Author: Pendora
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All these dear Hobbits do not belong to me, but to the amazing Tolkien himself.
Author’s Notes: The words to the song Merry sings come directly from Kenny Loggins’ Your Heart Will Lead You Home, from The Tigger Movie. The final two lines were taken from Ludwig Bemelmans’ Madeline. I’ve always been a Madeline fan, and I couldn’t resist using those classic words. My brothers inspired the Wolf game, and I’m much indebted to them for supplying me with something the hobbit children could be playing. My challenge was to include these four things: An owl, a green flannel dressing gown, a stomachache, and a blizzard. Character: Esmeralda. My sentence was: There was nothing else to be done. And lots of hugs to Anso, for her beta work on this. The story takes place in 1388, so Merry is 6 (or 4, in Man years).

Brandy Hall, The Winter of 1388

Having risen at an unusually early hour that morning, and finding his wife still sleeping soundly, Saradoc Brandybuck immediately retired to his personal study. He had secluded himself in hopes of snatching an hour or two of quiet solitude, before the rest of the Hall began to rise, bringing the usual hustle and bustle, and the start of a new day.

Ah yes, he thought, as he settled himself comfortably in his armchair. An hour of this and I’ll be ready to take on the day. Now if only this silence will last.

He should have known better. For just as he was turning over the first leaves of his book, a small noise reached his ears. That is, it started out small, but soon grew immensely in volume.

When anticipating a peaceful, quiet morning, there was something the Heir of Buckland has not taken into consideration.

His son.

How can such a tiny creature create such a racket? Saradoc wondered aloud, in a combination of amusement, irritation, and fond affection.

As he quietly stepped out into the deserted hall to investigate, his eyes glanced towards the floor. But all that met his gaze was smooth oak. There was no warm patch of sunlight. That’s strange, he mused.

Since infancy, it had always been Merry’s routine to rise as the sun first shown its beams into the midst of the sleepy Hall, shining a patch of warm light into the main entryway. There was never a need to rouse him, for his instinct told him when the sun was up. Saradoc had always found it fascinating that his little sunshine found it so natural to rise just as the sunshine of the rest of the world did.

That patch of light outside his study had always served as a sign to Saradoc, signifying that the peace and quiet would soon end. That at any minute his son would be awake, and the serenity would vanish. For Merry was a joyful child, and was always laughing, shouting, and squealing. His parents knew they should be grateful his noise was most often due to happiness, and not because he was upset, or fussing, and they had grown accustomed to his routine rising hour, and made certain they were up before him.

Saradoc crossed the hallway to the window beside the front door. Peering out, he looked up into a grey winter sky, filled with clouds, and not a ray of sunshine in sight. Save for the River churning along, the whole land looked empty, and forlorn, and the brown grass waved desolately in the chilling breeze.

The sounds from down the corridor grew louder, and Saradoc turned away from the window. He hadn’t really paid attention before to what kind of noise it was, but as he listened now, he discovered something with a slight smile.

Merry was singing.

The child was remarkably clever for one so young, and had a knack for learning new words and facts quickly. This particular song was an old nursery rhyme his Grandmother Gilda had put to a tune for him when he was a mere babe in arms. She had sung it to him over and over, and in time, it became the only song he would be rocked to sleep with.

It was so different from any other children’s song that the grown-ups in Merry’s life never understood why it appealed to him so, for it was not about a mother rabbit that finds carrots for her ten rabbit babes, or a tale of Hobbit lads and lasses who always do as their elders say. It was not even Hobbit-like at all, and some even suggested that it originally came from the Big Folk. But Merry adored it, and was ever begging his grandmother and mother to sing it. When he grew a bit bigger, he learned all the words (he had been very proud of himself the day that was accomplished) and when playing on his own, he would sing it to himself.

