively, “That’s like the miserable comforting the miserable. When have you slept last?”

“I don’t deny that I’m miserable, Pip,” said Merry, “but I’m more worried about you.”

“Don’t.”

Merry lay down next to Pippin, “The day I am no longer concerned for you is the day the sun no longer rises.”

“It already no longer rises for me,” said Pippin.

Merry breathed out a long breath, though not exasperated. A few minutes passed as his mind leafed through more ideas in which he could touch the shattered heart of his friend. He spoke tenderly, “I remember how you would so lovingly hold Rosebud in your arms after her nap, walking her around the apartment until she was fully awake. I could tell by the sparkle in her eyes when she had woke up. She’d smile then turn her face in towards you, burying her sweet face into your neck. That was when I knew I wanted a little one just like her.”

Pippin pondered this memory of is late daughter. “That was my favorite part of the day. I loved those moments,” he said wistfully.

Merry asked, “Do you remember the first time you fed Rosebud crushed peas?”

A slight smile played at the corner of his mouth, recalling the incident. “We were at my birthday supper; she spit them out all over the front of her dress--promptly giving a handful to cousin Saffron.”

Merry laughed, “I’ll never forget the look on her face!” He could see Pippin’s amused expression out of the corner of his eye.

Then the next moment, Pippin was on the verge of tears again. “I’m going to miss Rosebud so much.”

“I will, too.” Merry stole another glance at Pippin; the lad’s eyes glistened in the bit of light emitted from the cracks of the drapes. Merry sat up on the bed, “Come on, Pip--stand up with me.”

Pippin sighed. “Not today, Merry,” he said.

“Yes, today,” said Merry, pulling the blanket off his friend. “If not today, then when? When you’re ninety years old and can truly no longer get out of bed?” He looked Pippin in the eye, “Do it for Bergil-lad,” he said.

The tweenager asked, “Bergil?”

Without missing a beat Merry answered, “Yes--he’s Daisy-lass’s older brother.”

Pippin looked awestruck at his cousin. “You’ve truly gone and done it--you’ve cracked, Merry.”

Merry was so happy at Pippin’s jest that he had to laugh. “No, I haven’t! Come on now--one foot at a time, just as you told me when you found me in the streets of Gondor.” Merry waited a brief time before imploring once more, “For the children…please?”

“Not until you tell me who the children are,” replied Pippin, eyeing his cousin warily.

Worn out from his attempt to goad Pippin out of bed, Merry sat upon the bed and answered. “They’re just names I picked for the children you will have with a lass that you fall completely in love with later in your life.” He held up a hand when he saw Pippin was about to object, “Half a minute -- I’m not finished. There is another side to this. Bergil and Daisy-lass could easily be the children who will suffer because you won’t give yourself the chance to recover from Rosebud. You will hide away in your darkened room, never touching their lives until they do something drastic to get your attention. Something like…” Merry paused in thought.

Pippin recalled one particular summer when he and Merry were lads. “Something like…running away from home?” Not entirely proud of what he did, Merry nodded. Pippin looked at his dearest friend with a new perspective, recalling again his Uncle Saradoc’s words, ‘I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did’. Slowly, though determined, Pippin brought his feet down to the mat again.

Merry smiled, “That’s it, Pippin! You can do it.”

Little by little, with Merry’s help Pippin stood up. All at once, the blood rushed from Pippin’s head, darkening the lad’s vision. Merry grabbed onto his friend before he could fall. “Easy, Pip--not so fast.”

Ever so slowly, the young hobbits walked up to the window. Pippin opened the drapes just a little bit. “We’ll do this again later,” said Merry, watching Pippin cover his eyes from the bright light. “After that, each time we’ll go a bit further, eventually making our way out to the sitting room, then the dining room, then lastly outside to the garden.”

And so it happened.

TBC

1/01/05 A/N: Okay…what I was saying in regard to the next two chapters…chapter 52 I believe will be the last one. The next chapter won’t have a number, but will pick up at some point from the latter part of Rosebud’s storyline. I will insert a note at the top to bring readers into it, but *that* chapter will have a different ending for sweet Rosebud. It’s for those (like me!) who wouldn’t mind a wee glimpse into what things *could* have been like for her and Pippin.

Another thank you to Meldwen Ilce and Connie for their grammatical/typo error helps! I think I got them both…

Thank you for reading Roses! Happy New Year! 

Chapter Fifty Two - Full Circle

Pippin heard the clip-clop of the pony and bridle long before the sound finally arrived on the path directly behind him below the hill. Well…it wasn’t exactly a hill that he sat upon; in fact, it was only set just a tad higher than the rest of the graveyard. Still, Pippin liked the view from here, surrounded by wild flowers and foliage. He heard the rider greet him from behind where he was tethering the animal to a tree next to his own pony. Pippin paused before answering, taking in a deep breath as his eyes scanned the beautiful green hills around the peaceful dell. He remained sitting upon the soft grass, twisting his torso round just enough to make eye contact. “Hullo, Merry.”

