Lessons, Lectures & Life

By: H.J. Bender

Completed: 5/31/2004

Synopsis: Merry has an epiphany that causes him to do some much-needed growing up, and Pippin finds himself a home in his elder cousin's heart.

Foreword: Thanks so much for your reviews thus far, everyone! I hope that it shall only get better from hereon. =) As usual, Tolkien owns all; I just own this fic and its song.

"If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders." -Abigail Van Buren

Morning came first to the East March, stretching its pale twilight arms from behind the Old Forest and leaving a dewy blanket of mist over everything that it embraced. It rolled out from between the trunks of the trees and sank through the High Hay like sand through a sieve, creeping silently into the hills and settling down into the shallow dales between them ere spreading slowly onwards to the Brandywine. A thin fog hovered above the river's murmuring cool water and followed its winding path away, away into the south until it became obscured by trees and earth.

The birds had awoken, and the chirrups of the crickets and frogs by the river slowly thinned and grew quiet, not to be heard again until the sun began to sink into the west. The delicate light of dawn grew strong as the sun peered over the treetops and warmed the clouds and sky to orange and pink and yellow—it filtered down between the thickly-leafed clusters of trees to settle upon the grassy earthen roof of Buck Hill, where some of its occupants were already awake and commencing the activities of this beautiful day.

Merry did in fact manage to wake himself before Pippin that morn as he had planned; of course, there was no window in the guest room as it was not on an outer wall, and that lent a great deal of motivation for Merry to drag himself out of bed for fear of it being midday (for boys at his age tend to sleep well past the customary wake-up call). He cantered down the hall and to his room, dressed himself, and returned to wake Pippin and see him to breakfast.

The kitchens at Brandy Hall were another remarkable thing in the morning; sounds of sizzling and cookware clinking and all sorts of delicious aromas filled the air as steam rolled up from the whistling kettles over the fire. The morning sunlight shone down from a louvre in the roof and filled the whole room with a warm, cheerful glow.

Esmeralda and Bryony (the wife of Saradoc's brother, Merimac, and mother of the fair Berilac) were hustling and bustling about cheerfully, sharing the remnants of yesterday's gossip and chatting about that day's agenda between stolen sips of tea. Ez looked up as Merry and Pippin entered the kitchen and greeted, 'Good morning, lads! A bit late in rising but better that than never. Sleep well, I grant?'

Pippin shook the last of his sleepiness from his senses and nodded, and Merry feared him to blurt out that His Dear Sweet Meddy had sung him a night-a-bye song and cuddled up with him and had been goosey and mushy and lovey and all sorts of disgusting things, but all he said was: 'I slep' all night, Auntie!'

'I don't think the Horn-call of Buckland would have woken him,' Merry added with a grateful sigh as he and Pippin seated themselves at the table in the adjoining room, which was actually considered a part of the kitchen as it had been renovated many years earlier to accommodate food preparations for the many Brandybuck relations now living at the Hall. It used to be a small dining room until its size made it practically useless for anything else, and so Old Rorimac (Saradoc's father who was then Master of the Hall) commissioned the doorway of the room be widened and a fireplace put in, as well as a small brick oven. Merry liked to take his breakfasts and casual meals in the new room as it was always a great deal cosier and warmer there in the winter than out in the great, open dining hall where the smooth wood floors and high ceiling made the air a bit chilly. As a child he was rather insecure of being left alone and so he would play games on the floor of the new room while his mother helped cook. As he grew older he would oftentimes assist her with the task of food preparations, and had become something of a decent chef in his own right.

'What's the Horn-call of Buckland?' Pippin asked Merry once they were seated at the round wooden table in the centre of the new room.

Merry said, 'Well, it's like a siren, you see-'

'A sea-faerie?'

'No, silly. It's an alarm, an emergency signal.'

