That evening after supper, Merry and Berilac decided to retire early. Sam and Rosie were “walking out” again, and Frodo and Saradoc were in the front room, talking.

“Do you really think Paladin is over his anger, Uncle Sara?” asked Frodo.

“He must be, else he’d never have sent for us. Our quarrel at Midsummer was no light thing. Every misdeed and mishap of Pippin’s life was laid at Merry’s feet and yours. The way he saw it, the two of you had led his lamb astray, and then lured him off to be murdered, and I was an accomplice, as I’d had the raising of both of you; and it was no more than I deserved to have my son murdered, too.”

Frodo quirked a brow. “I suppose Bilbo came in for his share of abuse, as well.”

“Oh, yes, the Bagginses came into it as well. But I’m afraid I stepped over the line myself. I accused him of just wanting an excuse to bury a son who had disappointed his pride and of driving his son away with his stubbornness. I used some very intemperate language. Esmeralda was in hysterics by the time we left. And of course, everyone in the Smials heard every word.”

“Oh dear, that’s going to make it hard for him. I’m surprised he’s come round.”

“Well, Paladin can be a fool where his pride is concerned--after all, he *is* a Took--but he is an honest fool. He truly believed Pippin was dead, and his grief was real. I should have made allowances for that, but I was too worried myself to think straight. A real live Pippin come home to his doorstep to *prove* him wrong--his honor will make him admit his mistake.” Then Saradoc grinned. “Besides, he is a Hobbit of his word. Almost the last thing he said to us was ‘no Brandybuck will set foot again in Tookland until the King comes back’.”

This surprised Frodo into genuine laughter that reached all the way to his eyes. Saradoc chuckled, pleased at making him laugh and banishing the pain from those blue eyes for an instant.

“Uncle Sara, that’s priceless!”

“It is, is it not?” said Saradoc smugly. “Do you think I should rub it in?”

“Probably not,” laughed Frodo.

Saradoc leaned back in his chair. “Merry told me you had a hand in those letters I got. How much of a hand was it?”

“The letter from the King of Rohan, very little. He did consult me and I read the final version. He was worried you might be offended at your son taking oath with a foreign monarch without your permission. I think he was afraid Merry might be in trouble over it, though I assured him that you would not be so unreasonable. To be frank, though, the only thing I did was to give them your father’s name. The first part of the letter is almost word for word part of a song one of their bards made in Merry’s honor, which I heard while I was there.”

“A song in his honor?” This was not something Merry had told him.

“Yes, Uncle Sara. And from what I learned from Pippin and Gandalf, quite accurate, even allowing for the poetic language.”

Saradoc nodded. Merry’s account of his deed had been sparse, and gave most of the credit to the Lady Éowyn. Apparently others felt his contribution had been just as important.

“As for the other part, I heard Éomer dictate it to the scribe ‘Put down the usual duties for him, but leave out having to live at Meduseld for half the year; see that he gets a hundred silver pence and two ponies a year, and make sure that his father knows I have no designs on his homeland. Let the Ringbearer read it before you bring it to me to sign, and if he is offended at any part, you must change it.’ But I think the scribe did quite well, and if you are offended, you must blame me.”

Saradoc laughed. “I think Merry was the only one offended; he had his heart set on being noble and taking no reward for his deed.”

Frodo’s face turned deadly serious. “There is no reward that will make up for what he suffered when he struck that terrible creature. Make no mistake, Uncle, it very nearly killed him. It would have killed him if Aragorn had not healed him and he will likely still suffer the effects for years to come.”

Saradoc paled. “He made light of his injury. I thought he had broken his arm or perhaps dislocated his shoulder.”

“No, it was far worse than that.” Frodo was silent for a moment, a brief spasm of pain passed across his face. He shook his head. “I have to tell you that if it had not been for Aragorn’s skill as a healer, not a single one of us who left the Shire would have been alive to return.”

Now Saradoc was silent, as he digested this difficult news. A chill ran down his spine as he suddenly realized how close to right Paladin had been--all of them, dead?

