You’re Going To Be Amazing!

Y/N wrinkled her brow and idly picked at a blade of grass, peeling sections of it apart and twisting the pieces together. After several minutes of this, she leaned against the trunk of the tree she'd been sitting under, the rough bark scraping against her back through her cotton dress. Even the grass seemed dull; spring hadn't quite taken hold of the terrain yet. Various shades of brown and gray painted the scene, a small handful of red buds on the trees providing the only source of bright, hopeful color; a whisper of spring in a barren, winter-worn world.

A soft, gentle voice broke the silence. “Y/N? You were saying?”

“Oh, sorry. I, er, don't remember.”

The russet-haired halfling shifted, turning to face his companion. Dark circles had taken up residence under her eyes; her bright smile had all but disappeared. “Is it bad again?”

“What?”

“Sorry for mentioning it, but you seem…gloomy. Is there anything I can do?” Worry crept into Pippin’s voice, his eyes fixed on her.

“Not really. Just one of those days, I guess.”

Pippin nodded and fell silent. The pair watched as the bare branches of dozens of trees swayed in the tepid spring wind. Silver clouds blanketed the sky, begrudgingly revealing only small patches of white sky. A songbird chirped in the distance, a short melody cutting the silence. Yellow and brown created an odd quilt-like pattern in the grass, only small portions brandishing a shining green hue. Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and withdrew into her shawl in an attempt to shut out both the cold and the heavy mental fog she was experiencing. Pippin glanced over at her, his brows knitting together in worry. He leaned back again and rested his head against the tree, deep in thought.

After a moment, he stood and held out his hand. “Come on, I have an idea.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow and took it. He grinned and helped her up, excitedly rambling in his best Gollum impression in an odd attempt to cheer her up. The two walked back to her home, where he told her to change into her favorite, most comfortable outfit. As soon as she shut the door, he sprinted away, presumably to his own home. A short while passed and he returned, practically vibrating with glee. His telltale crooked grin and shining eyes told Y/N all she needed to know: the Took had something big planned.

The two walked wordlessly for a few minutes before Meriadoc Brandybuck turned up, nodding to each of them. Samwise Gamgee, who had been anxiously watching the trio from his garden up the road, abruptly set down the trowel and tulip bulbs he had been planting. Scrambling through his open gate, he adjusted his jacket and walked beside Y/N, mumbling a quick greeting as he matched her gait. After a few more moments, Frodo Baggins slipped into the group, offering her a soft smile and a knowing look. In all her years, Y/N had never seen the group so quiet. It was highly suspicious.

As they arrived at The Green Dragon, Merry and Pippin each grabbed a door and flung it open. The inn was totally empty.

“Pip, I --”

“Just wait, trust me!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow and walked in, skeptical, the group snickering as she looked around. Dozens of curly-haired hobbits suddenly jumped up from their hidden places behind or under furniture, cheering. A small band burst into song, playing her favorite drinking song. The once-silent bar was now filled with the deafening roars of rowdy, half-drunk hobbits. Merry and Sam had already made for the bar to order drinks while Frodo snagged a table in the center of the room. Pippin remained by her side, a triumphant grin lighting up his face.

“They're all here for you. I invited everyone in the Shire! I wanted to show you how much you mean to everyone. No one here came for the drinks, though it may seem like it. They're here because of you. Because they care about you.”

As she studied the room, the faces of the halflings began to blur and melt; each movement seemed distorted and slow, their voices unbearably loud. Her hands began to shake as tears flooded her eyes. She greatly appreciated the effort Pippin had put into this, but doubt and an odd feeling of guilt were eating away at her. He had done so much for her; he'd dropped everything to do something he knew would cheer her up. All of her dearest friends were here, but she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Surely most, if not all of the guests felt obligated to come. They'd put a halt to their plans to take their place as bodies in a room, to begrudgingly become a wall of support for one person.

“Y/N? I'm sorry, are you okay? Here, let's get some fresh air--” Pippin stammered, placing a steadying hand on her back and gently leading her to the bench outside. “Here, it's cold. Put this on.” He added, slipping off his coat and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, frozen in her seat. “You can go on in, I think I just need a minute. Thank you for doing this.”

Pippin rested his arm on the back of the bench and nodded. “I meant what I said, by the way. Everyone here really cares about you. They didn't just show up out of obligation, either.” He chuckled as she gave him an alarmed look. “I know you. I knew you'd be thinking it. Be kind to yourself; for my sake, if it helps.” He nodded to the patch of daffodils under a nearby tree. “Those see your favorites, right?”