'Ohhh.' Pippin swung his feet idly as he and Merry helped themselves to a bowl of apples on the table, and Merry told him of the Horn-call while Pippin sat and listened attentively. Esmeralda could not help but to smile to herself as she listened to her son speaking so studiously to his cousin and not mincing any petty details; she knew that Saradoc and Paladin had done rightly when they had paired the two of them together.

She poked her head into the room and said, 'Bry and I shall have a fresh batch of bacon and eggs ready in half a moment.'

'Sounds wonderful!' Merry said. 'Do you need any help?'

'Not at the moment; you just sit here with Pip and wake yourselves up. There's hot water for tea in the kettle over there if you like.'

'Thanks, Mum.'

Esmeralda smiled and disappeared. Pippin turned to face Merry and said, 'You've got the nicest mummy in the whole world.'

'Your mum isn't so bad, either,' winked Merry as he stood from the table and gathered two cups and saucers from the cupboard. 'Would you like some tea, Pippin?'

'Tea? Yuck!' Pippin made a face. 'Tea is gross and bitter!'

'Oh, come now, that's only because you haven't tasted the proper kind yet.' Merry opened the tea cabinet and mused, 'Let's see if we've something on the lighter side of a black tea, and not too strong.' He browsed pensively down the rows of ceramic containers, muttering to himself: 'Perhaps a brew of Laeth Leaf with a bit of dried linden and some cream -no, not cream- some milk and a pinch of sugar, maybe a drop of honey or… bother. I'll just brew what ever sounds best.'

As Pippin watched in fascination, Merry deftly prepared a small pot of tea and poured cups for them both. 'Go on, taste it,' he insisted brightly when Pippin seemed to be more occupied with stirring and staring rather than drinking. The little Took lifted a spoonful and blew the whorls of steam away to cool it, then gingerly sipped while Merry looked on expectantly.

Pippin set the spoon down on the saucer and returned his cousin's gaze. 'It's good!' he said with a slight grin, and Merry nodded prudently to himself, as if he had known it all along.

After breakfast, Merry took Pippin by the Children's Room where were kept many educational supplies, such as slate-boards and chalk, and sticks of coloured wax for drawing pictures on paper. Hilda Brandybuck was there, keeping an eye on her three children, Doderic, Ilberic and Celandine; though she was actually the wife of Merry's once-removed, first-cousin Seredic, Merry had grown up calling her "Auntie", and so she was still to him. He greeted her and the youngsters while Pippin hung shyly behind him, keeping a firm hold on Merry's shirt sleeve and speaking only meekly and when he was spoken to.

Merry instructed Pippin to gather the slate-board and find some chalk while he went and collected a lawn-blanket for sitting on and some sweet-bread for snacking; though he was unable to play outside at his leisure, Merry fully intended to take advantage of this glorious day in what ever way possible, even if it meant sitting outside and teaching dull, boring letters to his cousin.

Merry took a wicker basket from the kitchen and filled it with a few slices of sweet-bread and a couple of apples, then found the lawn-blanket in the linen closet, folded and tucked it under his arm, and headed out the door to find a nice place under a tree somewhere to set up the school-room. He had just left the white picket fence that went all round the Hall and was thinking of pitching camp in the oak glade when he caught sight of three familiar figures walking down Buck Road, the wide path that ran parallel to the river and was the main route used chiefly by the Brandybuck family to reach the Brandywine Bridge without having to cross behind the Hill and use the road that led past Bucklebury.

Merry looked for a tree to hide behind but he was right at the intersection of the Ferry Road and Buck Road, and there was no place to conceal himself; he prepared to turn round and pretend like he never saw them but his hopes were dashed as they spotted him before he could sneak away, and they called, 'Merry! Hoi there, Meriadoc!'

Merry stopped in his tracks and grimaced. 'Oh, bury me,' he muttered under his breath, and turned round to face his three approaching friends: Merimas, Fredegar (known also as Fatty) and Folco.

'Well, Merry! Fancy seeing you here,' said Merimas with a mischievous smile on his face.

'Yes, fancy indeed,' replied Merry dully.

