“A Starless Night”

June Challenge Gen-Fic Community Group

Theme: Father's Day

Pippin crept along the corridor in the darkness feeling along the wall with his hands as he sought the doorway. The night was as black as any he’d seen. No moon, but plenty of clouds. Even the stars were hidden. They hadn’t lived in the little house at Crickhollow for long, and although the place was small, he had yet to find his way with certainty in the dark. He yelped as he stubbed his toes hard on the table leg while entering the kitchen. Deciding it was time for a light, Pippin ran his hand along the edge of the table and located the candle he had left there before retiring earlier.

His hands shook as he tried to light it. It took several attempts before he succeeded. Pippin breathed a sigh of relief and paused to look around before continuing on his way to the privy. When he had tended to his needs he turned towards the garden rather than his bedroom. Holding the taper aloft, he scanned the area before heading outside. He chuckled self-consciously over his unease as he made his way to the bench in the middle of the garden. The candle’s flame flickered in the warm breeze and Pippin placed a protective hand in front of it to prevent it from going out.

Sinking onto the bench he set the light down next to him and blinked into the darkness. Shivering despite the warmth of the evening, he wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slightly back and forth as was his habit whenever he was anxious or frightened. A little sob escaped his throat against his will and he rocked faster. Pippin wished the stars were visible. The sight of the night sky bright with thousands of gleaming lights always thrilled him, and brought calmness to his heart when nothing else could.

The music of nature soothed his heavy heart as the minutes passed and he began to relax at last. The night was alive with frog and cricket song and the soft hooting of a night owl somewhere far off. Pippin closed his eyes, still rocking slightly back and forth. He allowed the sounds to entrance him and  dismiss the shadows that sought to squeeze his spirit with icy fingers. He would never allow the darkness to win. He hadn’t then, and he wouldn’t now, no matter how difficult the struggle became.

This was the third time he’d had the dream. It was always the same with very little variation. He was being pursued. No matter how fast he ran it was as if his feet were covered in butter and he slipped and slid, sometimes falling, always just barely out of reach of the evil that chased him. Merry was ahead of him and Pippin had known there was danger there as well, but he was unable to tell his cousin. No sounds would come no matter how desperately he tried to yell out a warning. Time seemed frozen in place and he relived the same moment over and over without resolution, safety always just out of reach.

Merry woke with a start and lay quietly in bed, listening. He was certain he’d heard something; he never slept heavily any more. He was always vigilant, even during his sleep a part of him stayed alert. A useful practice during the War, but now it seemed to be a habit that he couldn’t shake. Besides, Pippin had taken to sleepwalking recently and he wanted to keep a close eye on his cousin’s whereabouts. Merry had discussed this with a healer and he knew that it was considered an unusual occurrence at Pippin’s age. But he was told it sometimes happened as a response to some sort of inner turmoil. Merry didn’t have to guess what it was.

Their move to Crickhollow had seemed to bring out even more disquiet in his younger cousin and Merry didn’t understand it. The move had been good for both of them. This was their time of healing, of helping one another through the memories, of learning how to feel secure again. How to let go of the emotional numbing that had been helpful at the time, but now threatened more harm than good. Some of the memories were extremely difficult, but his instincts told him that they had to feel the pain in order to let it go.

Ah, but it hurt so much at times. But seeing each other through the same memories halved the pain, for two could bear it better than one alone. Gandalf had reminded them of that when they parted at the Gray Havens on that recent, painful day. ‘Consider your hurts to the fullest, and remember together, my lads,’ he had counselled. ‘And then release them, for their time is over. Else the healing will take much longer.’

And Merry had held the wizard’s advice close inside his heart while encouraging Pippin to do the same. Was he pushing him too hard? Were Pippin’s nightmares caused by too much recall? Sleepwalking could be dangerous, this much he had already discovered. In the latest incident he had found his little cousin poised on the edge of the hill nearby, just above a sheer drop to the rocky ground below. Pippin had looked like he was contemplating flying away. His heart in his throat, Merry had snatched hold of him as Pippin teetered on the rock face, and had dragged him back from certain death. Pippin had collapsed in his arms sobbing and Merry wondered if he’d truly been sleepwalking, or if there was another, even darker purpose in his night wandering. Pippin would not talk about it although Merry had tried to coax him on several occasions.