“Yes, actually. How did you know?”

“Because I know you.”

Y/N smiled. It had only been a few minutes, but this quiet moment with her dearest friend had calmed her nerves and racing thoughts. She glanced over at him, gratefulness and hope flooding her heart. “Thank you.”

     Finally, a day off. No meetings with his father, no lessons, nothing. A full day to himself; a rare occasion for the Woodland Prince. Of course, he had caught wind of some trouble brewing outside of Mirkwood, but until further notice, the day would be spent on his own, enjoying his limited freedom to the fullest. Legolas had planned the day’s activities weeks before, his father approving them beforehand. With a brief nod of greeting to the guard, the Elf slung his bow and arrows over his shoulder, heading off into the surrounding forest. The stream below the bridge gurgled and bubbled as usual, splashing the stones on either side. After a few minutes of brisk walking, the Prince pulled a small bag from within his cloak. He had been careful to hide it on his way out, an inspection would only take up more time. An apple and a wineskin hardly qualified as dangerous. He smirked to himself, taking a swig of his father’s finest wine. It was potent, as always, but years of secretly drinking it had made him immune to its effects. It was sweet; a delicate bouquet of apples, spices, and the finest grapes in the kingdom could easily fool any newcomer; it was designed to make the consumer doubt both its potency and origins; one could never tell it was even alcoholic if it hadn’t been so strongly labeled.

     As he reached the clearing, he set down his bag and readied the bow, the worn, nearly destroyed target from his childhood still resting against a large boulder. The poorly-drawn Orc he had scribbled as an Elfling still remained, hundreds of years later -- an enchantment from the paint. Even from childhood, his father had taught him to be an expert archer. Chips of the boulder were missing from stray arrows hitting it; he could count the times he had missed on one hand, but even as a child he was powerful, deadly. He smiled to himself, tracing the marks with his fingers. This place had been his favorite place from before he could even remember. His mother had helped him paint the Orc, taught him to swim in the nearby creek, to climb the tall trees, to identify the wildlife and foliage. After her death, he could hardly bring himself to come back; it took him a full year to return. He had felt a strange calling, a gentle suggestion to return. The flowers here were his mother’s favorites; they only grew in this clearing. His parents had met there; it was a sacred place for both father and son. Legolas could still feel her presence here.

     After a few moments of taking in the beauty of the clearing, he walked several paces away, far enough that the large stone was barely visible to his Elven vision. Legolas took a deep, steadying breath before shooting. He hadn’t aimed; he trusted the bow and his own skill to guide the arrow into its proper place. After several seconds of the arrow slicing through the air, it thunked into the target, piercing the exact center of the Orc’s face, the deep dip from thousands of arrows past hitting the same place over time. 

     Another arrow. Another bullseye. Another steadying breath. Legolas closed his eyes this time, truly testing his skill. He performed a quick turn, a twirl, almost, before shooting randomly. Seconds passed. Thunk. Crack. He opened his eyes; the familiar sound of an arrow piercing and snapping the other as it hit the target in the same exact spot as the other greeted him. Another arrow broken. Father will be proud; I’m improving. He hummed his mother’s lullaby as he plucked the victorious arrow from the splintered pieces of its predecessor, carefully tightening the sharpened arrowhead, a precautionary measure. He shot a few more arrows, never missing the bullseye. 

     Eventually, he grew tired of this -- perfection can’t be improved upon -- and finished off the last of the wine and apple. He lay back in the grass, watching the clouds float by. As he watched, his mind wandered to his mother. She had died when he was but a child; his memories of her were nearly indistinguishable from his dreams of her; which were real, his dreams or reality? Could it be possible that both were real? He shook his head, banishing the thought. The wine must be going to his head, as unlikely as it was. He drifted off to sleep, the tall grass gently caressing his cheek as he rolled over onto his side. A tear slid down his face as he slipped into a deep sleep, the soft, subtle scent of his mother’s perfume floating from an unknown source.

     Legolas slowly awoke. As he rubbed his eyes, he realized he had been crying in his sleep. Odd, he thought. He dismissed the beginnings of a thought, not wanting to even entertain it. He stood slowly, stretching. He glanced up at the sky, checking the position of the sun. A few hours had passed. Clearly he had needed the sleep. The river nearby -- the same as the one by the entrance of the palace -- seemed to call to him with its endless babbling. Without a second thought, he removed his boots and rolled up his pantlegs, walking towards it. The grass was warmer than expected; the temperature was warmer than he had planned for. He waded into it, glanced around, and began splashing about, delighting in the cool water. He allowed himself to play, to frolic, for the first time since he was a child. He laughed aloud, surprised at himself for even doing this. 