'How went your first day of mentoring The Nit?'

'It was a stroll through the rose garden. Honestly, Maz. What do you think?'

Folco laughed. 'I thought it was a joke! Who would have thought-' Then he caught the evil look Merry was giving him and collected himself. '-er, terribly sorry, mate. You have my sympathies.'

Fatty said, 'Too bad you're stuck playin' teacher to the Terror of Tookland, otherwise were hoping for you to come along with us; we're heading out to the Bridgefields to test Folco's new kite.'

'The glue just dried last night,' said Folco, and he held up the bright blue kite to show Merry, who suddenly longed to run about with his three friends more than anything else in the world. 'Fatty helped me whittle down the struts like you said and now it's sure to soar!'

'We brought all the string we could fit into our pockets!' said Fatty. 'You wouldn't happen to have any on you, would you, Merry? If the winds are anything like last week we're going to need all the line we can get!'

'No, I haven't got any,' he replied in a voice that seemed to convey the spirit of one who had gotten stuck in a bog and was slowly sinking down into the muck. 'Sorry.'

Merimas gave his cousin a sympathetic smile and patted his back. 'You sound devastated, Mer, but take heart-I give it a week before one of you turns up dead, and then your suffering will've ended,' he said matter-of-factly, 'because if you don't kill him, you're going to kill yourself.'

Merry received this news dubiously. 'Really now,' he muttered, sounding positively thrilled.

'Absolutely!' Merimas insisted. 'Ask Everard; I hear he's almost practically mad now.'

'But most Tooks already are,' added Fatty.

'My mother is a Took,' Merry scowled.

Said Merimas, 'Well, at least that means you're only half mad. Who knows, you might actually bond with the little chap. Through your madness and all that.'

'We're not mad!' snapped Merry.

'We'll see if that's true by the end of the summer,' Merimas said as he and Fatty and Folco departed. 'Good day, Merry! Be sure to give The Nit a kiss for me!'

'And me!' shouted Folco, pursing his lips and making various wet smacking sounds.

'And me, also!' added Fatty, and all three lads walked down the road, laughing out loud.

Merry could feel his ears burning with anger and embarrassment; he clenched his fists and set his jaw, narrowing his eyes at their backs. 'I hope they all step into a rabbit-hole and break their ankles,' he cursed under his breath before he turned and stormed away down the path towards the Hall.

From behind the front gate Pippin trotted out, face bright and hopeful—his expression faded when he saw the cross, antagonised look on Merry's face. 'Meddy?' he asked softly, and the elder hobbit stopped in his tracks and gazed down at his little cousin darkly, saying nothing.

Pippin shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. 'I fetched the chalk and slate for you. Are we goin' to need anything else?'

Merry gritted his teeth and felt his patience (what little he had left of it) slip off into the recesses of his mind, stowing away behind the flaming temper threatening to burst forth from his lips; he wanted to shout and scream at anybody who so much as looked at him, like what he used to do when he was a child and things were not going his way. His tantrums were legendary in the Hall, even more so than Pippin's were at Great Smials. Now he felt the anger towards every single injustice ever committed to him in his younger days rising up into his throat like burning vomit; the times of fun and play were now to be prematurely ended, nay, stolen from him, by being saddled with this burden to look after. He had neither asked nor wanted this—it was simply thrust into his arms and he was told to make it work, somehow.

And now the personification of every thing that had ever gone wrong in his childhood and every thing that will ever go wrong for the rest of his life was standing before him at this very moment, and he had only to open his mouth and scream it away like a straw house in a strong wind, and it would all disappear forever, so he thought.

But something extraordinary happened to Merry just as he parted his lips to unleash his hostility upon the innocent Pippin—he grew up. It wasn't as sudden a change as you might think; a sensible young hobbit had always been there within Merry, waiting for his moment to shine through, remaining hidden in the meanwhile. It was like the first spark from flint that starts the warm, cosy fire or the single flake of snow that rolls down the hill and collects until it becomes a snow-ball; the tiny something that sets everything else into motion.

