Night

He waited until the blackest part of night before slipping out of bed, silently easing open the bedroom door and creeping down the hall. As he neared Pippin's door he felt a twinge of sympathy for his cousin; once again Pippin had overindulged. Hopefully he would be able to sleep off the worst of the effects.

Merry passed the door, continuing towards the kitchen, his thoughts full of worry. Pippin had always had a fondness for ale, but lately he seemed to have lost all sense of his limitations. Hurrying him home was getting to be a worrisome habit, and last night they nearly hadn't made it back to the house before he was ill.

Surely they would have to replace some of Frodo's towels at the very least. Thankfully this house had indoor facilities; at least it spared Pip the humiliation of having to spend so much time outside in the privy.

With a sigh, Merry took a seat next to the kitchen window, where he could look out at the starlit garden and the trees beyond. He was glad that Frodo had offered to let them use this little house in Crickhollow while deciding whether to sell it. It was nice to get away from the family for a while.

That funny cold feeling twisted in his stomach and he tried to push the memories away. But they came despite his wishes, marching across his vision, seeming more real than the landscape.

It wasn't the words that returned with sharp-edged clarity; only the faces, the expressions. The disappointment. How could he possibly explain it to his family when he didn't fully understand it himself?

His father's look of betrayal burned worse than his mother's tears. Yet he had no idea how to make them understand when he himself was at a loss. It wasn't that he was "too good for his family" as one angry uncle had accused. It was just that household matters at Brandy Hall didn't seem all that important anymore.

Faint sounds from the hallway startled him and he rose, moving silently towards the doorway, to stand nearby in case Pip should need him. Going home had been no easier for his cousin. Although Pip hadn't told him what had happened, it wasn't hard to guess that the Tooks had been no more understanding than the Brandybucks.

Perhaps that was why he indulged himself. Despite the occasional mutterings of a disgruntled, possibly jealous few, friendly hobbits buying them ales and treating them like heros were much more pleasant than disappointed family.

As he expected, familiar sounds of distress came from beyond the bathroom door. Merry moved a little closer, hands clenched into fists. He ached with the need to go to Pippin, to try and offer him comfort as he had before their return. Yet he could not bring himself to do it. He could not risk the rejection he feared he would see in his cousin's eyes.

Once, only once, he had dared to open that door. The vision was strong in his memory, and it pierced him as keenly now as it had then. Dear Pippin, curled in on himself, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, deep shuddering gasps shaking his whole body. He raised his face, hauntingly dry-eyed, and his sorrow shattered Merry.

He would have gone to Pippin then, if his mind and body would have let him. But Pippin stopped him with a word. Even now Merry could feel the barely whispered, "don't", throbbing like a wound in his chest.

With a soft sigh he took a step back, letting the wall support him as he listened to the sounds from the other side of the door. The worst of it was that he knew there would be no tears of release, just the dry-eyed sobbing that Pippin allowed himself only in the dark of night.

One night soon after they had returned to the Shire he had told Merry that heroes did not cry, and so Pippin no longer allowed his tears to fall. Instead, dry heaving gasps rocked him as he curled in on himself, alone and in despair.

Outside, Merry wrapped his arms tightly around himself, his face upraised as he let tears flow from his eyes. His cousin might not want his comfort, but at least he could do this for him.

At least he could cry.