The hinges of the door to Merry's tiny bedroom at Whitwell always squeaked, and the sound never failed to startle him from even the deepest of dreams. Tonight was no exception, and at the first squeak Merry found himself torn from his sleep and squinting blearily at the door, where a small, shadowy figure shifted uneasily from foot to foot before hesitantly whispering, “Merry?”

“What is it, Pippin?” Merry asked, still half-dozing. When there was no answer he sighed and sat up, determinedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Pippin remained by the door, fidgeting with his sleeve and looking decidedly unhappy.

"Come here," Merry said, and he watched with concern as Pippin shuffled across the room, his shoulders slumping and his whole demeanor unusually downcast. When he reached the bed Merry scooped him up and tucked him beneath the warm blankets. "Now what's this?" he asked, peering closely at his cousin's small, troubled face. "Are you feeling sick? Did you have a bad dream?"

Pippin shook his head. "I can't sleep at all."

"Has Pervinca been telling you those scary stories again?” Merry demanded, frowning. “I told her to leave you alone."

"It's not Pervinca this time," Pippin replied. "I just, well, I don't…" He trailed off and hid his face in his cousin's shoulder, mumbling incomprehensibly.

"What did you say?" Merry asked. When Pippin did not answer, Merry tickled his side, trying to earn a laugh. "Oi Pippin, what's wrong? Did you forget that tomorrow is your birthday?"

Pippin burst into tears.

"Pip!" Merry exclaimed. He gathered his cousin close and held him as he cried, and wondered how he could have possibly caused all this by mentioning Pippin's birthday. "What has got you so upset? Did you forget to find mathoms for everyone? I'll help you if you want."

"N-no," Pippin said shakily. "I have the mathoms already. They're good ones, too. I hid them under my bed – but don't look there, Merry," he added quickly, aware that he had said too much.

"I won't," Merry promised. "But I want you to tell me right now what is bothering you."

After a moment Pippin nodded in agreement and took a steadying breath. "I’m going to miss being eight."

Merry burst into laughter.

"It's not funny!" Pippin said, clearly affronted. Kicking aside the blankets, he retreated to the other end of the bed where he sat sniffling and glowering at Merry.

It took an enormous effort, but at last Merry was able to force his face into a serious expression. "Here," he said, taking a handkerchief from the drawer of his bedside table and handing it to Pippin, who accepted it with a frosty, puffy-eyed glare before noisily blowing his nose.

Merry studied Pippin for a long moment before smiling tentatively. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry I laughed at you. Won't you come back here? I don't want you to be angry with me on your birthday."

Smiling a little in return, Pippin crept closer and tucked himself neatly against his cousin’s side. "I wasn't too angry," he admitted as he allowed Merry to tuck the blankets around his shoulders once more. “Mostly I’m just sad. I really am going to miss being eight.”

"Why is that?" Merry asked.

Pippin sighed unhappily. "It's just that I don't know if being nine will be as much fun as being eight. It was very fun being eight years old, you know. This year Da gave me my very own wallet, and my sisters stopped doing silly things like putting bows in my hair, and in the summer you took me fishing and boating and riding…" He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I don't know if so many good things will happen when I'm nine."

"Maybe not," Merry agreed. "But I think being nine years old will be even better than being eight. Everyone knows that adventures get better and better as you grow older. Look at Bilbo – he was fifty years old when he went on his grand adventure."

"That is very old," Pippin said solemnly.

Merry stifled a laugh. "It is, but don't go around saying that. Grown-ups don't like talking about how old they really are."

"I'm sorry," Pippin replied apologetically. He smiled at Merry with wide and hopeful eyes. "Do you really think that I'll have better adventures when I'm nine?"

"Of course!" Merry nodded confidently. "I'm going to plan a few for you myself." He watched as Pippin yawned enormously and added, "You had better go to sleep now. You have a long day of eating and mathom-giving and dancing ahead of you tomorrow."

Pippin seemed ready to protest before he yawned again. "All right," he said, stealing one of Merry’s pillows and burrowing deep in the blankets. After a few moments of restless fidgeting he spoke again. "Merry, when I turn nine will you stop telling me what to do?"

“Oh no, Pip,” Merry laughed. “You’ll never outgrow that. It's my right as your older cousin. I shall always get to boss you around."

Pippin sighed resignedly. “You are very bossy, Merry,” he said, ignoring his cousin’s objections. “But I suppose I don’t mind it so much. You do think up the best adventures.”

“Hmmph,” Merry grumbled good-naturedly, not knowing if he should be insulted or pleased. “Well, that’s all right then. And maybe…maybe when you’re nine we can think of some adventures together.”

“That’s a good idea,” Pippin said sleepily. “I think you’re right, Merry. It won’t be so bad being nine after all.”