Merry threw back the sheet and stood, noticing how very dark the night was. He padded to the window and looked out, noting the starless, cloudy sky. Somehow, staring at the black inkiness increased his feelings of sadness and he turned away quickly, sighing. Pippin was up. Merry knew it without wondering how he did. He headed carefully out the door and down the silent hallway towards the kitchen.

As he reached the back door, Merry detected the flickering candlelight coming from the garden. He stood in the entrance, relieved that Pippin was within sight and had not roamed off. He noticed the occasional rocking motion knowing that the youth had managed to settle down. How well they knew one another. Merry smiled, drinking in the sight without moving.

Pippin quickly sensed the eyes upon him and turned. He gave his cousin a heart-rending little grin and beckoned him with a tilt of his head. Merry joined him on the bench after first carefully placing the candle on the ground in front of them. He draped an arm around Pippin’s shoulders and squeezed him lightly. Pippin afforded him a genuine smile this time, and Merry returned it.

“What are you doing, Pip? There aren’t any stars to gaze at tonight.”

“No. No stars. I wish there were, though.”

Merry squeezed him again, understanding. “I wish there were too.”

They sat in silence for several minutes watching the candle flicker in the light breeze.

Finally, Pippin spoke. “How am I to do it, Merry?”

Merry turned a puzzled frown upon his cousin. “Do what?”

“Feel…safe. Feel like I used to.” Pippin sighed. “Sometimes I want things to be like they were many years ago, when I was just a wee lad. When I would go running to Mum and Da when I was frightened and tell them all of my troubles, and then they’d make everything all right once more. I want to feel safe like that again.”

Merry draped his arm around his cousin’s shoulders and pulled Pippin’s head down to rest on his own. His whole body started to tremble and Merry knew he was weeping. “Pip, it’s going to get better.”

Pippin lifted his head a little and peered at him with sad eyes. “Do you promise?”

“Yes,” Merry said softly. They sat in quiet contemplation for several minutes before he spoke again. “Pip…tell me what your mum and da did that made you feel so safe.”

“What?” Pippin sat up and scrubbed the sleeve of his nightshirt across his eyes.

“Tell me what it felt like. What you were thinking, and doing. Tell me what Uncle Paladin said to you, and how Aunt Tina held you when you cried. I want to know what made you feel secure. And how you knew you were loved.”

Pippin chuckled and rubbed at his eyes some more, before staring off into the distance. “But, you know already. You were there, well, much of the time anyway. Don’t you remember how Da was when one of us was upset or crying? How he could always cheer us up, just by saying something comforting, or amusing? And the way Mum would speak in her sweet voice, and make us feel like everything was going to be all right, even if she only said a few words? It didn’t matter what she said, it was how she said it. It…was simply the sound of her speaking to me that I found so comforting.” Pippin’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “She always said the right thing, and I could feel those words right here.” Pippin laid a hand over his heart. “I still can.”

“Yes, I know. So can I. And that’s what helps me through the difficult days.”

Pippin took a deep breath and released it, giving serious thought to the question. “I think…I miss the farm. I miss those times when it felt like…when I thought things would stay that way forever. Now I know all too well that they don’t.”

“That’s the way you think when you’re a child, Pip. There’s nothing wrong with it. But then, you were forced to finish growing up much too quickly on our journey.” They fell silent for a short while again, and then Merry turned and grinned, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Tell me about your favourite memory when you lived at Whitwell.”

Pippin’s eyes widened. “Just one? But, I’ve so many!” He sighed again, this time with contentment. “Those were the best days in my whole life.”

“Those days are almost your whole life, Pip! You only lived at Great Smials for three years, after all.”