The gap betwixt Merry's mind and his heart was bridged by a small voice in his head that softly whispered: "He never did anything to you; he is not to blame. He adores you simply for being who you are. He loves you for reasons even he has not fully come to understand. Do not give him a reason to loth you so early in his life, when he has not yet learnt the meaning of hate. Do not be the one to teach him the failure of love."

And like that, as the final stone was laid to rest and the bridge of cognizant thought completed, the angry, bitter child was staunched back down into Merry's belly, and a soothing wave of collectedness washed over him like a cool rag upon a fevered brow. Merry straightened his back and let his angry expression melt away into a gentle smile.

'Yes,' he said. 'I believe that's all we're going to need.'

And when Pippin gave a small sigh and grinned, Merry forgot all about Merimas and Folco and Fatty, and even about the wonderful blue kite, because, he realised for the first time, there would always be time for that later.

Merry assumed that because of Pippin's reluctance to listen to authority that the first week of schooling him was going to be the worst week of both their lives; but surprisingly, Pippin was very compliant and behaved, and paid attention to the letters and words that Merry would spell out for him on the small slate-board. The youngest Took already had a rough grasp on his letters and was able to read a few simple words, what little he had learnt from his exasperated tutors before his attitude caused them to throw up their hands in defeat.

Pippin looked up to his older cousin, indeed, as a brotherly figure that was endowed with a higher degree of authority than if he had actually been of closer relation; Pippin listened and did what Merry asked of him because he loved and respected his cousin, and did not like to see him cross. It was because of this, and Merry's eight years of seniourity over him, that made out of Pippin an apt and diligent pupil. He delighted in learning and, despite his mousy shyness, was insatiably curious and fascinated by the world around him—Merry oftentimes found himself quite out of breath from keeping up with all of his questions, and slowly he began to see Pippin's timidity wear away as the days passed into weeks and he became more familiar with the folks who lived at the Hall. He became a source of laughter and mirth, a breath of fresh air in the intimidating vastness of the smial, one that only a Took was capable of bringing. If Pippin were a flower, he would have been uncurling his petals and basking in the light of the sun that Merry was parting the clouds from.

One of the most challenging obstacles for Pippin to overcome was the conquering of his strange Westfarthing accent, the thing that -though endearing and adorable as it was- hindered adults' ability to be a fair judge of his growing intellect; no one would take him seriously if he continued to speak like a toddler, so Merry was resolved to cure Pippin of this malady as soon as he could, alas, there never seemed to be time enough to devote an entire day to proper speech. So instead, Merry made up riddles and tongue-twisters for Pippin to practise on his own time, and hoped that somehow, someway, someday, it might all finally sink into place.

The day that formed a true milestone in this subject came in late June when Merry and Pippin were lounging outside under the branches of the large oak in the south garden, going over addition and subtraction:

'Eleven plus seven,' proposed Merry, lying on his back with his legs crossed at the ankles and the brim of a broad straw hat drawn over his eyes.

Pippin, sitting a short breadth away, counted softly on his slender little fingers. 'Eighteen,' he answered.

'Correct. Thirty minus ten.'

'Twenty.'

'Good! Now, here's a difficult one: twenty-one plus fourteen, and no finger-counting this time. Try to figure this one in your head.'

Pippin scrunched up his face in deep contemplation for a moment before replying, 'Firty thive!'

'Ah ah ah,' reprimanded Merry, 'what is the rule of Thy Fervour's Friendly Thread?'

The young hobbit licked his lips and focused upon the branches swaying above his head, and said with deliberation, 'thy fervour's friendly thread fights for thy freedom from the fearsome flight of thirteen frightening, thorny fistles, er, thistles.'

'Very good,' said Merry as he sat up. 'Much better than last week. Now, if we can just get you to correctly recite the rules of Fair Violet and the Yawning Lads we'll have come a long way indeed.'