     The familiar sound of a woman’s laughter -- his mother’s! -- joined in with his own, though it seemed far away, echoing down the stream. Legolas froze, alarmed. He scanned the area, looking for the source. Once again, it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. A slight splash from the river hit him in the face, followed by the scent of his mother’s perfume and her light, teasing giggle. Through a misty-eyed smile, he kicked back, the water passing through the air as usual. More laughter, this time delighted. He spent the rest of the day playing in the river, ignoring the numbing cold from the water. His mother’s last words came to him, echoing in his memory. “Take care of your father. We both know how he can be. I love you, parf edhellen.” Tears filled his eyes, his heart aching from the loss, despite it being hundreds of years later. 

     Pippin snickered to himself as he hid behind a bush, practically vibrating with glee. He had left out a sliced apple the night before in hopes that a creature of some sort would come along and eat it. To his utter delight, a rather bedraggled looking opossum was hunched over, gripping one of the slices in its adorable pink, clawed hands and was eagerly smacking its gums as it ate it. The creature didn’t seem to notice the young Hobbit behind it as Pippin crept slowly forward, hands at the ready for possum-snatching. He lunged forward and scooped it up, much to the shock of the poor creature. It wriggled like mad in his hands, moving in a circular pattern. It was still gripping the apple slice, its other hand holding another. Pippin cackled in delight and hugged it to his chest, ignoring the odd noises of shock and bewilderment coming from it. “I think I’m going to call you Gertrude. My name is Pippin. You live with me now!” 

     After a long trek back to his home and more than a few odd looks from passers-by, Pippin kicked open his door and gently set the creature on the floor. He reached into his pocket and tossed a few pieces of dried strawberries to Gertrude, who looked to be in a state of shock. He gently patted her on the head and darted into the kitchen to slice some more apples. Peeking around the corner, he could just make out the form of a rather disgruntled opossum sniffing the fruit before hungrily tearing into it. Pippin laughed out loud, thrilled that he had ‘tamed’ a wild animal. As the night went on, he finished making a soft, comfortable bed for poor Gertrude, gave her a bowl of fruit and vegetables, and did his usual chores. Eventually, Gertrude seemed comfortable enough to follow him around a bit, though she still looked rather suspicious of him. This was easily solved through more apple slices -- seemingly her favorites -- and affectionate head pats. 

     A quick knock at the door startled them both; Pippin had been gently petting his new friend. Merry opened the door and poked his head in, smoke billowing around him. “You ready? Apparently there’s a special at the Green Dragon tonight. I thought we could -- what is that?!” 

     “...My new cat, Gertrude.”

     “Pip. That’s not a cat.”

      “Yes it -- she -- is! She’s a little cranky, so I’ve been calling her Bitey, but she seems to like me! She’s just old is all, that’s why her fur is so light!” 

     Merry closed the door, a look of pure long-suffering on his face. “You and I both know that that’s a possum.”

     “What?! What’s a possum? Never heard of them…” Gertrude poked her head around the corner, a whole stalk of celery in her hand. Merry’s stunned expression told him all he needed to know. He whirled around and shooed the creature into his bedroom, hoping she would stay in there.

     “WAS THAT A WHOLE STALK OF CELERY IN HER HAND?!”      “Uhh..no?”      “Pippin. We’ve been over this. CATS DO NOT HAVE HANDS LIKE THAT!”          Pippin couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, yes, I know. But she’s so cute, Merr! Look at her! She needs a friend.” 

“Pip. Opossums don’t need friends. They’re introverts, they don’t just roam in packs.”

     A mischievous grin framed the Hobbit’s face. Merry was fully aware of what that particular smile meant: trouble.

     Pippin threw open the door, a handful of beef jerky and loose cheese slices in hand. Merry followed closely behind him, quickly closing the door before his cousin’s ‘cat’ could escape. Night had fallen by this point, and a rather large, round raccoon was perched over the pile of scraps Gertrude had left hours before. Pippin hunkered down behind the bush, forcibly pulling his cousin beside him. Merry grunted his disapproval before finally giving in. The thing was actually sort of cute, despite its creepy little hands and eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. A cold breeze caused the two to shiver a bit, but Pippin assumed the position: it was time. He rushed at the creature and scooped it up like an oddly-shaped baby, cooing at it. As it chittered irritably at him, feeling robbed of snacks, Pippin gently placed a piece of the jerky on its round, fluffy belly. It stopped chittering, though its mouth remained open, likely out of shock and confusion. It gingerly took it, its small hands rotating it, inspecting it. Merry stood behind the odd pair, mouth agape as the masked ball of fur ripped off a piece with its teeth to eat. 

