Work in Progress - complete
Feb. 6th, 2006 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshAnd here is the last chapter of my Merry work in progress. I wanted to have this done yesterday for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ansothehobbit's birthday, but it's a little late. Sorry about that, Anso. I hope you enjoy, anyway.
Chapter eight
Merry was completely taken aback when his mother started speaking. He’d been braced for a scolding for his behavior the previous evening, but she said nothing about that at all. Instead, she very thoroughly took him to task for shielding her and Saradoc from his pain. The fact that every word of what she’d said was true only made it cut deeper. He was just summoning his wits to fight back when Sara approached him with a glass of brandy. Reacting to the sight of the alcohol without thought, Merry dashed the glass out of his father’s hand, sending it flying to shatter on the stones of the hearth.
“You don’t need to get me drunk to talk to me, you know,” he snarled. “I am capable of speaking when I’m sober.” It wasn’t until he saw the shocked expressions on both of his parents’ faces that what he’d done registered.
“Ah, no. I didn’t…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Babbling an apology, he jumped up to pick up the pieces of glass scattered across the floor and hearth.
“Leave it, Merry,” Sara whispered, sinking down into a chair, incomprehension writ large across his face.
“No, no. I’ll clean it up. I should never have… I’ll clean it up.”
“Merry, sit down.” Esme spoke firmly, overriding her own shock to catch her son’s attention. Merry sent her a pleading glance, wanting escape in action. If he could only do something, all this horribleness would go away, he was sure.
“Just leave it, Merry,” Esme repeated. “We’ll take care of it when we’re done here.” She put her hand on his leg, a light touch but as effective as irons. Merry froze and then sank back down onto the sofa. There was no escape. There was only sufferance. He would get through this conversation, somehow, and then retreat.
“This is exactly what we’re talking about, son,” Saradoc said. “What is going on in your head that you would think I was trying to get you drunk?” He looked hurt and sad, and the expression cut clear through to Merry’s heart.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he muttered. “You just caught me off guard, I suppose. Back in – back in Minas Tirith and at Cormallen, when I was ill the first time, I was so busy worrying about Pippin that I didn’t even realize anything was wrong with me. Aragorn tried to get me to tell him what was happening several times and I didn’t want to talk about it, so he got me drunk. Twice. It worked, but when you came at me with the brandy, it reminded me of that.” Merry didn’t look at his parents as he spoke, keeping his eyes on his hands, clutched together in his lap.
“I don’t want to shut you out,” he continued a moment later. “But you’re right. I don’t want you to know all the terrible things that I saw and did and felt while I was away. I don’t want you to have the same nightmares I have. I don’t want…” his voice trembled and he tried to firm it up, taking a different tack. “I want the world to be a safe place for you, with no worries beyond whether the lambing season will go well and how to prevent the river from flooding. I don’t want these – things, memories – that I’ve got in my head casting a shadow over my home, over you.”
Merry fell silent then. There were tears in his mother’s eyes, tears that he had put there. It was too late, he knew. Too late to prevent the Shadow from affecting his home and family. He had handed it over to them with his own actions and there was no taking it back now.
He began to speak then, telling his parents everything. All the details he’d glanced over, all the ugly little moments that he had hidden from them. The growing despair that had overtaken him while waiting for the end of the world in Minas Tirith, his loss of control in Cormallen, when the nightmares had overtaken his waking life and his friends had been forced to intervene to save him. The way Aragorn had taught him to adjust his dreams in order to conquer the Shadow when it afflicted him. The words spilled forth in a barely coherent torrent, falling over each other in a rush to get out into the open. And as he spoke, the tears streamed from his eyes to match the tears on the cheeks of his parents.
He spoke for a long time, telling things out of order, going back and filling in little gaps, trying to paint a picture for Esme and Sara of not only what had happened but how it had all affected him. When he finally ran out of words, the silence seemed to echo uncomfortably in his head, which was aching abominably, he noted absently.
The silence lasted a long moment before Sara shifted in his seat. “I think we should get you back to bed, son,” he said after clearing his throat. “You look done in.”
