A/N - Pippin is 10 years old, Merry is 18 years old, and Frodo is 32 years old. (Ages 6 ½ years, 12 years, and 20 ½ years old in Man years).

This story was originally written for Marigold's Challenge #26.  Along with Marigold’s Challenge #26 requirement to include a hobbity idiom, the elements I had to include were a bad fall and a trophy.

My thanks once again to Dreamflower for another fine beta.

The Highs and Lows of Meriadoc Brandybuck

It was a glorious Wedmath morning at Brandy Hall, perfect for the Buckland Races. Though perhaps smaller than the annual Michel Delving fair, the Races couldn't have been held in a more enthusiastic climate.

They had everything a Bucklander could wish for; competition, ponies, boating, swimming, and of course, plenty of food.

Although it was a smaller group that attended with only the Bucklanders and a few others from the surrounding areas of the East Farthing, Merry was looking forward to the races this year more than ever before. Even when he was a mere faunt, and sat perched on Da's shoulders watching the sweaty bodies of the ponies and clapping in delight, it couldn't compare to the happiness that now filled him. This wasn't just any race, it was his race. Da had let him enter at last with his pony, Stormy, in the race for mares three years or older. To put the cream on the pudding, not only had Bilbo and Frodo come all the way from Hobbiton to see Merry in his first pony race, but they had been able to persuade Uncle Paladin to allow Pippin to accompany them as well. Merry’s mug was brimming over with happiness.

While Mum and Da were helping Grandda host the event, Merry was having a grand time with his favourite cousins. Mum, Da, and Bilbo knew that Frodo was responsible enough to be in charge of Merry and Pippin; after all, Frodo was nearly an adult. And so the three cousins had been able to roam about as they pleased in the bright sunshine.

The swimming races were always held in a gentler portion of the Brandywine right after second breakfast. Every year, in order to encourage even the youngest of lads and lasses to learn how to swim and participate, the Master of the Hall gave each participant in the swimming races a new toy. This year, Grandda had chosen kites, which was enough to start Pippin bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, much to Merry’s amusement.

Frodo, Merry, and Pippin enthusiastically cheered on friends and kin alike. Two of Merry’s Boffin cousins had entered the races. But while Flora had easily beat her competition, her older brother, Flaco, had not fared quite so well. Berilac had narrowly beaten Flaco in the fifteen to twenty year-old lads competition. Normally, Merry would have entered the contest, but this year he thought it best to save his energy and be fresh for the pony race later on. He owed it to Stormy to be at his best.

Pippin was thrilled that he was allowed to enter the swimming race for ten to fifteen year-olds. However, being one of the youngest and smallest in his grouping, he had finished near the back of the pack and Merry thought he might have to console his cousin. Merry’s grey eyes darkened at the very idea that his little Pippin-lad would be upset. It was one thing for something to make him upset, that Merry could tolerate; but nothing upset Merry quite as much as either his Frodo or his Pippin being hurt. But Pippin didn’t care; he’d had fun just being part of the race and was grinning from ear to ear in one of his sunny wide-open Pippin-smiles that Merry always found so contagious. Merry knew he shouldn’t be surprised at Pippin’s reaction; even though Pippin had just lost the race, it was impossible to tell just by looking at the lad.

There was no question that Frodo would not enter the older tweenager’s race. Not on the Brandywine.

After Pippin had dried himself off and put his shirt and breeches back on, the three cousins joined Mum, Da, and Bilbo for elevenses. Mum unpacked the hamper full of good food while Merry, Frodo, and Pippin joined Bilbo and even Da in singing songs and flying Pippin’s new bright, red kite. Merry had to laugh at the sight of Da and Bilbo flying the kite; they really were enjoying themselves just as if they were mere hobbit lads themselves. Bilbo had even produced a bright red handkerchief from his pocket and attached it to Pippin’s kite to make a fine tail, earning their older cousin a thankful squeeze from Pippin. Before Merry knew it, Mum was calling them over to where she had spread the food. Merry had such a jolly time. Mum, Da, and Bilbo must also have been having a jolly time, for they were so busy laughing and telling stories that they hadn’t even said anything about all of the sweets Merry and his cousins were eating. Soon, they were full of scones and jam, summer sausage, Buckland sage cheese, seedcake, and strawberries and cream.

One look at Pippin’s mouth told Merry that the lad must have really enjoyed not having any adults telling him not to have any more sweets. There was a large dab of jam on each corner of Pippin’s mouth and above his top lip … above his top lip was what looked like a swath of sweet cream dotted with the occasional seed from a piece or four of seedcake. Pippin was a very happy lad.

Once Pippin had consumed so many sweets, he wasted no time in leading Merry and Frodo down the river to where the boat races were being held. “Hurry! They’ll start the first race without us!” he practically squealed as he pulled them along.

“Easy, Pip! That hand has to last me a lifetime!” Frodo chortled.

“They can’t begin the race without Da, Pippin!” exclaimed Merry as he tried to loosen Pippin’s grip. “Da’s got a boat entered in the first contest, remember? It wouldn’t be good form to start the race without the Son of the Hall, would it?”

“I know that, Merry, but I want to get a good seat!” Pippin explained while still running. “I hardly ever get to see the boats on the river, other than the ferry, and you know as well as I do that the ferry doesn’t count since it’s the same on all four sides and uses poles instead of oars, you taught me that, Merry, and I want to make sure I get a good look at all of the boats as they line up for the start of the race. How many boats can they race at once, Merry? Pearl said she didn’t know how many when I asked her, but I think it can’t be any more than they can fit across the width of the river, don’t you? You’re not being very helpful, Merry; why don’t you answer me? How many boats do you think they can fit across the river, Frodo?”