'Can I try them anyway?' implored Pippin eagerly.

'I don't know—can you?'

'May I try them?'

'Well, I suppose so, if you do it slowly. Go ahead—impress me, my pupil.'

'All right! Here goes.' Pippin cleared his throat. 'Verily did fair Violet venture forth from valleys filled with virgin flowers of Valinor's finest vines.'

'Excellent, and not a single mistake! And what of the Yawning Lads?'

Pippin said, 'Laughing, lazy, yawning yads-lads! lounged every year with lovely young yade- ladies lolling languidly in yellow daisies.'

Merry smiled and briefly applauded. 'Very well done. Those speech riddles have certainly helped you along. Have you conquered the Red Racers yet?'

Pippin beamed and spouted quickly: 'Many readied, red, mellow racers running rampantly around the broken rose garden created a raucous row!'

'Splendid! And what is my name?'

'Meddy.'

Merry sighed melodramatically and flopped down onto his back, clutching a hand to his breast as he cried, 'You killed me, Pippin! and you were doing so well before, yet still you can't even say my own name! Ah! I shall die!'

The young Took giggled despite himself and dodged the straw hat that his cousin tossed at his head. 'I'm soory. I guess it just takes longer for me to get names right. You know, you'll always be "Meddy" to me.'

Merry rolled his eyes sarcastically and latched his hands behind his head. 'I suppose you'll just have to practise that awful rule until your tongue falls out.'

'I doan't want that.'

'Then practise.'

'Now?'

'When else? Go on. We're not goin' in for luncheon until you recite it correctly and say my name.'

'You said that fifteen minutes ago when I was practising my numbers!' complained Pippin. 'I'm tired of reciting rules, Merry, and besides, it's almost past lunch-time I'm hungry!'

'Pippin!' The young Brandybuck launched himself upright so quickly that it startled his cousin a bit (who was probably expecting Merry to shout at him for complaining). 'You did it! You said my name!'

'I did?'

'Yes! Say it again.'

'Meddy.'

'No no no no, you did it wrong again. Think about my name: M-E-R-R-Y. Don't let your tongue touch the top of your mouth—keep it down. Go on. Try it.'

'Merrrrrry,' said Pippin slowly.

'Yes! Now try it faster this time.'

'Merrrry.'

'Go on.'

'Merry…? Merry.' And suddenly it was as if a bright light came on in Pippin's face, and he jumped up with a shout. 'Merry! I said it, Merry! Merry merry merry merry merry!' He skipped about the tree a few times while Merry sat and tried not to laugh at his little cousin's antics, though there were moments when he couldn't restrain himself any longer and let a few chuckles escape.

Pippin saw Merry laughing (for the first time in quite a while, I should mention), and became even more jubilant; he gave one more lap about the tree and tossed himself down across his mentor, knocking the breath quite out of him.

'PEREGRIN TOOK!' roared Merry as the youngster guffawed and squirmed all over him. 'You knocked the bloody, curséd wind out of me! Get off! You might've cracked my damned ribs!'

But Merry was not truly injured and Pippin seemed to know this, especially after nearly two months of close living with him. The ensuing result was the first of presumably hundreds of mock-fights between them; nobody ever ended up with wounds more serious than a scratch or a faint bruise, and was possibly an act most similar to the squabbling of two young ferrets of the same litter, battling for the sake of amusement or out of half-hearted argument.

In any case, the fights between Merry and Pippin always sounded and looked worse than they actually were; Merry was careful not to twist Pippin's arm too severely, and Pippin only bit Merry hard enough to leave an imprint of teeth on his flesh without actually drawing blood. Children were made of tough stuff as the old folks said, and a few bumps on the head or banged-up toes weren't going to be enough to discourage their spirits. Nay, the only thing capable of doing that was having to explain to Mum why your nice clothes were so covered with grass stains and ripped at the seams.