Merry felt done in and put up no fuss. Allowing Sara to pull him to his feet, he staggered and was grateful to his father’s support. Sara turned to Esme and said, “I’ll stay with him.” She nodded and then they were moving. It took only a few minutes to reach Merry’s room but the movement was enough to clear his head, at least somewhat. When they entered his room, he moved to the window rather than going immediately to the bed.
“I haven’t been able to alter the dreams,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve tried, but they just go on being horrible. I don’t understand why it’s so much more difficult this time around.”
“Has it occurred to you that you’ve been directing your energies to the wrong task?” Sara asked him wryly.
“What would you suggest I do?” Merry answered hotly, turning to stare at his father in astonishment, “just let them go on until I’ve become so despondent I give up and die?”
“No, of course not!” Sara hastened to reply. “I didn’t mean that. What I meant is that you’ve put so much effort into pretending that everything is fine for your mother and I that you don’t have enough strength left over to fight the dreams.”
Merry stared at his father, stunned. After a long moment he mustered a slight smile. “Aye, I suppose it’s possible.”
Saradoc crossed the room and clasped Merry’s face with both hands. “You are precious to your mother and me. You know that, don’t you?”
Merry nodded silently.
“Good. Now get yourself into bed before you fall over.” Sara smiled at his son and let go, stepping back. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Merry whispered, nearly overcome by his father’s unconditional support. Taking the few steps to the bed, he collapsed on top of the covers and was asleep within minutes.
***
Brandy Hall, March 15, 1423
Dear Pippin,
I find it disturbingly difficult to be honest about this. I’ve been lying to everyone the past week or so, telling you all that I’m fine, that everything is fine. Mum and Dad finally confronted me with it yesterday, after they caught me being exceptionally stupid and no, you don’t need the details.
I don’t really understand it myself, Pippin, but it just seemed like it would be so much easier to deal with everything on my own, rather than have to depend on my parents for help. Yes, I know, now you are wondering why I’m so stupid. Let me repeat, you don’t need the details. I had a long talk with Mum and Dad, and finally told them all the things I’d been holding back since we came home. It wasn’t easy for me, and I know it was hard for them to hear some of the things I had to say, but it helped.
I’m not over this yet, and despite what I said the other day it hasn’t been at all easy, but I think I’ll get through it now. And you have my permission to thump me when you get home.
I’m tired, Pip. A week of denial has worn me clean out. But I slept a little last night, and I’ve eaten three full meals so far today, so Mum is looking a little happier. I’ll write again in a day or so, but now I need to go take a nap before I smudge this beyond legibility. I can hear you laughing, but I assure you, this is perfectly readable if you just squint a little. Why should I make things easy for you?
I hope Uncle Pal is doing well. Please give my love to Auntie Teenie and your sisters.
Yours,
Merry Brandybuck
Epilogue
It was a bright, morning in early April when Pippin returned to Buckland. His father was well again and Pippin had handed the reins of leadership back to Paladin with relief. He knew a day would come when the burden would come to him permanently, but he hoped that day was far in the future still.
The door to the little house in Crickhollow was standing open when Pippin arrived, with the warm scent of bread wafting through it. Stepping inside and letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he looked around. A fire was burning on the hearth to dispel the slight spring chill in the air, all the shutters were thrown wide and the windows open. Smiling, he heard a cheerful whistling emanating from the kitchen, in the back of the house.
Walking silently down the hall, he stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Merry was bustling around, setting the table for tea and checking the state of the bread in the oven. Pippin must have made some small sound because Merry turned to him with a grin.
“Welcome home, Pip.”
ansothehobbit's birthday, but it's a little late. Sorry about that, Anso. I hope you enjoy, anyway.Chapter eight
Merry was completely taken aback when his mother started speaking. He’d been braced for a scolding for his behavior the previous evening, but she said nothing about that at all. Instead, she very thoroughly took him to task for shielding her and Saradoc from his pain. The fact that every word of what she’d said was true only made it cut deeper. He was just summoning his wits to fight back when Sara approached him with a glass of brandy. Reacting to the sight of the alcohol without thought, Merry dashed the glass out of his father’s hand, sending it flying to shatter on the stones of the hearth.
“You don’t need to get me drunk to talk to me, you know,” he snarled. “I am capable of speaking when I’m sober.” It wasn’t until he saw the shocked expressions on both of his parents’ faces that what he’d done registered.