Now, as Saradoc crept softly down the hallway, Merry’s sweet baby voice could be heard singing energetically:

Sunny days and starry nights and lazy afternoons
You're counting castles in the clouds and humming little tunes.
But somehow right before your eyes the sun fades away,
Everything is different and everything has changed

If you feel lost
And on your own
And far from home
You're never alone you know
Just think of your friends
The ones who care
They all will be waiting there
With love to share
And your heart will lead you home

Saradoc poked his head around the doorway, peeping into his son’s room. Merry was facing his bedroom window, his back to the door. He was still dressed in his white woollen nightshirt, and his golden curls were tousled in a comfortable, early-morning mass on his head. The window was still a bit high for him, and he stretched up to reach the sill, bouncing slightly on the tips of his toes.

When the song ended, Saradoc stood gazing at his child, lost in thought. Meanwhile, Merry had obviously grown tired of his examination of the North gardens and turned from the window. As he glanced over his shoulder he immediately spotted his father, and his cheery face broke out into a broad grin.

“Morning Da!” He exclaimed, abandoning his post at the window to come bounding over to Saradoc.

Saradoc automatically bent down to pick him up, but Merry pushed back with a scowl.

“I’m too big to be picked up, Da!” There was an indignant spark in his eyes, and the cross expression on his face was so comical; Saradoc struggled to keep his own face straight. But not wanting to tint his young son’s pride, he respected his wishes, and obligingly squatted down until he was staring into the grey depths of Merry’s eyes.

“Very well then, you’re right, son.” Merry’s lips twitched slightly, dangerously close to a smile; he always felt grown-up and important when Da called him ‘son’; it was as though they were equals. But he was determined his father see he was ready to put ‘baby ways’ – as Merry called any routine which reminded him of his infancy - behind him. And so he managed to keep a straight face.

“But don’t I ever get to pick you up again?” Saradoc pleaded. “You know, I sometimes need comforting; can’t I at least pick you up if I get lonesome?”

Merry considered for a moment. “Well,” he mused. “I suppose you could pick me up then, but only if you’re really lonesome.” He gnawed his tongue; considering for a moment. “And maybe if I get hurt or scared.” He added as an afterthought.

“Very well then, it’s agreed.” Saradoc solemnly stuck out a palm, shaking his son cordially by the hand. “I will only pick you up when you’re hurt or scared, and if I’m especially lonesome.”

Merry beamed, overcome with pride. He had just made an arrangement – complete with a handshake - with his father! Just like the grown-ups did! He decided he finally must really be growing up. Just like Mum had said. Mum…

“Da?”

“Hmm?”

“Why isn’t Mum awake?”

Saradoc thought for a moment. Merry’s question had brought to mind the reason he had come in here in the first place. “Perhaps Mum is just especially tired this morning.” He suggested. It certainly wasn’t Esmie’s wont to sleep in later than Merry; mothers couldn’t often afford that kind of luxury. “Which means,” he continued, “that little lads have to be especially good, and on their best behaviour, and quiet.” He made certain there was a strong emphasis on the last word.

“But I have been quiet!”

“Of course you have,” Saradoc teased in a good-natured tone. “Which is why I heard you singing all the way down the corridor.” He gave a playful poke to Merry’s round belly. Merry shrieked and clutched at his stomach, giggling.

“Nuh-uh, Da, no tickling!”

Saradoc would have continued in his merciless torment, but feared the pair of them would cause more of a ruckus than ever. And so he satisfied himself with bestowing one more poke to his son, and then ceased his teasing. He decided he’d best see about his wife, and so he left Merry alone, but not before helping him to start on his dressing and other daily grooming.

It was some time later when Saradoc finally returned from the bedroom, softly shutting the door behind him. He did his best to put on cheery face for his lad.

Merry had long since finished dressing and grooming, and – in order to amuse himself - had taken up several of his mother’s best company aprons, and was now using them – along with some dining chairs, sofa cushions, and his wooden play-figures - to build a massive, billowing imitation of the Hall.

“Da, look! ” He squealed. “See what I made!”

Saradoc was perfectly willing to critique the creation from where he stood, but Merry would have none of it and clutching his father’s hand, proceeded to drag him over to the miniature Hall. Knowing Merry wouldn’t rest until he knew he had his father’s full attention, and good opinion, Saradoc obliged. Dropping down on all fours, he made the full tour through the maze of chair legs, lacy apron ends, and piles of cushions, emerging to declare it a most excellent establishment indeed.