Frodo leaned forward, ready to change the subject . “The letter from Gondor, I had a bit more say in. The King, and his Steward, Prince Faramir, had my help in deciding who needed to be approached and how to address you all. I have to say that if I had known it would be I, and not Will Whitfoot, acting as Mayor, I would have left that office off the list. Aragorn truly is fond of the Shire and of Hobbits--after all, he spent years as a Ranger guarding us--and he wants to do us honor and protect us, but he does mean to restore the Northern Kingdom, and the Shire is a part of that. And he *is* seeking advice on how to do that properly.”

Saradoc was silent for a moment. Obviously Frodo did not know about the private letter. Sadly, there would have been no one to send one to on his behalf, which probably explained the paragraph in his own letter. He was uncertain whether to mention it or not--

 “PIPPIN!” Merry’s shriek of terror rang out, much louder than the night before.

As quickly as Saradoc moved, Frodo was quicker still. They raced down the hall to the room where Merry and Berilac were. Berilac was trying vainly to calm the hysterical Merry, who continued to call frantically for Pippin. “Frodo, it’s much worse than last night.”

Last night? thought Saradoc as he made his way to the bed, where Frodo had begun the ritual of soothing his younger cousin. “Beri, go find Sam and tell him we need some of the special tea Lord Elrond gave us. Hurry up, now.”

Beri ran from the room. Saradoc had added his own soothing voice to Frodo’s, but Frodo shook his head.

“Merry, it’s Frodo. I’m here. Pippin’s fine. Come back to the light, Merry.”

Merry gave a shuddering breath, and relaxed weeping into Frodo’s arms. Frodo began the familiar rocking. “Pippin’s fine; he’s at the Smials; we’ll see Pippin tomorrow, dearest.”

Saradoc watched helplessly as his cousin comforted his son. He had a bad feeling about this. This had the appearance of something that had happened before, and more than once.

Just then, Sam came in followed by Berilac. Rosie and Esmeralda stood in the doorway looking frightened. He carried a steaming cup in his hand that gave off a wonderful fragrance; the scent of it seemed to give one heart. “Here we are, Mr. Merry; some athelas tea. It’ll be just the thing."

Frodo held the cup as Merry sipped, and it did its work as he calmed and his breathing became more regular.

“Why Mr. Merry again?” asked Sam, “we’ve been doing so well since we left Rivendell.”

“I think he’s been too long apart from Pippin” was Frodo’s simple reply. “I hope Pip’s not been doing the same.”

“He seems to bounce along a bit better than Mr. Merry.” Sam looked at Saradoc’s and Esmeralda’s horrified faces. “I’ll stay with him for a while if you want to talk.”

Frodo led Saradoc and Esmeralda from the room. Esmeralda grasped him by the arm. “Frodo, what’s going on with my son?”

“Aunt Esme, all of us went through dreadful experiences; the four of us have a problem with night terrors from time to time. We had hoped to be rid of them for a while but it looks as though Merry’s have come back sooner. He needs to be with Pippin.”

“What are you saying, Frodo?” asked Saradoc.

“They both have their own nightmares to deal with, but the worst fear they have is that of losing one another forever. Pippin nearly died in the last battle of the War, in fact Merry, who was barely recovered from his own battle was summoned to say farewell, not only to Pippin, but possibly to Sam and myself as well. It was only by a miracle that Pippin did not die in Merry’s arms. I think he clung to life only because he would not leave Merry alone.” Esmeralda gasped in horror, and Saradoc went pale. They knew only too well what it would have done to their son if he lost his beloved Pippin.

“I need to get back in there. We do better when we are together.”

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For the second night in a row, Pippin lay awake worrying about Merry. It could mean only one thing, Merry’s nightmares had come back for certain, and he didn’t have his Pip there to sooth him. He hoped Frodo was there; Merry’s parents would mean well, but they couldn’t understand.

Well, he’d have him here in another day or two. Poor Merry, he seemed to do so well on the outside, but he fretted himself to death worrying about others.

It was a shame they had not taken Legolas up on his offer. He drifted back to sleep imagining the Elf solemnly sitting next to Merry’s bed, singing an Elvish air and driving away the dreams.

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The four Hobbits lay in their bed at the Cottons‘. Frodo and Sam had Merry between them, and Frodo stroked Merry’s hair, and hummed an Elvish song that Legolas was fond of. It seemed to help.

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