“Ah, no. I didn’t…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Babbling an apology, he jumped up to pick up the pieces of glass scattered across the floor and hearth.
“Leave it, Merry,” Sara whispered, sinking down into a chair, incomprehension writ large across his face.
“No, no. I’ll clean it up. I should never have… I’ll clean it up.”
“Merry, sit down.” Esme spoke firmly, overriding her own shock to catch her son’s attention. Merry sent her a pleading glance, wanting escape in action. If he could only do something, all this horribleness would go away, he was sure.
“Just leave it, Merry,” Esme repeated. “We’ll take care of it when we’re done here.” She put her hand on his leg, a light touch but as effective as irons. Merry froze and then sank back down onto the sofa. There was no escape. There was only sufferance. He would get through this conversation, somehow, and then retreat.
“This is exactly what we’re talking about, son,” Saradoc said. “What is going on in your head that you would think I was trying to get you drunk?” He looked hurt and sad, and the expression cut clear through to Merry’s heart.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he muttered. “You just caught me off guard, I suppose. Back in – back in Minas Tirith and at Cormallen, when I was ill the first time, I was so busy worrying about Pippin that I didn’t even realize anything was wrong with me. Aragorn tried to get me to tell him what was happening several times and I didn’t want to talk about it, so he got me drunk. Twice. It worked, but when you came at me with the brandy, it reminded me of that.” Merry didn’t look at his parents as he spoke, keeping his eyes on his hands, clutched together in his lap.
“I don’t want to shut you out,” he continued a moment later. “But you’re right. I don’t want you to know all the terrible things that I saw and did and felt while I was away. I don’t want you to have the same nightmares I have. I don’t want…” his voice trembled and he tried to firm it up, taking a different tack. “I want the world to be a safe place for you, with no worries beyond whether the lambing season will go well and how to prevent the river from flooding. I don’t want these – things, memories – that I’ve got in my head casting a shadow over my home, over you.”
Merry fell silent then. There were tears in his mother’s eyes, tears that he had put there. It was too late, he knew. Too late to prevent the Shadow from affecting his home and family. He had handed it over to them with his own actions and there was no taking it back now.
He began to speak then, telling his parents everything. All the details he’d glanced over, all the ugly little moments that he had hidden from them. The growing despair that had overtaken him while waiting for the end of the world in Minas Tirith, his loss of control in Cormallen, when the nightmares had overtaken his waking life and his friends had been forced to intervene to save him. The way Aragorn had taught him to adjust his dreams in order to conquer the Shadow when it afflicted him. The words spilled forth in a barely coherent torrent, falling over each other in a rush to get out into the open. And as he spoke, the tears streamed from his eyes to match the tears on the cheeks of his parents.
He spoke for a long time, telling things out of order, going back and filling in little gaps, trying to paint a picture for Esme and Sara of not only what had happened but how it had all affected him. When he finally ran out of words, the silence seemed to echo uncomfortably in his head, which was aching abominably, he noted absently.
The silence lasted a long moment before Sara shifted in his seat. “I think we should get you back to bed, son,” he said after clearing his throat. “You look done in.”
Merry felt done in and put up no fuss. Allowing Sara to pull him to his feet, he staggered and was grateful to his father’s support. Sara turned to Esme and said, “I’ll stay with him.” She nodded and then they were moving. It took only a few minutes to reach Merry’s room but the movement was enough to clear his head, at least somewhat. When they entered his room, he moved to the window rather than going immediately to the bed.
“I haven’t been able to alter the dreams,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve tried, but they just go on being horrible. I don’t understand why it’s so much more difficult this time around.”
“Has it occurred to you that you’ve been directing your energies to the wrong task?” Sara asked him wryly.
“What would you suggest I do?” Merry answered hotly, turning to stare at his father in astonishment, “just let them go on until I’ve become so despondent I give up and die?”
“No, of course not!” Sara hastened to reply. “I didn’t mean that. What I meant is that you’ve put so much effort into pretending that everything is fine for your mother and I that you don’t have enough strength left over to fight the dreams.”
Merry stared at his father, stunned. After a long moment he mustered a slight smile. “Aye, I suppose it’s possible.”