     “What are you going to name it, dare I ask?”

     “Merry.” 

     “What?”

     “No, I’m going to call it Merry. Merr, for short.”

     “You can’t call it ‘Merry!’ That’ll be confusing! Besides, that’s my name, it’s taken.”

     “Look at him! He eats the same way you do! He even has the same dark undereyes!” Pippin joked, swaying slowly back and forth, draping the raccoon over his shoulder like a baby, cradling it gently. 

     “Who do you think causes those undereye bags?! Besides, what are you going to tell your mother?”

     “Eh, she won’t ask. She’ll be busy dealing with my sisters. Besides, I’ve brought home weirder pets. Remember the groundhog?”

     Merry laughed. “Chorbo? Yeah! That poor thing. You were a menace as a kid. I don’t blame it for running off.”

     “Who said he ran away? He’s off in the garden. Why do you think Mother’s been complaining about the lack of carrots?”

     The Hobbits walked back to Pippin’s home, taking turns carrying the surprisingly heavy raccoon as it munched on cheese slices. Fireflies began floating around them. Merry reached up with his paws, gently grasping at them, though his chubby arms were far too short to catch any.

     “Pip?”

     “Hm?”

     “How do you manage to catch these things?”

     “I don’t know. I always carry around snacks, so I suppose they just assume I’ll share. They’re right, I’m a fool for misfit creatures. I’ve found you can tame just about everything with cheese slices or apples. I have my eye on a skunk, I’ve been leaving out scraps from dinner, he seems to be warming up to me.” 

     Merry chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, at least Gertrude has a non-Hobbit friend now.”

     “Merr?”

     Y/N wiped at her ever-blurring eyes as the icy cold water of the river pulled at her from all different directions, nearly causing her to stumble. She was making her way to her sacred place, a fallen tree on the edge of the river. To others, it seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, its limbs and leaves being tugged at by the rapids like a child at his mother’s skirts. The foliage around it was almost entirely made of brambles and leaves of other trees; a few Sweet Williams blooming from a gaping hole in one of the limbs. Their intoxicating scent had tempted many a fool, causing more than a few injuries in their pursuit. 

     The tree itself was only half the danger. To cross the river, one had to traverse the rapids in the center that could easily lead to drowning, avoid slippery, moss-covered stones hidden in the shadow-covered water, and carefully cross the roots jutting out from the stubborn old tree. Algae and water-moss flowed around its base, barely exposing a small root just sturdy enough to use as a foothold. An identical vine lured in brave victims; at first glance, it seemed more stable than the waterlogged root, but would hold no foreign weight. A second root jutted out just above the first, perched diagonally; another perfect foothold. Finally, the trunk: several feet off the ground, slick with moss and covered in brambles. The leaves from its fallen limbs and other plants covered a very small yet comfortable hiding place, the perfect spot for staying out of sight. Wildflowers framed the inside, growing between cracks in the wood, making the space seem more hospitable, if not oddly comforting.

     To Y/N, their subtle, sweet scent and foreboding outward appearance of the tree comforted her, something she desperately needed after a particularly harsh scolding. After an hour of overly harsh words followed by a look of pure disgust aimed directly at her, she was exhausted. Her eyes were streaming, hot tears stinging her face as she expertly avoided the nearly-invisible traps before her. Reaching the trunk, she pulled herself into the saddle-like, cradling arch behind the foliage, leaning against it hard for support. She was finally alone, finally able to remove her mask. She pushed her face into her hands and screamed, sobbing harder than she ever had. Outside of the fight, her dearest friend, Boromir, was leaving Gondor on a journey. She had no idea what it was, or when he’d be back, but she knew from his tone when he’d told her that he may never come back. Her barely-muffled cries echoed down the river, undoubtedly alarming more than a few creatures.

     She had only been alone for a few precious moments before hearing loud, fumbling footsteps from the other side of the river. Y/N rolled her eyes, her grief and pain turning to annoyance. Peace and privacy were rare gifts in the bustling city she called home, especially thanks to her ever-prying family. A quiet, soothing hum came from whoever hovered outside, a familiar tune from her childhood taught to her by a friend. Boromir.