“Your mum said you were here,” said Merry, ambling up the incline to meet his friend. “I wanted to--”

“…to make sure I was all right--I know,” said Pippin, finishing the sentence for his cousin. Blessed Meriadoc--where would he be without his dearly loved cousin? He managed a sad smile to reassure Merry, who seemed a bit taken back at the response. “Thank you, but I am all right.”

Merry eyed the trowel beside a sapling bush with broken earth at its base. Clinging tenaciously to the slender limbs were small, soft pink petals. “What did you plant? From the look of things, it’s a rose bush.”

“Well…,” Pippin began, “I saw a wild rose bush not far from the lane the day before last. It looked rather lonely, so…I took it. It more suits my lovely Rosebud. What do you think?” he asked, turning to gaze towards his handiwork.

Now it was Merry’s turn to manage a smile, though he still worried over his young cousin. “It does look lovely,” said Merry with quiet reassurance. “It will take root nicely before winter sets in.”

“Lets just sit here for a while, Merry,” said Pippin. He stretched his legs out upon the grass, then wiped the loose dirt from his hands onto his breeches.

Taking the invitation, Merry did much the same--sitting down next to Pippin with his legs out before him. He observed the colourful trees away off…the tall grasses…feeling the chill wind against his face. So much change, he thought. Frodo, Bilbo, and Gandalf had left on the 29^th of Holmath, sailing for the Undying lands. Merry knew that Pippin was just as sad about it as he was; they both would miss their dearest friends.

Merry couldn’t help but smile, musing on the return ride back to Crickhollow. Quite unexpectedly, Pippin’s voice rose in song as they left the Grey Havens behind. Merry puzzled over this; Pippin was still mourning the death of his baby daughter. He asked his young cousin why he was so light at heart that day. Pippin smiled, “Because…Frodo told me that should he see my Rosebud over there, he’d tell her just how much we love her and miss her.” Merry felt encouraged; he joined his cousin in singing.

Indeed, towards the end of Lithe, the lads had moved back to Crickhollow with the help of Fredegar and Merimas. Merry and Pippin talked about it for a long time, finally deciding to return to the tranquillity of the little cottage. At Crickhollow, there was a chance of healing unlike living in the apartment at Great Smials. Inside Pippin’s apartment lay reminders of his former life everywhere. The many knitted baby blankets…the bed warmer…Rosebud’s cot and her teething spoons. Living in the apartment itself was a painful reminder; it had been fashioned for a small family to live in, not two bachelor hobbits.

As Merry helped his dear friend along on the path to rebuilding his life, Pippin tried his best in keeping a wary eye out for Merry, though his own grief would often set in. Even so, the tween was clearly aware of his cousin’s need to come to terms with Rosebud’s death as well. In addition, Pippin was convinced that moving to Crickhollow would be the perfect opportunity for Merry to reconcile with Estella; the setting was secluded and private. Neither one of the pair was angry with the other, however, Pippin felt Merry was a bit hesitant with jumping right back into the marriage process. Pippin knew it was over Rosebud. It was the tweenager’s aim to get those two back onto the path of marriage as soon as possible.

Presently, sitting on the grassy incline where Lilas and Rosebud rested beside one another, Pippin spied the wistful smile on Merry’s face. “What are you smiling at?” he asked.

Merry reluctantly broke away from his reflections. “I was remembering our last tramp through the Shire…in Holmath--on our way back to Crickhollow.” Looking off at the distant line of trees, he smiled again at the memory then added wistfully, “How you were singing…and smiling.”

“Well…I can’t say that I’ve been in much of a mood to sing…or smile lately,” Pippin answered softly, glancing away towards the grave markers. “My heart hasn’t been in it.” Merry nodded in acknowledgement then scooted closer to his friend, placing his arm around his shoulder in loving support.

Pippin had improved much since their return to Crickhollow, though he still had his good days and bad days. Just last Trewsday Merry held the lad in his arms all through the night--consoling him until Saradoc could arrive the following morning. Nevertheless, the resilient hobbit was slowly but surely recovering from his tragedy.

Silence reigned for a long period while the hobbits sat listening to the breeze blowing through the trees. Merry eventually felt the autumn chill deep in his bones. He buried his limbs under the warmth of his cloak, shivering a bit. “Pip…I think it’s time to go home.”

Pippin sighed audibly, “I suppose so.” He busied himself gathering his gardening tools, chucking them into his rucksack while Merry got the ponies ready. The afternoon was waning, so they decided to spend one more night at Great Smials before heading back to Buckland the next morning. He watched as his dearest friend readied the ponies for the trek back to the Smials. “Wait, Merry.”

Rubbing the nose of Stybba, Merry turned to see what his cousin wanted. Pippin’s features had the expression of concern…perhaps worry. Not a good thing in Merry’s opinion. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” answered Pippin. He let loose the sack in his hand, allowing it to drop to the ground. He soon followed, sitting back down on the cool earth. “Come and sit, Merry.”