But for all his newfound confidences, his new friends found in Merry's family and the joy he first felt at writing his first sentence all on his own, Pippin remained insecure in only the most personal aspects of his life. Every night he would call for Merry to come in and sing to him, and on the occasions when Merry could not sneak back into his own bed after Pippin had fallen asleep, he simply ended up sharing a bed with him. As nice as the rooms were at Brandy Hall, the guest beds were something that Merry was not used to sleeping in, ergo when ever he was left with no choice but to spend the night in Pippin's bed, he slept poorly and was never refreshed come morning. He tried diligently to creep out of bed and back to his room when he thought Pippin to be asleep, but the little Took seemed to have a "Missing Merry" sense engrained into his being that woke him up when ever he sensed his cousin's absence.

One particular night when Merry was especially exhausted after crawling back to his own bed, Pippin awoke and called out for him for quite a long while, with no response; Pippin, though frightened of the bogey-monsters under his bed and all the imaginary goblins and beasts that patrolled the halls, slid out of his bed and -with his little heart pounding- padded quietly down to Merry's room and climbed into his bed.

Merry had a much nicer bed by far than any of the guest beds—it was wider, for one thing, and the sheets and quilts on it were softer from continuous wear, if tattered here and there from childhood games where they would be the roof of a great fortress in the mountains, a sail on a pirate ship or the wings of a gigantic bird of prey. Merry had only a few years ago grown out of the stage where he carried a small blanket around for his personal security, and all hobbits seemed to share an appreciation for a stoutly-sewn quilt, no matter how old or shabby it appeared. Merry's blankets never seemed to make Pippin too hot or leave him too cold; they were just right, and Pippin supposed, because they were treasured so greatly by the one whom they were made for.

There was not one but two thick, fluffy feather pillows that had that comforting scent of Merry's hair saturated into them: a fragrance of apple soap and tea leaves and the faint aroma of the trees that grew all about Buck Hill. Pippin would soon come to recognise this scent and take comfort in it, for it meant that His Meddy was there to chase away the monsters and make everything all right.

Naturally Merry was put-off by the initial discovery of a stow-away in his bed the next morning but decided that if this was the only way he was going to get any decent rest that his bed was big enough for the both of them, and from that night henceforth -indeed, for the rest of his childhood and his stay at the Hall- Pippin slept in Merry's bed.

But there came a night when even Merry could not seem to comfort his little cousin.

He first noticed the slight trembling of the mattress beside him, and then the shudders that grew steadily more pronounced until they started to pull the blanket off of Merry's body; he rolled over and saw Pippin lying with his back to him, crying softly into the pillow.

Merry put a gentle hand on his shoulder and asked, 'What's wrong? What's the matter?'

Pippin didn't answer.

'Are you angry with me?'

Pippin shook his head and rolled over onto his back, turning his tear-streaked face to Merry. 'I miss my Mummy,' he said in the smallest of voices.

Merry's heart immediately ached, and he put his arm around the lad and drew him close. 'There now,' he consoled, 'you'll get to see her again, very soon. She and Uncle Pal are comin' out for a visit next week, and you'll get to spend all day with them. Doesn't that sound nice?'

'But I want to see Mummy now,' Pippin wheedled. 'I miss her, and I miss Pearl and Pern and Vin and Daddy and Evry and even Auntie Prisca. I miss Great Smials, and Mummy's flower garden. I m-miss them all, Meddy,' he wept, forgetting himself and nestling against his cousin's side like a poor rabbit in winter who seeks shelter from the bitter snow.

Merry could thing of nought to say or do to ease Pippin's hurting spirits, so he did the only thing he felt was right: he sang.

Far away, into the night

Unreachable by foot or flight

Where lonely beats thy aching heart

So far away from Home, thou art.

A trav'ler lost in a distant land

Wand'ring blind o'er sea and sand

Vainly searching for his home

Searching, searching, all alone.

But on a map not Home is seen

Nor mountains high nor valleys green

For no place sacred Home can be

Save in thy heart, O trav'ler free.

So lie awake and count the stars

And soon the time shall mend thy scars.