“Although,” he said, scratching his head. “Perhaps it’d be best if its residents made a law that only people of their stature are allowed inside.” He rubbed the quickly swelling bump at the back of his head – the ugly result of a chair leg he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. After that produced a giggle from his lad, he turned to the more serious business at hand.

“And now,” he drew Merry close to him. “I want to speak to you about Mum. It seems she isn’t feeling very well today, and so we’re just going to leave her be, and let her get some sleep.”

Of course Merry was sorry to hear his mother was doing poorly, but his solid Hobbit sense automatically went to the practical. “But what about breakfast?” He questioned, the concern written plainly on his face. After all, it was his mother’s best interest he had in mind; think how upset she would be if he were to starve while she was sick!

“What of it?” his father questioned. “Since we’ve already missed breakfast in the dining hall, I’ll just cook us up something to eat.”

Merry’s eyes widened. “You can cook?” He didn’t recall ever having seen his father working in the kitchen.

“Why of course I can!” Saradoc exclaimed. “What do you think I did before I married Mum? I couldn’t always rely on the cooks or your Grandmother Gilda for food, you know.”

Merry had never thought of this before. His mother - or the cooks, when his family ate down in the main dining hall - had always prepared all of his meals.

“Does that mean that someday I’ll have to make food?”

“You most certainly will! We Hobbits need to be prepared, for when the ladies aren’t able to cook. And you’d best ready yourself, for someday you’ll have a wife of your own.” Merry scrunched up his nose at that; the disgust apparent on his young face.

Saradoc laughed aloud. “Come on then. Even old bachelors have to fend for themselves once in awhile.”

And so it was that father and son spent a happy hour together in the kitchen. Both were outfitted in one of Esmeralda’s everyday aprons - Merry’s had to be doubled-up and wrapped around his waist twice before it could be tied – with their shirtsleeves rolled up. Saradoc stood at the table, chopping onions, preparing water, slicing bread, while Merry stood on a stool at his side, cracking eggs – only a few shells had to be scooped out – measuring flour, washing potatoes, and sneaking little nibbles here and there.

They finished their preparations and meal with the kitchen a great deal messier than when they had entered it and Merry very much in need of a bath. So after setting aside an extra plate to warm – in case Esmeralda was hungry when she awoke – Saradoc hauled an onion-scented, egg and flour-coated Merry off to the bath.

He could have stayed there the remainder of the morning – diving under the surface to blow bubbles, turning the washcloths into boats on the Brandywine, and using his hands as imaginary four-legged, long necked animals who lived amongst the foaming bubbles of the River – but Saradoc had quite a line up of things to do that day, and so, not long after washing, his son was taken from the bath - despite Merry’s objection, “But I’m not even wrinkled yet!” – and wrapped in a large, fluffy towel - only his rosy face, and wet curls visible, peeking out from the top.

Saradoc didn’t like leaving Merry to fend for himself, but there was nothing else to be done. He knew he couldn’t leave Merry alone in the smial, so after dressing him, he sent him off to find his cousins. Of course he would rather have taken him along, but some hobbits from Stock were calling today, to discuss the upcoming trade in the spring, and as the Master was off in Newbury, it was up to his son to handle their arriving guests – and their business - and it just wouldn’t be appropriate to have Merry with him during such an important exchange. And so, vowing to check up on the lad often, Saradoc headed for the Master’s study.

Merry wished Frodo were here. He was always the one to play with him when Mum and Da were busy. But Frodo was not here. He had gone to pay a visit to Cousin Bilbo, away off in Hobbiton. This had surprised Merry very much. Frodo had never gone visiting without Saradoc’s family before, and Merry felt hurt that Frodo was willing to leave his lad for such a long time. There were no children up at Bag End, and even though Merry thought Cousin Bilbo was great fun - for being such an important hobbit - he didn’t understand why Frodo would wish to visit him by himself for a whole two weeks. And, oh, Merry did miss him so.