Merry was perplexed as to his cousin’s behavior, but was now more curious than anything. The lad obviously wanted to talk. Merry sat down next to Pippin not knowing exactly what to expect from the mourning lad.

Pippin gazed out towards the colourful trees, then glanced lovingly at Merry. “It’s been rough these past six months.”

Merry’s blue eyes tenderly met with Pippin’s green ones. “It has,” he said in agreement, then spoke nothing more. He waited for Pippin to continue.

“I…,” began Pippin, “I wouldn’t have come this far without you…and Uncle Sara.” He saw Merry’s mouth open as if to argue the point, then gently placed his fingers upon his cousin’s moving lips. Pippin couldn’t help but smile, recalling Merry doing something like this to him during his most difficult times. “Listen to me, you stubborn Brandybuck!” he said, then laughed kindly.

Merry was shocked; he hadn’t heard Pippin laugh in a very long time…and he loved it. It was like music to his ears. Merry’s mouth clamped shut in obedience.

Pippin grew serious again. “I don’t like to reflect on what could have happened had my father not asked Uncle Sara and you to watch over me at Crickhollow.” Tears sprang from his eyes and his voice cracked at the last part of his statement, “I am forever grateful, Merry--to you and to your dad.”

Not a moment’s hesitation, Merry threw his arms around his best and closest friend, wrapping Pippin in a tight hug. Merry whispered with emotion, “I did it gladly--and would do it all over again.”

“I know,” said Pippin, wiping his eyes. “I’m just sorry that I wasn’t there very much for you…during your own grief.”

Merry took out two pocket handkerchiefs, handing one to Pippin. “I understood, Pip. You were her father…I was merely a dear uncle.”

“You were much more than that, Merry Brandybuck!” Pippin gently reproved his friend. “You never saw the look on Rosebud’s face when she heard your voice. After you would walk inside the apartment and call out for her, she would laugh and giggle until you “found” her inside her cot. Rosebud loved you more than a dear uncle, Merry. She loved you as if you were her second papa. You once said that you wanted a daughter just like her…well, you had her…and she loved you very much.”

By the end of Pippin’s heartening words, Merry was quietly sobbing into Pippin’s shoulder. “Thank you, Merry,” whispered Pippin, consoling his friend. “Thank you for being there for her…for us.”

Slowly, the lads made their way back to the Smials. They arrived just in time to clean up and head to the Thain’s dining room for supper. Thereafter, they relaxed in the common room in front of the huge fireplace with a mug of beer and pipe. When the evening had passed, the friends bid one another good night, each going to his respective room for bed.

Pippin changed into his nightshirt then eased himself between the chilly bed linen. He chuckled to himself, remembering the night Lilas shocked him by placing her cold feet against his legs. He observed a bed warmer next to the fire irons; it wasn’t the same bed warmer, yet Pippin smiled at the warm memory nonetheless. As usual, without realizing it, he fell off to sleep…

Once again, Pippin found himself strolling in the green meadow of…somewhere. Yet this time, he walked alone. He scanned the area for the young lass with auburn curls dancing behind as she ran, but she was nowhere to be found. Pippin resigned himself to walking in the glen all by himself.

“Hullo!”

Pippin jumped at the sound. “Wha--?” There, standing behind him, was Rosebud, beautiful as ever. The pale complection from the last time he saw her was gone; the color had returned to her skin and face. No more wheezing nor bluish fingernails. She was smiling at him, though he could tell it was a sad smile. Pippin smiled in return. “You startled me, Muffin. I didn’t hear you walk up,” he said.

“I can’t stay long, Papa,” she spoke softly. Rosebud tried her best to be a brave lass, but the tears came anyway.

“I know,” he said, kneeling down to her eyelevel. “Don’t cry, love,” he said, wiping away her tears with his fingers.

“I won’t see you again--and I’ll miss you,” she said, beginning to cry.

“Sure you will,” Pippin answered tenderly, combing her soft tresses with his fingertips. “We’ll meet here by the brook one day, and together we’ll walk all the way past those trees that you love so well.” He half jokingly added, “I only hope you’ll recognize me. I’ll probably have all sorts of grey hair and wrinkles.”

Rosebud stopped weeping, though her long eyelashes were still wet; her nose still red. She spoke softly, “I’ll always know you--because you’re my papa.”

Pippin took out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes and nose. He smiled, “Just like old times, eh?”

Rosebud smiled; her papa could always make her smile. “Just like old times--whatever they are. I’m only eight, you know.” She took the hand her father offered her, walking beside him.

As they walked hand-in-hand, they spoke of nonsensical things, such as why the sun rises in the east, or where the wind comes from--why the stars twinkle at night. After a while, father and daughter finally stopped a short distance from the grove of trees. Pippin wanted this final visit to go on forever, but he knew better. At least, it would last forever in his heart. “Here we are,” he said, again kneeling down to better speak to his young daughter. “You’ll be fine, love. Just promise me that you’ll think of me…remember how much I love you.”

“I will,” she sniffed. “I’ll always remember you, Papa.”

Pippin wrapped her in a loving hug, his own tears spilling down his cheeks. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered into her ear.