Saradoc crossed the room and clasped Merry’s face with both hands. “You are precious to your mother and me. You know that, don’t you?”
Merry nodded silently.
“Good. Now get yourself into bed before you fall over.” Sara smiled at his son and let go, stepping back. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Merry whispered, nearly overcome by his father’s unconditional support. Taking the few steps to the bed, he collapsed on top of the covers and was asleep within minutes.
***
Brandy Hall, March 15, 1423
Dear Pippin,
I find it disturbingly difficult to be honest about this. I’ve been lying to everyone the past week or so, telling you all that I’m fine, that everything is fine. Mum and Dad finally confronted me with it yesterday, after they caught me being exceptionally stupid and no, you don’t need the details.
I don’t really understand it myself, Pippin, but it just seemed like it would be so much easier to deal with everything on my own, rather than have to depend on my parents for help. Yes, I know, now you are wondering why I’m so stupid. Let me repeat, you don’t need the details. I had a long talk with Mum and Dad, and finally told them all the things I’d been holding back since we came home. It wasn’t easy for me, and I know it was hard for them to hear some of the things I had to say, but it helped.
I’m not over this yet, and despite what I said the other day it hasn’t been at all easy, but I think I’ll get through it now. And you have my permission to thump me when you get home.
I’m tired, Pip. A week of denial has worn me clean out. But I slept a little last night, and I’ve eaten three full meals so far today, so Mum is looking a little happier. I’ll write again in a day or so, but now I need to go take a nap before I smudge this beyond legibility. I can hear you laughing, but I assure you, this is perfectly readable if you just squint a little. Why should I make things easy for you?
I hope Uncle Pal is doing well. Please give my love to Auntie Teenie and your sisters.
Yours,
Merry Brandybuck
Epilogue
It was a bright, morning in early April when Pippin returned to Buckland. His father was well again and Pippin had handed the reins of leadership back to Paladin with relief. He knew a day would come when the burden would come to him permanently, but he hoped that day was far in the future still.
The door to the little house in Crickhollow was standing open when Pippin arrived, with the warm scent of bread wafting through it. Stepping inside and letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he looked around. A fire was burning on the hearth to dispel the slight spring chill in the air, all the shutters were thrown wide and the windows open. Smiling, he heard a cheerful whistling emanating from the kitchen, in the back of the house.
Walking silently down the hall, he stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Merry was bustling around, setting the table for tea and checking the state of the bread in the oven. Pippin must have made some small sound because Merry turned to him with a grin.
“Welcome home, Pip.”
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Date: 2006-02-07 01:03 am (UTC)I liked this fic a lot and am sad to see it go :(
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Date: 2006-02-07 05:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-07 06:02 am (UTC)This was a wonderful Work in Progress!
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Date: 2006-02-07 10:10 am (UTC)Merry's next hurdle is going to be letting Estella help him through the anniversary, but hopefully he's learned enough this time around to realize that trying to shield other people from it is self-defeating. :)
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Date: 2006-02-07 11:54 am (UTC)((((((((((thankyoutacklehugs))))))))))
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Date: 2006-02-07 07:04 pm (UTC)*dusts self off*
*tacklehugs you*
I'm glad you liked this, Anso! :)
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Date: 2006-02-08 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 04:32 am (UTC)Thanks for stopping by. :)
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Date: 2006-02-08 08:00 am (UTC)I really liked the letter. Particularly the repetition of "you don't need the details." Very in-character. :)
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Date: 2006-02-09 10:57 am (UTC)In another chapter, Merry manages to get drunk pretty much all on his own, but he blames Aragorn for it.
Thanks for reading. :)
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Date: 2006-02-09 01:50 am (UTC)It is a bit sad that your Work in Progress is over now, but well, all things must come to an end. And that was a very nice, fitting and sweet ending. :))
Thanks a lot!
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Date: 2006-02-09 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-10 09:14 pm (UTC)I was thinking that it would get angsty before it got better but then again, i guess it's good to not "drag things out".
I'm glad that Merry opened up and instead focused his energies on not covering up his feelings and being in a state of denial and be truthful to himself and his parents instead. =)
Very nice story~ good job. :)
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Date: 2006-02-11 07:05 am (UTC)Thanks. I'm happy to know you enjoyed it. :)