In my writings, Pippin has Faramir and (thus far) a daughter named Beryl. Merry has a son named Theodoc and I’m introducing in this story a daughter named Eowynda. Theodoc is 11, Faramir is 10. Beryl and Eowynda are both five as they were born one day apart, with the Took relation finally being the eldest.

**Auntiemeesh and I both came up with the name "Theodoc" for Merry's son seperately and at different times. Neither knew the other had used it. In my stories he makes his first appearance in "The Living is Easy."

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To Calm a Storm

"There, there, wee hobbity young’uns. It's all right, ‘twas only thunder." Smirnin looked from one wide-eyed hobbit child to the next. They might be frightened of the storm, but he was a bit frightened by their fear. In all his long years of life he had never married and had a family. The ways of children were a mystery to him.

"It’s so . . . it’s," Faramir gulped and tried again. "It is so much lou . . . "

CRACK! BOOM!

The hills themselves shook from the sound of the thunder.

Smirnin was buried under four shivering hobbit children. He held them close, glad they couldn’t see the confusion on his face because they had buried their faces in his chest. He heard Faramir’s muffled voice finish his interrupted sentence. "It’s louder here . . . louder than . . . at home." At the words, "at home" Smirnin felt each little shivering hobbit have an extra hard quiver.

CRACK! BOOM! RUMBLE!

The grip of the children’s little fingers was tickling Smirnin’s ribs, but he didn’t giggle. His heart was aching for his frightened little charges. Their parents were in the new city on the lake visiting King Estel (Hope. It still made Smirnin chuckle so he preferred it to the King’s more commonly used "Elessar") and Queen Arwen. The children had begged to stay a few days with their families’ new friend. Hobbit parents being what they are, The Master and The Thain in particular, the children had been allowed to visit "Uncle Smirnin."

He sat rocking them slightly, an instinctive thing that surprised him when he realized he was doing it. "Right comforting, this," he said aloud.

"Um mmm," murmured Eowynda and she burrowed deeper into Smirnin’s beard. After a moment she sat back a bit to look into his eyes. "I like your . . . ah . . . Theo?" She tugged at her brother’s shirt sleeve. "Theo what’s his hairy face thing called again?"

Theodoc pulled his face from the crook of Smirnin’s arm and looked wide eyed at his sister. "Wynda! That’s rude!"

" ‘Tis not!"

" ‘Tis!"

Crackle. BOOM!

All the little heads dove for cover again, but Smirnin noticed he didn’t hear the crack of the lightening as loudly. The storm was moving on.

" ‘Tis called a beard, wee hobbity lass, and no rudeness taken where none be meant young Theo, lad," Smirnin chuckled and the children all started to relax again.

"It is soft, Uncle Smirnin." Beryl started petting the long strawberry-blond whiskers. She lifted her head. Her light brown eyes followed each downward stroke of her hands. "And you’ve such nice braids in it, with pretty metal bands and such. Did you do your own braids, Uncle Smirnin? Wyn and I can do braids. We do them all the time for each other and I’ve even braided my Da’s hair and he said it was quite nice." Beryl only stopped because she needed to breathe. Faramir and Theodoc covered their mouths and shook with laughter at the memory of Pippin with a head full of mismatched braids. "He wore them all day long," Beryl continued with a happy smile. "We had company that night at dinner and he left them in, and I think some of the grownups were laughing at him, but Da didn’t seem to mind, he just looked at them, kinda like he does with me and Faramir when we are in trouble and they didn’t chuckle anymore. Can me and Wyn braid your . . . your . . . what’s it?"

BOOM! RUMBLE!

"Beard, Beryl, a beard." Faramir whispered loudly. This time the children had cowered a bit but not hidden their heads.

"Your beard? Can we?" Both girls were nodding their heads while begging with their eyes.

"Well now, my hobbity lasses. Ya seem to have more practice with head hair than face hair, and if ya be braidin’ my beard I can’t play a wee game with your brothers. Would my head hair suit you well?"

"Yes!" chirped the two girls who went scampering off to get Smirnin’s comb that they had spotted earlier. They soon realized that it was too big for their hands. "May we use our combs, Uncle Smirnin?" asked Eowynda.

"Course ya can, didn’t think too well on that or I would have told ya to do that right off. Let me get my game set up first and a chair so ya can reach my head without need for standin’ and we’ll be all set." Soon the two girls where giggling happily and the lads were ready for Smirnin’s game. The rumbles of thunder were barely noticed.

Smirnin started to set up the game of the cups and the pea when Theodoc piped up. "We know that game Uncle Smirnin! Can Faramir and I see if we can fool you?"

"Course ya can! Though, I’ll warn ya, I’m right good at this. Been doing it longer than the Shire has been the Shire." He gave the lads a huge wink.

"Can we do it for a prize?" Faramir asked as he gave a subtle nudge to his cousin.

Smirnin scowled a bit. "Your Fathers let you gamble?"

"No!" Theo spoke up quickly. "Not gamble, just a prize for the winner. Not at all the same thing."

"If you win your prize is one of our marbles," Faramir put in, "and we have some very nice marbles. If we win, we get one of those little cakes we had after supper. We noticed there are more of them in the kitchen."

Smirnin wasn’t quite sure of this but the children looked so eager that he went along with their idea. "Alright."

The cousins stuck out their small hands for Smirnin to shake. "Done and Done!" they both said firmly as they shook on the deal just like they had seen their fathers do when conducting business.

Smirnin won several marbles . . . at first. Slowly, craftily, the game began to change. Smirnin had forgotten whose sons these lads were or he would have been more cautious.

Time passed. The storm passed.

If the morning light could have made its way into Smirnin’s hills it would have found two crumb covered, sticky hobbit lads laying fast asleep on the floor by a cups and pea game. In a big person size chair, two wee little hobbit lasses leaned against each other, sound asleep, combs and a couple of ribbons abandoned in their laps. A person who didn’t look quite Elvish, nor quite Dwarvish, leaned against the chair. A few tiny marbles lay in his upturned palm, his hair was full of tiny braids with ribbons of every color tied to their ends. A look of perfect peace was upon his sleeping face.