He didn’t even have Berilac to play with, for Auntie Hilda had taken him off to visit his Bracegirdle relatives, and he wouldn’t be back for a few more days yet. Merry kicked at the carpet as he plodded along the corridor. Why did his two favourite cousins have to go off and leave him? Frodo had never just abandoned him, and yet here he was, all alone. Oh bother, he would just have to get along on his own for a while yet. But it wasn’t really so bad. After all, there were dozens of other children throughout the Hall. All he had to do was walk along the corridors for a way, and he was sure to stumble across someone.

As it was, he found a majority of them in the playroom. They were all in the midst of a very rousing game of – well, Merry wasn’t quite sure what game it was, but it looked very exciting. The whole room was in an uproar: the sofas had been moved – how they had done that without a grown-up, Merry did not know – so they were facing each other, one on each end of the room, and several of the lads were on all fours, growling and chasing after the other children. Not liking to be left in the dark, Merry determined to find out what this new frolic was. He at once spotted Merimas - who was pressed against the wall, in an attempt to catch his breath before plunging into the rabble of children again - and went over to press him for details.

Upon questioning, Merry discovered that this was in fact a new game - the children had just made it up this morning - and they called it the Wolf Game. The way it went was a select few of the children – usually the older, bossier ones, with the power to intimidate their inferiors into allowing them the role – were the wolves, and they prowled around in the area between the two sofas, waiting. Meanwhile, the rest of the children posed as adventurers, who had to make it across the gap without being attacked by the monsters below. It was a very wild game, and it was fortunate for the children that most of their elders were in other parts of the Hall, or else their game would certainly soon have been cut short.

Merry found it to be a most enjoyable frolic, and he stayed with his cousins until their luncheon in the Children’s Hall. After the meal was over, however, most of the younger ones were carried off to take their naps, and as Merry hadn’t seen his father in over an hour – when he poked his head into the Children’s Hall, but upon finding his son sitting at the table, calmly eating, had left again – and it didn’t seem as though he planned on making another appearance anytime soon, Merry wandered off to their apartment.

The business with the hobbits from Stock took longer than Saradoc had expected. Excusing himself several times to check on Merry and Esmie had only delayed things further. When at last they all came to a decision, Saradoc eagerly showed the gentlehobbits out, shutting the door firmly behind them. He walked slowly over to the desk and leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, rubbing his eyes. Drat these meetings!

As he idly glanced around the study, he thought of Esmie and her current condition. A slight pang of fear clutched his heart. These symptoms were an ill sign. She had suffered from them each and every time with all the others – save Merry. They foreshadowed a difficult pregnancy that would only end in pain and tears. Saradoc didn’t see how they could go through this again. Nor how he could bear to see Esmie suffer anymore. He had thought they were past this. Merry had proven they could deliver a healthy child, and yet now they seemed to be back where they had started. Saradoc let out another sigh and rose to make his way back up to the bedroom. Perhaps Esmie was doing better. Perhaps it really was naught but a simple winter illness. Perhaps this time would be different.

When Merry opened the door to their apartment it was quiet and deserted and seemed strange to him. He felt lonely without Mum there to shoo him off to his nap, and tweak his nose when he cheekily refused. He would giggle wildly and – try though she might – Esmie would be overcome and giggle right along with him. It would all end with her chasing him around the corners, finally managing to sweep him up in her arms, and there he would stay until she plopped him onto his bed, where they would read a story together, competing each other to be the best at reading the characters’ voices. Of course Merry couldn’t read by himself yet, but he had most of the stories treasured up in his heart, where he could always pull them out at need. They always had so much fun avoiding naptime that Merry was usually asleep before he really had the chance to feel sorry for himself.

As he stood desolately in the hall, contemplating all of this, he caught sight of the brown earthen pitcher that stood upon the dining table. Every morning, without exception, Esmie would fill this pitcher with fresh flowers from the gardens or woods. Even in the dead of winter she always managed to find something that grew to brighten up the table. From where Merry stood, he saw the flowers that stood in the pitcher now were withered and dead; his mother hadn’t been there to replenish it. This sight made Merry miss Mum so much; he rushed right over to his parents’ bedroom and knocked cautiously on the door.