Tears fell from her green eyes. “I have to go, Papa,” she sadly whispered in return. She would not break away from the embrace; she waited for him to let go.

When Pippin perceived this, slowly he loosed her. “I love you, Muffin.”

“I love you, Papa.”

Pippin stood up, gazing tearfully at his lovely lass slowly walking away towards the trees. Just before she entered the small opening set between two trees, Rosebud turned one last time towards Pippin. He couldn’t hear the words, however, they were unmistakable: “Goodbye, Papa.” Then she disappeared behind the great oak tree.

* * *

Twelve years later…

“And that’s what happened, Faramir,” said Pippin. After all these years, Pippin still felt a twinge in his heart whenever he spoke of his Rosebud. His auntie and uncle had been right about the fact of never forgetting a child. Every single day for the past twelve and a half years, Pippin recalled the sweet young babe he held in his arms at one time. He still missed her as if she lived just yesterday.

Pippin and three-year-old Faramir sat on the soft grass upon the small incline at the graveyard. He didn’t intend to bring the boy here today, however, after he and Faramir left the Smials to go for a long pony ride, Pippin felt inexplicably drawn to this place. He questioned if a child this young was able to understand such grown-up matters.

“I gots sisser, Papa,” replied the Faunt, pointing towards the wild rosebushes.

“No, no, Faramir,” Pippin smiled. “Not the bush--she lies over there,” he said, pointing at Rosebud’s grave marker. “But she lives forever in here,” he placed his hand over his heart.

“Muffin live in dere?”

Pippin smiled; Faramir understood. “Yes.” Faramir leaned in to kiss his father’s chest. “Lub you, Muffin. We come back, Papa?”

“Yes, we’ll come back,” said Pippin, delighted that his Rosebud had taken root in yet another heart. “But right now, your momma is waiting for us at home. She’ll have luncheon on the table soon. Up you go, now.”

As Pippin and Faramir walked towards the waiting pony, he thought he could feel eyes boring into the back of his head. He quickly turned round, gazing towards the coppice of trees, but there was no one…or was somebody truly there? Faramir tugged on his shirt cuff, impatient to get home to eat lunch. Pippin let his eyes linger at the trees for a while before deciding that there wasn’t. He turned back towards home.

T H E   E N D!!!!

A/N: I would like to thank the readers who took time out of their busy schedules at one time or another to leave a review. Your welcoming responses and encouragement meant the world to me; I have cherished each and every review. I have made many new friends through this wee epic. Here are some names to start--the list is huge! If your name doesn’t appear, its not because I forgot, but because my internet time has been severely curtailed. I’ll update them regularly until all are printed. Here goes: Thank you for reading Roses!

Airienn Learsson, Amy2, Arlewen, Aurora Tinuviel, Baxley, Beruthiel, Bluegrass Elf, Carcilwen Thornedrose/Greenleaf, Connie, deagol+smeagol, Dreamflower, Ellie’s Girl, Eruviluieth, Estella Brandybuck, evila-elf, Fantasy Fan, FrodoBaggins_88, Ginny 3000, Grey Wonderer, hobbit hopping, Hobbits Soul, Immortal Roses, Kriszta, Lady Jaina, Lilly (Belladonna) Took, Loveofthering, Lowri Brandybuck, Meldewen Ilce, Melilot Hill, Merrymagic26, Miriel, Mistress Hoblytla (Tanya), my-fool-of-a-took, Mysterious Ways, Natsumi Firewind, oumpa loumpa, Pearl Took, Pervinca/bra_chan90, pipinheart, Pipkin Sweetgrass, Pipspebble, Pipwise Brandygin, Pixie 03, Rosie Ann, Samwisegirl12, Surfer-Gurl, szhismine, Unhobbity Hobbit, Voldie On Varsity Track…

I am still working on the “other” ending, so if you’re waiting, it won’t be long. Most likely this week. Beruthiel wants to write a sequel to Where Roses Grow that includes her version of Diamond. I hope those who have enjoyed this tale will let their curiosity get the better of them and mosey on over to support her when she’s ready. I certainly plan to read it! Take care. - PF

A/N: Sorry for the late update; one word: Overtime--and it’s cutting into my writing schedule! Hehehe…but I am glad to be working again, and I thank those who have been with me during this hard growing period…and I thank the One above.

This bit picks up at the end of Chapter 48. It is still Thrimmidge 1421, Pippin and Rosebud are very sick. Merry has just shed his tears of despair in the dark corner of the sitting room…

Roses: The Untold Story

The hobbit-women--consisting of Eglantine and Pimpernel--left the sitting room to prepare a special recipe of broth for Pippin and Rosebud’s lunch. Only Paladin and Merimas remained behind, their downcast faces full of private thought. Merry took advantage of this, quickly rushing across the expanse of Pippin’s apartment into his own room. Fortunately, neither cousin nor uncle took notice of him. Merry was not in any mood to explain his tears.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him, allowing his mind to clear. Unable to relax or to sit down, Merry paced about in his bedroom, which still resembled the nursery it was originally intended to be. He and a group of friends had decorated it as such more than a year ago. After Lilas passed away, Pippin revealed to his cousin that he wanted drastic change in his quarters. The apartment held too many memories of his late wife. As a result, Pippin asked Merry to move into the nursery, and he, in turn, would move Rosebud in with him.