“True.” Pippin’s eyes sparkled as he allowed his thoughts to drift backwards in time. “Do you remember when we brought in the harvest? Oh! what a great deal of work there was, and you always visited at that time in order to help. I think I loved the harvest time so much simply because I knew you’d be staying at the farm for weeks. And then what a grand time we had when the work was all done, for we’d have the barn filled with hay and the cellars filled with food for the coming winter. Da would always let us throw a huge celebration and we’d hold a barn dance and sing, and play the fiddle, and light a great bonfire--”

“And tell scary stories!” Merry nodded with excitement. “Remember how some of the lads and lasses would slip away in order to hold hands and steal a kiss or two in the dark?”

“Aye, and remember the time that Sam was allowed to attend and how he made big sheep’s eyes at Rosie Cotton the whole night, but was afraid to ask her to dance?” Pippin laughed merrily and clapped his hands in delight. “I had such fun watching the older lads teasing him about it, especially Frodo and Freddy. Only, they didn’t realise I was hiding nearby and listening to everything they said.”

“You were always lurking about and listening in on the rest of us, Pip, that’s how you youngest children always behaved.” Merry patted him on the back. “You always wanted to feel like you were in on the same things as the older boys.”

Pippin laughed. “How true,” he admitted, “But I did learn some interesting things that way.”

“Sam brought his sister Marigold that one year,” Merry snorted at the memory, “and you followed her around like a puppy, making those big eyes at her the whole time. Of course, you weren’t even out of your teens yet, and she was ever so understanding, even though you were staring at her constantly. But it was a good thing that Sam didn’t notice where you were looking some of the time--”

“That is not funny, Meriadoc,” Pippin sniffed in mock disapproval. “I was but a young lad at the time and thought I was quite in love.”

“Oh yes, you certainly were. I still remember the crushed look on your face when Sam plunked himself down in between the two of you during the storytelling.” Merry doubled over in laughter, holding his sides. “I thought perhaps Sam saw more than he was letting on!”

“Och, Marigold didn’t have eyes for me anyway. She barely noticed me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Sam seemed pretty determined to sit between you for some reason.”

“Sancho Proudfoot teased me about that unmercifully, you realise. But I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me.”

Merry chuckled. “Yes, Sancho has always been good at taunting you. But Pip, the way you felt was always written all over your face. You never were very good at hiding your feelings. You’re simply much too sensitive a hobbit for that.”

“Hmm. Well, afterwards, Pearl and Pimpernel taught me some very handy lessons about how to behave with the lasses and I’ve remembered their advice ever since.” Pippin sat very still, pondering the recollection, then chuckled self-consciously. “And at the next harvest party I got to kiss a lass, but it wasn’t Marigold.” He blushed. “I’m certain Da saw me do it, but he didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, good old Uncle Pad. I’m sure he didn’t have any trouble at all recalling what it was like to be your age.”

“Oh, remember how the farmhouse smelled during harvest time, Merry?” Pippin closed his eyes and tilted his head back, an expression of pure delight spreading across his face. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Mum and my sisters and some of the hired help were constantly in the kitchen cooking and canning, making strawberry preserves, and apple marmalade, baking the bread and the biscuits,” Pippin paused to take another deep breath. The memory was so vivid he could smell the delicious scents and see the bread rising in the pans. “I am mad about the smell of fresh bread baking in the oven!”

“That’s one of my favourite scents too. Nothing like bread hot from the oven and--”

“And freshly churned butter for the bread, with strawberry preserves that are still warm!” Pippin bobbed his head. “And don’t forget the applesauce cake for afters!”

Merry grinned, pleased that his young cousin was indulging himself so readily in the memories of a happy time. “Ah, yes, Aunt Tina’s applesauce cake, mmm. I wonder if she’d bake one for us? Perhaps we should go calling tomorrow? What do you say, Pip? Are you up for a trip to Great Smials?”

“Why, that’s a splendid idea, and I would love to see my parents. And shall we make a trip into Whitwell while we’re there, and visit Pearl and her family? I’d love to see the farm again. I’ve only been there once since we returned.”

“Of course!” Merry squeezed Pippin’s shoulders. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, indeed I am.” Pippin hugged his cousin back with much enthusiasm, then stood, extending a hand. “Come, join me in the kitchen for some tea. I find I am terribly hungry after that conversation!”