Esmeralda had done her best to enjoy a quiet morning in bed, despite the pain and fear that troubled her. She had been through this ordeal so many times that she was almost able to convince herself to relax. She tried not to trust to hope, to face the truth she knew would be harshly staring her in the face, all too soon. After all, she thought, there’s no stopping nature’s hand. Others had told her this over and over, but she was a mother down to her very soul, and a mother cannot so easily give up on her child. Oh but what’s the use? Why worry about what I cannot stop? Time will tell how things we’ll turn out, and all I can do is wait.

And so she put her mind to other things. All had been fairly quiet, once Merry had left the apartment, and that was always a rare treat. Saradoc had popped in as often as he could to see how she was faring, and to bring her whatever she needed. She had a good supply of reading material by her bed, and had been lost in her book most of the morning. After a light lunch – she hadn’t been able to hold much food all day – she decided another nap was just what she needed, and she was now dozing peacefully.

A scuffling noise, and a tap at the door, aroused her, and she opened her eyes to see a golden head and two grey eyes peering round the doorframe at her. Esmie smiled; even though she had been able to hear his merriment throughout the early morning, she had missed her lad. He seemed hesitant about entering the room, for fear he shouldn’t be disturbing her when she was sick.

“Hullo Merry-love. Aren’t you going to come in to wish your Mum a good morning? Or good afternoon, I should say.”

That was all the urging Merry needed; he raced across the room and pulled himself up onto the bed. “Good afternoon!” He practically sang.

Esmie reached over and taking Merry’s face between her hands, buried a kiss among the thick locks on his head. “Mmmm,” she breathed. “You smell as sweet as lilacs in spring. Did you have a bath this morning?” Merry’s head bobbed up and down vigorously. “I knew your Da would take good care of you.”

“And he made our breakfast!” Merry added eagerly. “But I didn’t know he could cook.”

“Oh yes, your father is one of the best cooks in the Hall. He used to cook for me quite often when we were first married, though we were both much younger then. But I’m sure you two had a marvelous breakfast.”

Merry look bewildered. “But Mum, didn’t you eat yours?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t felt much like eating today, love, but I had a bit of lunch, and I feel much better for it.”

Merry’s face was stricken with horror. Imagine going all morning without eating! No wonder Mum felt sick! But when he tried to explain this worry to her, she merely laughed softly and said, “When people are sick, sometimes they just don’t feel hungry. You remember when you were sick last autumn, you ate nothing all day; I was worried you’d lost your appetite for good.”

Merry did remember. That had been a horrid day – horrid week, more like. It was all dark and hazy in Merry’s young memory, and he didn’t like to think about it. So he simply looked up at his mother and nodded slowly.

“Come now,” she said. “I’ve been alone all morning, and I need a good story. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

And so Merry gave her the full account of his morning with his Da, and the adventures of the playroom with his cousins. She appeared to be exceedingly interested, but as he talked, Merry was watching her face intently, for something was troubling him.

“And then I came back to look for you.” He concluded. “Mum, what’s wrong with you? Because you don’t seem sick.” Whenever he was sick, he was very quiet, and listless, and sometimes a bit cranky. But to Merry’s innocent eyes, Mum seemed as she always did: happy, talkative, and fun.

“Well,” she began slowly, thinking long and hard before answering. “I’m not sure of what’s wrong with me exactly, but I’m very tired, and my head is sore, and my stomach hurts.” Merry now noticed she was wearing her flannel dressing gown, her green flannel dressing gown. The dressing gown she only wore when she was sick and wanted to be extra comfortable. Merry did not know that Esmie wore it now because it was what she had worn during her pregnancy with him. She somehow felt safer in it.

“Like a tummy-ache?”

“Yes, very much like a tummy-ache.”

“Maybe you ate too many sweets.” This had happened to him once at Cousin Frodo’s birthday party, and he had been sent straight to bed, where Myrtle, the healer, had given him a nasty tasting tonic, which made his ears ring.