     His boots sloshed and she could hear him stumble over the stones as he made his way towards her. She held her breath. Not even he could soothe her pain now, though he would inevitably try, bless him. Silence. Her heart pounding in her ears, begging for air. The sounds of the rapids dancing around heavy boots. The fabric of her sleeve rustling as she wiped at her eyes. Finally, more splashing and the scent of ale and fresh air, a clear sign it was him. A large, gloved hand pulled back the mess of tangled vines and leaves, revealing the familiar face of her dearest -- and only -- friend. He beamed at her, truly happy to see her. He quickly noticed her red, glassy, swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His face fell, causing her to cry even more. 

     “Oh! Hey, hey! It’s alright, dear one. What happened?” 

     As she explained through hard, heavy sobs, Boromir struggled to climb up onto the limb in an attempt to sit next to her. Too tall for the small hollow, he bumped his head against another limb. As he reacted, his shoulder-length hair got caught on the brambles. Despite herself, Y/N laughed. He chuckled too, glad to see her smiling, albeit at his expense. “I don’t know how you can fit in here without destroying the place. I’m not that much taller than you.”

     “It’s a matter of grace I suppose,” she grinned, her face slowly falling back to her previous sullen expression. Boromir shifted closer to her, practically folding himself in half in the process. After several minutes of comedic fumbling, he leaned his back against the trunk and wrapped his arm around her. She moved closer, glad for the warmth and gentle affection. Leaning her head on his collarbone, she sighed. “I don’t want you to go.” Her voice was small, she herself barely hearing her near-silent whisper. 

     Boromir frowned and leaned his head against hers. “I know. I don’t either. My father--”

     Y/N huffed. “I know. I’m sorry, but I’m sick of him. He mistreats you. We should just…leave. Escape from it all. Do you think…do you think I could come with you? I’d stay out of trouble, I promise. I’ll fight if I have to, you know I’m good! Better than you, anyway,” she joked. “Think about it -- we could leave together. No one would care. My family wouldn’t notice, and even if they did they’d probably be glad to be rid of me.”

     Silence. Boromir’s heart beating. Her mind racing. Brief flashes of hope. Anxiety. Love. 

     “It’ll be dangerous.”

     “I don’t care. I want to be there with you. I can help.”

     Boromir smiled, his cheeks smushed against the top of her head. “I’ve always admired your courage. I know not what will come, but you will no doubt be of great help. I’ll protect you. No matter the cost.”

     “We’ll protect each other.” 

     “Do you blame yourself?”

     “What?”

     “Do you blame yourself?”

    The words shot through Merry’s mind like a flaming arrow, burning and slicing his already exhausted mind. Of course he did. Pippin was his cousin; practically his brother. He was supposed to be the responsible one, the one keeping his kid cousin out of trouble. Yet he had failed. His mind was always at the ready, constantly formulating excuses for Pippin’s childish behavior, but his body was far weaker than he had planned for. He had slipped; fallen asleep. All it took was a single second of pure carelessness. 

     Shifting awkwardly, he answered: “Are you okay?” At times like these, it was best to sidestep his own feelings. Shut them down, pack them away.

     “You didn’t answer my question…” A near-silent reply, a whisper. They were waiting in the Hall, an agonizing hush looming over the Fellowship. Pippin’s voice echoed, causing a few to glance their way, warning scowls of worry etched on weary faces. Merry sighed and shifted once more, this time away from his dear cousin. A single sign of weakness or emotion could cause a chain reaction; Pippin would break down, Sam would scold, Frodo would go silent; the discomfort infecting everyone nearby like some fatal disease. 

     Merry was trembling. Flashes of Pippin’s horrified, twisted face seared his mind. Images of his younger cousin writhing in pain on the floor, screaming. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gandalf crowding him, pulling at him in a vain attempt to help. A cry from Aragorn as he yanked the Palantir away from Pippin. The glass orb rolling across the floor. Fabric flying through the air as Gandalf frantically covered it. The interrogation; Pippin weeping and covered in sweat, his eyes wild as he clung to whoever was closest. Agonizing silence between shaking breaths. His own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he turned away.

     “...He’s a fool, but an honest fool.” 