Presently in the bedroom, Merry tried sitting down, however, he sill felt too restless. He decided to get up and rinse his tearstained face in the washbasin. As he finished drying his face, something caught the young hobbit’s eye: a letter he had received from the Quick Post earlier in the morning still lay upon his desk unopened. It was from Frodo. Merry would normally have opened it right away, except now he felt taking care of Rosebud and Pippin took precedence. He knew a quiet moment would come later in the day to sit in peace and read it while his charges slept.

With nothing else to do at the moment, Merry walked over to his desk and sat down. He held up the envelope in his left hand and a letter opener in his right. He hesitated, staring at the familiar artistic script that Frodo used, wondering what news the letter contained. Without another thought, Merry slid the opener across the top, pulling out the folded paper.

In the letter, Frodo wished his young cousins good health and well-being--dreams free from evil shadows and sinister figures lurking dark corners. Merry grinned sadly; in his heart, he wished the same for Frodo. The letter went on about the new Bag End, New Row, and how Sam and Rosie were faring with their first baby, Elanor. The last parts made Merry smile, reminding him of the triumphs and trials of Rosebud’s first few months. As he read further, Merry came across something that made him give a small yelp of delight. Merry quickly refolded the paper, stuffing it back inside the envelope then into the pocket of his breeches. He rummaged around his room looking for his cloak and rucksack. Picking them up, he ran out of his room.

Paladin watched his nephew shut his bedroom door in haste then walk by in a rush. He looked at Merimas sitting in the other hearthside chair, “I wonder what that is all about. Do you know where he’s off to?”

~ ~ ~

Pippin swallowed another spoonful of broth his sister had brought in. It was a special recipe his mother would make whenever he was sick. Pippin loved his sisters dearly; however, it just wasn’t the same without his favourite cousin. “Where’s Merry at?”

Pimpernel stirred the sediments from the bottom of the bowl, scooping another spoonful. “I was told that he left.”

“Left?” Pippin wondered, ignoring the spoon in front of his mouth. Merry never went any farther than Pippin could yell when he was ill. “To go where?”

Pim shrugged her shoulders. “Father told me he took his bag and cloak with him.”

Pippin didn’t know if he should be hurt or put out. “He left--just like that? No message for me?”

Pimpernel just about gave up on helping her brother to eat. “He’s a big hobbit, Pippin. He can come and go as he pleases. Now sit still and eat.”

“But that isn’t like him, Pim,” said Pippin. Sighing, he leaned back onto his pillows. “Did he say when he’d return?” Pimpernel shook her head in response, then shoved a spoonful of broth into his mouth. “Not even a thought for Rosebud,” Pippin mumbled as he ate. “Some hobbits.”

* * *

The sun was still high in the Shire sky as Merry left the Greenhills behind, riding straight north between the Smials and the East Road. He crossed over the road, heading north towards Bywater. The wind rushed past his cheeks, his pony at full gallop. Soon he would have to stop again and let Stybba rest and drink. Merry’s mind went back to the letter in his pocket…his mind had a single purpose: Bag End. Onward he rode.

* * *

“More tea?” asked Rosie, smiling at her husband.

“No, thank you,” answered Sam. He returned her smile with one of his own. “I think I’ve enough tea in me to last ’til suppertime.”

Rosie walked over to Frodo with the steaming tea kettle. “How about you Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but not because of Rosie. It was the fixed gaze of his guest that made him feel uneasy. “No, Rosie, but thank you.”

Rosie offered tea lastly to the guest of Bag End, however, after the first two negative responses, she held little hope that the guest would take a third cup. “I don’t suppose you’ll want any, will you Mr. Gandalf?”

“Yes, thank you,” said the wizard, smiling kindly at the hobbit-woman. “I have not tasted tea such as this in a long while, and tomorrow it shall be a long ride back to Rivendell.”

Rosie filled his cup then returned the kettle back to the hearth. After setting a tray of cakes and scones on the table, she took her leave. “If you lads will excuse me,” she said, “it’s almost time for Elanor to take her tea.”

Three of the former Nine members of the Fellowship waited until the young mother departed before letting their conversation turn to more serious matters. Sam spoke in a low, conspiring tone, “I’ve not seen him ill with my very own eyes, but Mr. Cotton--Rosie’s dad, mind you--found Mr. Frodo one day fingerin’ that jewel he keeps round his neck.”

“It felt a bit snug, Sam,” corrected Frodo. Though his eyes met no one’s. “I was merely loosening it.” Gandalf saw through the Ringbearer’s façade. It was just as he and Elrond suspected; the Ring had taken its toll on the hobbit’s mind long before it was ever destroyed at Mount Doom. Gandalf guessed what the Elf Lord had in mind, however, he would not brooch the subject here in mixed company. He would speak to Frodo alone later or at some point before he left the Shire. His thoughts were interrupted by someone pounding on the door. Before anyone could answer it, it flew open.