“That very well could be.” Esmie said. “But we’ll just have to wait and see; I’m sure to feel much better in the morning.”

“But you still don’t seem sick.”

Esmie considered for a moment. “Sometimes mothers have a hard time acting sick, because they’re so used to being the mother all the time, and they feel as though they can’t afford to be sick, so they just keep acting like everything is fine.”

“But isn’t that a lie?” Merry had never known his mother to tell a lie, and the thought scared him. He fervently hoped this wasn’t one.

“Perhaps it is. At any rate, it’s one lie all mothers need to stop telling, and give themselves extra rest when they need it, or else we’ll all be worked to our graves one day. At least,” and here she smiled slyly. “That’s what your Da is always saying.”

While Merry wasn’t used to his mother speaking of such things – graves and mothers telling lies - he had caught what she said about getting extra rest, and sudden guilt flooded his heart. Da had warned him this morning about not bothering Mum, and now he was in here, pestering her.

“Mum? Should I leave you alone? Da told me not to bother you.”

“And you’ve done a very good job of it all morning. But I was getting very lonely, so I’m happy to have your company.”

“Really?” Merry smiled hopefully. He really did want to stay and be with Mum.

“Yes, really. And besides, you make every day brighter when I’m feeling lonely.”

“But why?”

“Because you are my sunshine on a cloudy day.”

The smile that broke out on his face certainly couldn’t be described as anything but sunshine, and Esmeralda ruffled his curls fondly. Merry idly wondered if it was still cloudy out – like Mum had said - as there had been no sign of the sun from his window early that morning. He suddenly slid to the floor and rushed over to the window.

“Mum! ” he squealed. “Look Mum, look! There’s cotton falling from the trees!”

When Esmie reached his side, she began to laugh. “That isn’t cotton, Merry-dear, that’s snow! Good heavens, it hasn’t snowed in Buckland since you were naught but a baby. How perfectly splendid!” She seemed just as thrilled as her small son who had wrapped his arm around her leg.

“Snow?” Merry questioned. “Is that the cold stuff Frodo was telling me about?”

“Yes it is. And it doesn’t come very often in the Shire, so it’s always a special treat. But you know, one year, it was so cold, there was actually a blizzard, and the River even froze!”

“What’s a blizzard?”

“It’s a bit like a very wild thunderstorm, only the wind blows billows and billows of snow around, and you can’t see anything if you go outside.” Merry let out a small gasp. That sounded terrifying, and yet a bit exciting, too. “Of course, I’ve never seen a blizzard, no, the only record we have is of the one, and that was a long time ago, when your Cousin Bilbo was merely a small lad.”

“Please tell me!” Merry begged. Mum told excellent stories – not quite as good as Cousin Bilbo’s, but then Mum always gave hers the best voices.

“Very well then. Come on, up on the bed.” And so they settled in together, leaning against the pillows, Esmie’s arm wrapped tight round Merry’s slim shoulders. Merry listened attentively throughout the tale, interrupting only once – to ask if the wolves belonged to bad hobbits who were trying to attack the Hall – and remained wide-eyed throughout the scary bits.

And so Saradoc found them an hour later, when he came in to check up on his wife. The tale had finally finished, and both in desperate need of a nap, Esmie and Merry had fallen asleep where they lay, Merry still leaning comfortably into his mother’s warm embrace.

Merry awoke some time later, in his own bed. Saradoc had carried him from his mother’s side; afraid that Merry would waken and rouse Esmie before she had her proper rest. When Merry tiptoed into the corridor, he saw it was now dark outside. Neither of his parents was in sight, but their bedroom door was still closed, so he concluded his mother must still be resting.

He stole softly to the sitting room and knelt on the window seat, pressing his nose against the cold glass. The snow was still falling, bright against the night sky, and had covered the ground with a thick white blanket.

“I still think it looks like cotton.” Merry whispered softly to himself.