     That was all Merry had heard; his mind trapping him in a torturous loop of the hour before. As Gandalf concluded his speech and the older members of the Fellowship began speaking of war and treachery, he slipped out of the room and onto the balcony. The rich, cool night air brought a wave of relief, but tears quickly followed. Shame and guilt flooded his mind. If he had been quick enough to stop his cousin, none of this would’ve happened. No one would be hurt. Pippin wouldn’t be the center of distrust and worry. If only he had done his job. If only he hadn’t been so careless; so cowardly. 

     He walked to the nearest corner of the balcony and leaned against the wall for support, sighing heavily. He had never felt so old, so young, in his life. The horrible mixture of ‘I should’ve known better’ and ‘I couldn’t have stopped him if I tried’ fought in his mind; a losing battle either way. Why did he look away? Why did he shield himself from Pippin’s pain, and not shield Pippin himself? He looked up to Merry, saw him as a big brother. He idolized him, always had. 

     He smiled through tears as he recalled one of his first memories of them together: Pippin, who had just learned to crawl, trailing after a newly-walking Merry, giggling and babbling at him as he sneakily handed him snacks from his mother’s pantry. As the years passed and the two grew older, Pippin would amp up the pranks, dangerous acts, and foolish ideas that he had witnessed his older cousin doing. He’d always been that way: seeing something his idol did, no matter how foolish or dangerous, and replicating it, making it even more reckless. Merry had spent most of his childhood and early teenage years pulling him out of trouble or making excuses for him. So many nights sneaking a sullen, caught Pippin snacks during time-outs and staying out of his aunt’s sight as he put on shadow puppet shows to cheer him up without he himself getting caught. Silent tears turned to desperate sobs as fond memories slowly became tainted by the ever-growing guilt and shame, the what-ifs that had become his constant companion in the hours since. 

     A door opened behind him, catching him off guard once again. The sound of bare feet hesitantly creeping towards him broke the silence between his sobs; he hadn’t had enough warning to stop himself. Fabric rustled and the subtle warmth of someone’s body hovering next to him caused his body to tense; an unconscious habit Merry had picked up many years ago, another ridiculous method of shielding his cousin from the ugly side of life. Silence fell between the two. The intoxicating scent of Old Toby floating through the night air slowly eased him back into breathing normally, if only for a moment. 

     “Don’t worry about me, Merr. I’m okay. Gandalf himself said it. I’m just an honest fool. I know you blame yourself for…that, but really, I’m okay. Nothing a little Old Toby can’t fix, anyway.” A brief, awkward smile, a quick glance.

     Merry’s guilt and fear turned to rage. “That’s just it. You’re not okay! Nothing is okay. You could’ve died, Pippin. Do you realize that? Don’t you understand? Sauron could easily send an army here, if he hasn’t already. Don’t you get it?! He thinks you have the Ring! It is my fault. I knew what you were doing. I heard you get up. I heard you take that stupid orb! Instead of stopping you, I just sat there, like an idiot. If anyone should take the blame, it should be me.”

     Again, silence. Pippin casually blew a smoke ring and watched it float away before facing him. “Merry. I know I don’t seem like it, but I’m an adult now. I’m responsible for my own actions. You aren’t. Don’t worry about me. If it makes you feel better, I’ll quit smoking so much -- I know you hate it. I’ll even stay to the side, out of trouble. Out of sight, out of mind.” He rested his hand on Merry’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Promise.” 

    Elisa groaned as her phone’s alarm rang on her bedside table. It was the first day of spring, and she had hoped to sleep in a little longer, despite foolishly setting her alarm the night before. She rolled over in her bed, covering her eyes with her blanket in protest. As the horrid alarm continued, she finally gave in and smacked her phone, hitting the snooze button for the third time. She drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes, slowly waking up enough to give her the energy to get out of bed. Mornings were certainly not for her. She sighed and moved just enough to face her bedside table, pausing to stretch a bit and to get accustomed to the cold morning air. 

    As she reached for her glasses, her fingertips lightly touched the already-smudged lenses, no doubt making them worse. At this point, her natural vision would work just as well; she’d forgotten to clean them the night before. Childishly kicking off her pile of blankets in a mild huff, she grabbed the glasses, haphazardly wiped them on her shirt in a vain attempt to clean them, slid over her nose and stood. Still stiff from sleep, she took a moment to stretch, filling her lungs with as much air as she could, forcing herself to do a few basic, lazy yoga poses. Her lungs ached with the sudden deep breaths and her joints were stiff, but she had promised herself to actually keep this morning routine, at least for a while, unlike her other routines.