Thy heart shall beat with joy again

And find its way home in the end.

Pippin finally drifted off after the third or so time Merry had sung the song, however, now Merry was left awake and unable to go back to sleep. His throat was dry from singing and he decided to make an attempt to steal into the kitchen for a cup of water; he slowly eased himself out from underneath Pippin and stepped lightly out of the room, and turned down the hall towards the kitchen. Hobbits have naturally good eye-sight, and Merry was no exception—he needed no candle to light the familiar path to his most frequent night-stop. He was, however, somewhat startled by the presence of another in the kitchen.

'Mum?' he inquired.

Esmeralda, clad in her dressing gown and robe and sitting at the kitchen table with a small stein of peach ale set before her, smiled sleepily and motioned for Merry to sit down. 'Well, it looks like I've been caught sooner than I expected to be,' she said in good humour. 'I suppose I should be thankful that it was you instead of one of our beloved gadabouts; imagine the talk that would spring up about Esmeralda being a heavy drinker,' she chuckled to herself. 'Anything troubling you, dear?'

'Troubling? No, I just came for some water is all. I'm fine.'

'If you say so. Oh—you'll have to settle for what's in the basin, I'm afraid. One of the well-pipes is leaking and the water-pump got stopped up with dirt. Sare and Marmadas are going to fix it first thing in the morrow. Confound these modern contraptions, I say! I could never get my head around them, pipes and pumps and all that. More bother than they're worth.'

Merry drew water from the basin and sat down beside his mother, sipping in silence. Ez watched him for a time before she said, 'So, how goes the mentoring?'

'Fine,' he replied, and then smiled. 'He wrote an whole page by himself today. We're working on his handwriting and it's getting much better.'

'I know—the laundry room walls are covered in chalk. Luckily it washes right off.'

'What! That little brat! I should have known he was filching sticks when we came up short of five.'

Esmeralda giggled softly. 'Come now, Merry dear. He wants only to impress you. He looks up to you, you know.'

'I do,' said Merry softly. After a long while, he looked up at his mother and confessed, 'I don't know what I'm doing, Mum. I was never given instructions of what to teach him. I could be doing it all wrong, and then he's goin' to grow up being all stupid and daft, and I will be to blame.'

'O Merry!' laughed Ez, 'my dearest Merry, it takes a daft and stupid hobbit to teach another to be daft and stupid, and you are neither, I assure you.'

'But he's bright, and he catches on quickly; I fear I'm runnin' out of things to teach him, and it makes me feel a right idiot just knowin' there are others out there who are more deserving for Pippin's education besides me. I'm too young. I don't know enough.'

Esmeralda took her son's face in her hands and kissed his forehead. 'Only a foolish hobbit thinks he knows everything,' she quoted, 'but the wise hobbit is aware of how little he knows.'

'I don't think I understand you, Mum,' said Merry sadly.

'You will, one day,' she smiled.

Just then Pippin appeared in the door-way, rubbing his eyes. 'I was wonderin' where you went to, Merry,' he said. 'Are you coming back to bed?'

'Yes, in a moment,' he replied. 'Go back and keep my spot warm.'

When Pippin had left, Ez asked, 'The two of you are sharing a bed?'

'Yes. Pip has bogey-monster nightmares and needs someone to hold onto all night.'

'Ah, that sounds like somebody I used to know; a nervous, worried little child who always carried his blanket with him and who could never fall asleep without a night-a-bye song,' Ez winked mischievously and Merry rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

'I grew out of it,' he insisted. 'Really. I'll be fourteen soon, almost a full grown lad.'

'Are you certain?' she jested. 'I think you take more comfort in Pippin's presence than he does in yours.'

'Folly!' scoffed Merry, rising from the table. 'It's late and you're keeping me awake, Mum. Good-night.' He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and returned to his room where, certainly enough, Pippin had kept a warm spot just for him.

To Be Continued in the Next Installment: A Day in Hobbiton