He suddenly caught sight of a creature up in the ancient tree not far from the window. At first he shrank back in fear, but then saw it was only an owl. It was perched among the branches, feathers ruffled against the cold. As Merry looked up into its black eyes, squinting because of the wind, he thought about the story his mother had told him. He wondered if this owl had an elder cousin who had been around when the River froze. Perhaps when he spotted the wolves crossing the Brandywine, his cousin had flown to the Hall to warn the Brandybucks. Merry’s imagination drifted far beyond reason, and he found a whole story coming to life before his mind. He was lost in these thoughts when he heard his father’s step in the corridor.

“Merry?”

“In here, Da”

The two of them talked of many things over supper, and Saradoc even offered to play a game of Hide a Way after the meal. Merry heartily agreed, but he was yawning before he even could finish his apple tart, so his father concluded he had had enough excitement for the day, and carried him off to his bedroom. Just as he was rounding the corner, Merry’s eyes popped open.

“Da, wait!” He whispered urgently. “There’s something I forgot to do!” He squirmed his legs to be let down, and raced over to the dining table. Picking up the heavy earthen pitcher with a grunt, he carried it over to his bewildered father.

“I’ve got to fill this for Mum.” He looked up expectantly, waiting. When his father looked confused he continued. “She always puts pretty things in here, and she couldn’t today, and I think it will make her sad if she sees them all dead in the morning.”

Saradoc glanced anxiously out at the thickly falling snow. “Merry, it’s late, and very cold outside.” Merry’s crushed look tore at his heart. “Oh, all right. But we’ll have to hurry, and you’d best bundle up.”

And so after wrapping them both tightly in their outdoor garments, Saradoc scooped Merry into his arms. Merry was so excited to be doing something he knew would please Mum that he completely forgot about their agreement that morning.

There was nothing living in the beds near the front steps of the Hall. Saradoc felt at a loss; he had very little knowledge concerning what plants grew during the winter months. But Merry’s small hand, tightly clutching his own, reminded him who he was doing this for.

“Let’s look down the path a way.” He suggested. They continued on down the steps and waded through the deepening snow. They were nearly out of the circle of light shining through the windows of the Hall, and still they saw nothing. At Saradoc’s side, Merry was shivering violently, despite his extra layers.

“Son, I think we’d better turn back. We can get up bright and early and find something then. We’ll be sure to do it before Mum wakes.”

“Da, look over there!” Merry cried. Saradoc’s gaze followed Merry’s mittened finger to a patch of bushes some twenty paces from where they stood. The bushes were dark green, with clusters of deep, red berries on them. “Those are what Mum put in the pitcher yesterday. Let’s pick those for her.”

With a little help from the knife Saradoc carried in his trouser pocket, the pair of them cut some of the berry clusters. Merry clutched them lovingly in his left hand; his other slipped into his father’s warm one, all the way back to the Hall.

Saradoc shook out his curls, brushed the snow from both of them, and relieved Merry of his outdoor garments. He was chilled through, so Saradoc had the pair of them sit together in front of the fire for a few moments. There was a comfortable silence between them, Merry on his father’s lap, gazing dreamily into the fire. He was just starting to drift off when Saradoc gently lifted him and started down the corridor. As they walked past Merry’s miniature version of Buck Hill, Saradoc did his best not to step on the ends of the lacy aprons. He vowed to be sure and pick them up before Esmie awoke the next morning; for no mother is at her best upon finding her best company aprons draped across the floor.

The light was dim in Merry’s bedroom, save for a single candle on the chest of drawers. Saradoc slipped a drowsy Merry into his nightshirt, and tucked him under the coverlet. Merry sleepily turned over to his side, and fingered the corner of his quilt for comfort. Saradoc leaned over him to bestow a kiss to the round, warm cheek. Oh Merry, he thought, what would your mother and I have done without you. He did not care to search for an answer to this question, but silently thanked the Valar that they did have this lad, to love and to hold. No matter what becomes of the small child within Esmie right now, you will always be our one and only Merry-lad.

“Good night, Spunk.” He breathed.

And he turned out the light, and closed the door. And that’s all there is, there isn’t any more.

The End