“Merry!” called Frodo, happy to see his cousin--and for a wee diversion. He rose up from the table to embrace his dear friend and cousin. “I’m so glad--” Frodo stopped short; he had a bad feeling something was about to happen.

Merry quickly hugged his dear cousin, patted Sam on the shoulder and then went straight for the wizard. “Gandalf! You’re still here--thank the Overheavens!”

~ ~

“So…you say that our young Peregrin has had a very demanding year and a half,” said Gandalf in a musing tone. “I am very sorry about his wife.” The old wizard felt the word roll flat off his tongue. Peregrin was not yet old enough to have a wife--nor a child! “Gracious me,” he mumbled to himself. “And you say that his daughter is…ill?” Merry nodded, gazing intently at the wizard. Gandalf remembered the last time Merry had that look in his eyes…it was on the field of Cormallen, when his dearest friend’s broken body lay before him. “You can heal him, right Gandalf?” the large, blue eyes beseeched him. Although in the end, it was the hands of the king who healed Peregrin. Gandalf made no guarantee of healing back then, and so he would not make any now. “Very well. I will do what I can for the child, Meriadoc, but I will not make promises.”

Soon, the little group, minus Sam--he and Rosie had a young infant to care for--were on their way to Great Smials. Gandalf insisted on travelling the roads vice the fields and meadows as he was driving the same cart that would take him back to Rivendell the next day. So far, all he knew was that the youngest hobbit of the Company had mysteriously taken a wife the year before--both under aged, of course. Now the young perian had a baby who was gravely ill. Gandalf took this opportunity to catch up on the busy lives of his young friends. Riding in his cart, thoughtfully smoking his pipe, Gandalf asked, “Just how did Peregrin and his wife meet?”

“They um…they sort of met at the Green Dragon,” Merry answered evasively. “After a couple months they were married.”

Frodo laughed, “That isn’t all of the truth, cousin.”

“It’s all that need be said,” Merry replied, signalling to Frodo to keep silent.

“You forget, my dear Merry,” said Frodo. “Gandalf has seen the likes of…well…he’s been around.” Then added for good measure, “For a long time.” Frodo turned towards Gandalf to answer his question more fully. “Pippin and Lilas unintentionally had a tryst behind the Green Dragon.”

Understanding came to the wizard’s mind. “Ah.”

Frodo continued, “Even though both were at fault, Pippin despised his marriage and begrudged Lilas--but as we know our beloved Pippin, his heart couldn’t stay cold forever. He did a lot of growing up this past year--even more so than what he did while on the Quest. However, his beautiful baby daughter was born much too early--just as her father. She easily succumbs to illnesses the same as Pippin did when he was a babe.”

“Rosebud is her name,” put in Merry. “She had her first birthday party a few weeks ago. That’s when a strange dream began to plague Pippin. He dreamt of seeing Rosebud as a young lass…and she would repeatedly ask him to make a promise that he couldn’t bear to make.”

“What promise is that?” asked Gandalf, riding between the hobbits.

“At first, Pippin wouldn’t talk about it,” said Merry, “but eventually he told me. She wants him to promise that when the time comes, he would let her go.” Gandalf nodded in acknowledgement, gradually sinking deeper into his thoughts. For the rest of the trip to the Smials, the old wizard was silent.

~ ~ ~

Arriving at the Smials, the trio made their way into the ancestral home of the Tooks not through the main entrance, but via one of the many service entrances. Gandalf was relieved to finally see the Thain’s quarters with their lofty ceilings--his hunched back began to ache something terrible. So many memories; he had not been inside the Thain’s portion of the Smials since the days of the Old Took.

“Let’s stop here,” said Frodo, but said nothing else. How does one tell a wizard that his presence may upset some of the residents?

Gandalf caught on to Frodo’s thoughts, understanding most hobbits were wary of him. “I think I should stay out of sight and hearing, my lads. I shall wait for your word…,” he looked around for a proper place to hide, and then spied a familiar room where he used to tell stories to twelve young hobbit-children. “…in here. I trust you will inform me when all is ready.” Merry and Frodo left Gandalf hidden in a storage room where old furniture was kept.

~ ~ ~

“Really? Gandalf is here?” whispered Pippin, drowsy from having just woke up from a nap. He didn’t know if he was in the middle of yet another odd dream. Then he looked beside him where Rosebud lay asleep. No, not a dream. “I’m…glad he is here…but why?”

Pippin’s voice sounded dry and hoarse. Merry poured a glass of water for his dear friend. The lad was looking more ill than earlier. “He’s here to see Rosebud, Pip.”

Pippin took a sip of the cool, clear liquid, though his fatigue remained. “But how did he learn that she was sick?” asked Pippin, his eyelids barely able to stay open. Merimas had given him a cup of hot tea earlier to help him sleep.

