Disclaimer: The precious is….Tolkien’s! =)
Author’s Note: This came to me one day, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

~*~Firelight~*~

“The fire’s dying.”

Merry glanced over to the hearth and knew it to be true. The orange and red flames were flickering, shrinking to the glowing shards of ash buried in a smoky haze.

In a few minutes, there would be know flames left, and the room would be cold, dark, and silent.

The fire must not die.

“Alright.” Merry nodded, easing off the couch. “I’ll build it back up again.”

Pippin’s eyes were cast at the wooden floor, worry apparent in his young features.

Frodo was gone.

He had just…sailed away. With Gandalf and Elrond, into the west. Gone forever, to be at peace. Away from them.

Had it only been a few years ago that they had all been innocent?

They had all been oblivious, and so unknowing.

They sure weren’t now,

Merry adjusted a log, sparks licking the air angrily.

Wincing as one of them fell onto his right arm; the Brandybuck clutched it with his left, shuddering a bit.

Pippin was there in a second, his arms around Merry’s shoulders, comforting him.

“You arm?” the Took inquired hastily, as always. “Is it cold? Does it hurt, Merry?”

Merry avoided Pippin’s eyes. “Just a little.”

Pippin adjusted himself so that he could look into Merry’s face. “Are you…Are you okay, Merry? Now that…”

Merry looked sharply up at Pippin. “Now that Frodo is gone?” he snapped. “You don’t have to treat me as a child! I know he is gone! I know he’s gone, and I know he’s not coming back! He’s never coming back-” Merry began to sob, head buried in Pippin’s embrace, all thoughts gone save one.

Pippin began to cry too, but forced himself to hold it in, so that he could be strong.

For Merry.

The logs in the fire shifted, trapping the flames behind them, and casting the room into shadow. Pippin closed his eyes, this would not do.

“I need to feed the fire, Merry.”

To Pippin’s surprise, Merry chuckled, as his sobs quieted.

“What?” the Took asked, baffled.

“Oh, Pippin. Don’t you remember?” Merry looked up, his blue eyes red-rimmed, sniffling a little.

When Pippin continued to look confused, Merry continued.

“When you were little, and you would come visit me in the Halls, we would have stories every night, sitting in the parlor around a big fire.”

Pippin smiled as he adjusted the logs lightly, watching as flames sprung up again. “I remember that. Sometimes Bilbo would be there, and tell us about Smaug and his journeys.”

Merry nodded, some of the pain in his face vanishing. “Yes. And every night, my mother would take the poker, and jab the fire, and say ‘time to feed the fire’!” Pippin looked intently on Merry, who was staring at a place behind his cousin, seeming not to really see it. “And you, Pippin, would always laugh and say ‘Auntie Esme! How can you feed the fire? It doesn’t eat potatoes!’.”

Pippin laughed, joined by Merry as they reminisced in the pleasant memories.

“Well, how could you blame me?” Pippin giggled. “I was just taking it literally.”

“Aye, I’ll give you that,” Merry sent back, chucking.

It was silent for a few minutes, each hobbit lost amidst in his own thoughts, the only sounds the chirping crickets outside.

“I always thought it was strange…” Pippin murmured.

Merry looked up, his eyes focusing. “What was strange?”

Pippin looked over at Merry, a thoughtful look on his face. “That something so powerful as the fire can be so gentle as a candle on a writing desk. How can something so dangerous and capable, be naught but meek and guiding?”

Merry was silent for a long while, so long that Pippin thought only to himself that his cousin did not know the answer. But after minutes had passed, Merry spoke again.

“I suppose it’s like anyone, really. You me, Sam, Frodo, Gandalf, Aragorn – anyone. Like Stybba and Shadowfax, like the Brandywine and Treebeard. We all have the power to destroy, but even greater then that power, I suppose, is our chance to help.”

Pippin nodded slowly. “Yes, and we have helped, haven’t we Merry?”

Merry smiled a little. “Yes, we have, Pippin.”

Pippin sighed contentedly. “I suppose we must be near the only hobbits to have left footprints on Caradhras.”

Merry laughed a little. “Yes, I suppose we must be.”

Pippin chortled in reply. “Alright then. I can live with that.”

Merry grinned. “I suppose you’ll have to, you silly Took,” he said.

And then it was silent again, the fire crackling merrily.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Pippin?”

“The fire…”

“What about it?”

“How *do* you feed it?”

Alright, then. Now that you’ve read it, I’ve got an idea! PLEASE tell me what you thought? Yes? Ok, cool! Thanks!
Always,
Arawyn =)