“He was visiting at Bag End,” Frodo smiled kindly. He watched Pippin let out an exasperated breath. “Don’t worry, Pippin. He knows everything and he still came--he would’ve come anyway. Nothing short of death would keep him from at least checking on you…and Rosebud. So, how ‘bout it? Shall we send for him?”

Pippin looked from cousin to cousin in confusion. “I don’t mind, but…Rosebud is sick. I don’t want her to catch anything else, and I’d hate to think that she would make him ill as well.”

“Pippin,” Frodo replied, “I have never known that old wizard to be ill, so don’t let that hinder anything.”

“All right,” whispered Pippin wearily. The more he tried to stay wake, the more his mind yielded to the relaxation that lured him into blissful slumber. His head had gown heavy so he lay back, letting himself slowly drift off to sleep.

When Pippin woke up an hour later, he thought he heard the sounds of familiar laugher and giggles. His mind still foggy, yet Pippin was firmly resolved that he felt large hands touching his forehead and his face while he slept. Little by little, his thoughts became clearer. He opened his eyes.

“Good evening, Peregrin,” said Gandalf, pausing from the laughter he shared with the baby lass sitting on his knee. A rather large and comfortable chair from the Thain’s office had been brought into Pippin’s bedroom by his friends to accommodate the tall wizard.

Pippin leaned up onto his elbows, befuddled. “What happened?” he asked. His own voice sounding less weary and much stronger. When he sat up, a small draft was drawn under the bed linen; Pippin’s nightshirt felt damp. He felt his own forehead; it was mildly warm. In the time it took for the tween to wake up, his eyes were constantly fixed on Gandalf. Until now, Pippin didn’t realize just how much he missed his mentor. “Gandalf! I thought I was dreaming when I heard Frodo speaking earlier” Then he saw the small bundle wrapped in a pink knitted baby blanket. “Rosebud--you’re awake! And feeling better, too, from the look of things.”

“Would you care to hold your daughter, Peregrin?” asked Gandalf. Deep inside, he was happy to witness a new generation of Tooks. Old Gerontius would be proud of these young hobbits.

Pippin held forth his arms, nodding. When he kissed Rosebud’s cheek, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one without a bad fever. She still had somewhat of a cough, though it sounded as if the congestion had already broken. Pippin put his ear to Rosebud’s chest, listening for the bubbling sound within; nothing. He lifted his baby daughter up in the air, “You’re all better! What happened, Muffin?”

Frodo sat near the hearth, smiling, “Let’s just say that we had…help from our old friend here.”

Gandalf smiled, “After a few days of convalescence, you both shall be hale enough for a walk in the garden.” He then gave a wink to Rosebud, “Would you like that?”

Although Rosebud was still getting used to the big “Man“, her timidity was gone. Whilst sucking on her forefinger finger, she reached out with the other hand. Pippin thought she wanted to sit with Gandalf again, so he sat up, leaning forward towards the wizard. Without warning, the babe reached and snagged Gandalf’s white beard. She then smiled with delight at the wiry feel of the hair. She then put a hand to her own head of curls. The wizard and hobbits watched the entire performance with amusement, laughing at her Tookish curiosity. “Just like her papa,” observed Merry.

“Baba!” Rosebud shouted, hearing the reference to her father.

After untangling bits of the long beard from her wee hand, Pippin held his daughter close to his heart, wrapping Rosebud in a soft, loving embrace. “Kiss for papa?” he asked. Tears spilled from his eyes, feeling her tiny lips touch his face. “I love you, Rosebud.” He turned grateful green eyes to Gandalf. “Thank you.”

* * *

Rosebud Grows Up…

“Happy birthday, Rosebud!” shouted a group of young children. They were the Birthday Faunt’s cousins and playmates: Hilly, Tilby, Gelly, Laurelie (Everard Took’s daughter), Brody, and his baby sister, Rosmarine, and Pearl’s children. Only her two youngest children, Wil and Juniper, participated in the festive games. Her older daughters assisted the grown ups with the party games after the Faunt Blessing was over. The head of the family always gave the ceremonial Blessings, which is the Took--in this case, the Faunt’s proud grandfather. The youngest member of the wee party troupe was Kalimas--Merry and Estella’s firstborn, a mere 18 months old.

Rosebud developed into a very social little faunt; she enjoyed being at the centre of activity. Every now and then she would break from her play to run into her papa’s arms for a bit of emotional assurance, but generally, she played well with her cousins Hilly, Laurelie, Brody…and Kali. Kali was yet a bit young for rigorous play, but Rosebud felt there was something special about the lad-baby. Merry showed Rosebud how to play gently with him.

Rosebud still loved her Uncle Me-mi the best of all her uncles. He was her favouritest. There would always be an invisible connection between these two; however, it would be a few years before Rosebud was old enough to understand why. Until then, Merry doted on his favourite niece whenever he had the opportunity, slipping a toffee or two into her palm whenever they visited one another.

Her Auntie Pim was her favourite aunt. Wanting to preserve as much lass in her young niece as possible, Pimpernel would often bring Rosebud along whenever she received an invitation to a ladies’ tea. Rosebud liked going to the teas; she always had a passion for custard tarts. Truth be told, Rosebud had a passion for all food, most especially sweets. Her voracious appetite was inherited from both her mother and father.

Her Auntie Saborra and Uncle Sabo came to visit whenever possible. They would walk with her in the gardens, or on a cold rainy day stay inside the Smials drinking hot apple juice while telling stories. Rosebud had a few big ones up her ruffled sleeves no doubt told to her by her own papa.

Moreover, Grandmamma Lilly and Grandpapa Silas kept in touch, however, the two closest grandparents to her in proximity and heart, were Paladin and Eglantine. Tina minded their granddaughter whenever Pippin helped his father at the Thain’s office. Along with Pimpernel, she did her utmost to teach Rosebud how to play with rag dolls.

Rosebud was indeed an exceptionally brilliant little lass, taking up after her father. As was family custom, when she was four, Pippin began tutoring Rosebud in her letters and numbers. Rosebud picked it up fast. Before, Pippin was able to spell out words to his siblings or parents that he didn’t want his daughter to hear, but soon could no longer do so. Whenever she had the sniffles, Rosebud quickly learned what the first three letters of “medicine” were m-e-d. Off she would run and hide away in her room until her papa called off the search. Pippin knew where her secret hiding place was: inside her wardrobe while holding her momma’s rag doll. Fortunately, each had the other wrapped so tightly around a finger that Pippin was usually able to coax his Muffin into taking her medicine.

From her days as a fauntling, Rosebud became Pippin’s wee shadow, following him nearly everywhere he went. Many times Pippin and his little lass were seen tramping in the nearby meadows, stopping along the stream to skim stones, or catching frogs in the ponds they passed by. She climbed her first tree at the ripe old age of five--with the help of her papa.

When Rosebud was six, Pippin let her spend a few days at Whitwell with her Aunt Pimpernel to learn about life on a farm. Rosebud wasn’t too keen on cleaning out the stalls, but she enjoyed the rest of it. She quickly learned the ins and outs of how to care for the animals and to feed them. Her most favourite part of the day was when the work was finished, when she and her cousins were free to swing on the rope in the barn. Bales of straw were stacked high up enough for the children to swing out on the rope from the loft and land safely on their backsides.

One night, when Rosebud was eight years old, she woke up in the night crying from a nightmare she had. As soon as her papa walked into her room and sat on her bed, Rosebud wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“Shhh…,” he said, stroking her long, curly tresses with his hand. “You’re safe here with me, Rosebud.”

Rosebud cried for a bit more before loosening her grip on his waist. “I…I had a bad, bad, dream, papa.”

Pippin had re-married the year before and been recently blessed with a new baby son, so he was already reacquainted with getting up in the middle of the night. “What was it about, love?”

“We--you and me,” she began, “were walking in a field near a stream. There were lots of pretty trees close by. Then…then…” Rosebud stopped and started to cry again.

“Tell me, Muffin,” Pippin spoke in a soft, calming voice, though this dream was ringing bells in the back of his head. His hair stood on end on the nape of his neck.

“I wanted to go away and wanted you to make me a promise to let me go…but I didn’t really want to go away. It frightened me, papa.”

“Yes, that is frightening,” said Pippin, still rocking his young daughter in his arms. “I once used to have a dream that scared me, too--when you were a sick baby.” Pippin gave a short account of the strange dream he experienced when she was a baby teetering on the brink of death.

“Papa…does that mean I will die?”

“I don’t think so, Muffin,” he gave her a kiss atop her auburn hair. “Have you gone away?” He felt her shake her head no. “Do you want to go away?” More shaking of her head. “I want to stay here with you, papa,” came her muffled response.

“Then so shall it be.”

“But yesterday, the other lads and lasses were teasing me, telling me I look sick all the time. Dolbert called me Tiny Rosebud. They don’t want me on their teams to play games.”

Pippin worried. “Was Till or Gel there?”  Dolbert was eleven years old, and sometimes was a bully.

“No--they were off with Brody climbing trees. Hilly and me were catching up to them when we went through Whitwell.  He gave Dobert a bloody nose.”

“Hilly and I,” Pippin unconscientiously corrected his daughter. He breathed a sigh of relief. All of his young nephews were quite protective of their lass cousin, treating her just like a sister.  Pippin hated to think of what would've happened had heard their "sister" being called names.

Pippin recalled having the same painful memories of when he was a young lad. He gave Rosebud and extra loving hug. “I know,” he said. “Someday…you just may grow taller than any of them.” He had an idea….Fangorn Forest wasn’t too far away where his wee darling daughter was concerned. When she would be ready for courting and marriage (Pippin guessed around the age of…fifty or even sixty!), she wouldn’t be Tiny Rosebud anymore!

Rosebud lived a very long time…and anyone who came to know her couldn’t help but love her. Even me.

~~The Absolute Final Alternate End~~