That hobbit-lad must have the largest lung capacity in the entire Shire, thought Merry.

Instead of answering Pippin, Frodo addressed Merry. “Exactly how many scones with jam did he have?” Frodo asked as Pippin continued to tug him along.

“It wasn’t my job to watch what he ate.” Merry glared at Frodo and almost stumbled as Pippin jerked his arm even harder. “Pippin!”

“I see the perfect spot, Merry! It’s just ahead. Just a little farther, Frodo!” Pippin ran ahead of them with such a sprightly step that he barely even seemed to touch the ground. The bright sunlight danced in his chestnut curls and made them appear almost golden. Looking at his cousin … perhaps Mum’s stories really were true and the Tooks actually did have some fairy blood in them after all.

When Pippin had finally reached the spot he deemed the perfect place from which to watch the boat races, Merry and Frodo were both relieved. Perhaps now they would be able to put their arms back into their sockets. Merry had the whole thing planned out. There should be just enough time for them to watch four of the boat races before getting back to the paddocks to look the ponies over before luncheon. Not only did he want to check on Stormy, but he also wanted to make sure he had enough time to evaluate his competition since there wouldn’t be enough time after luncheon.

The races were exciting, especially the first one, even though Da and Uncle Merimac lost. Being gentlehobbits, they were not as used to having to row their own boat; they usually used the ferry. In the end, they had a difficult time working in tandem and floundered in the water more than they went forward. Merry’s throat felt raw from urging Da and Uncle Merimac so much and he could have done without Pippin’s high-pitched squealing in his ear. Merry couldn’t understand it; even though Da and Uncle Merimac lost by almost seven whole boat lengths, they were laughing as they tried to get their boat to cross the finish line. One thing of which Merry was certain, if he and Stormy finished seven lengths behind in their race, he would not be laughing.

Merry poked Frodo on the shoulder after the fourth race and motioned toward the paddocks. Frodo and a reluctant Pippin got to their feet and followed Merry. Once in the paddocks, the first thing Merry did was check on Stormy, who was resting quietly while she grazed.

“We’re going to win, Stormy. I can feel it,” he told her softly but firmly as he brushed her. When Merry had finished brushing her, including her mane and tail, he bent down and felt all four of her legs to make sure she was not tender anywhere, including the frogs on the undersides of her hoofs, just as Da had taught him. Her legs were sound. Next, he made another circuit of her legs, grabbing each leg gently between his hands and rubbing it to help Stormy’s blood circulation and relax her muscles so she wouldn’t cramp up in the heat. Only when Merry was completely satisfied did they move onto the other ponies, beginning with the ponies that were to be Stormy’s competition. Merry, Frodo, and Pippin all agreed that none of them were a match for Stormy and Merry.

Then it was on to looking at the other fine ponies entered into the various races and picking their favourites to win.

“I like … that one,” Pippin said, indicating a smart looking black pony.

“Are you daft, Pippin?” scoffed Merry. “Just look at the sway in his back! He’s a plug if ever I saw one. I’m surprised anyone entered him in a race!”

Pippin turned his shocked face toward his cousin. “Oh, but Merry! He’s the prettiest! Just look how his black coat shines!”

Merry looked at Frodo, took a deep breath, and let out a sigh full of resignation. There was no arguing with Pippin. One look at his green eyes alight with excitement and Merry knew that Pippin’s opinion would not be swayed until the king came back. Frodo knew it as well, which explained why his older cousin’s blue eyes were dancing with laughter as he tried to stifle a chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Frodo?” asked Pippin in an innocent voice.

“It’s nothing, dearest.” Frodo managed. “Perhaps one day, Pippin-lad, you will learn to judge a pony’s merit differently.”

“Yes, like for how sound it is!” Merry couldn’t help but snapping in frustration. “Look how much more muscular the other ponies are. And they must stand at least a hand higher than that plug of yours!” For a ten-year-old, Pippin must have less pony-sense than Merry had at that age, or even when he had been a mere faunt. Then again, Uncle Paladin raises sheep, not ponies like Da does. Perhaps some of that wool has got into Pippin’s head. Besides, Merry thought as he puffed out his chest proudly, Tookland is certainly no match for Buckland when it comes to good pony-flesh. Perhaps he should make allowances for Pippin’s foolishness after all. Feeling less frustrated with his little cousin, Merry turned his attention back to the poor misguided Took.

Pippin cocked his head at his older cousins and looked at them as if contemplating what they had said about the ponies. At last, the young lad shook his head. “No. The black one is the best pony in this lot,” he said confidently. “Mayhap you put too much stock in how a pony looks like he will perform, but under that black coat is a pony just aching to please and show its real quality.”

“Why, you …” Merry started; shocked at Pippin’s audacity. Imagine, a Took trying to teach a Brandybuck about ponies! He looked down at the resolute face of his younger cousin and smirked. Merry bit off his words carefully. “We’ll just have to see about that, Pip, won’t we?”

It was more than Frodo could stand. “I believe that’s enough debating about the ponies for now. I’m sure we will all fare better on full stomachs. Come along, sprout, Pippin-lad.” Merry could hardly wait until he became a tweenager and Frodo stopped calling him “sprout.” Glad as he was that the name meant that Frodo thought he was special, Merry really was too old for such things. Frodo ignored the stony glare Merry fixed on him. Instead, putting one arm on each cousin’s shoulder, Frodo turned Merry and Pippin away from the ponies and pointed them toward the myriad booths of food set up underneath a copse of trees. “Let’s see what we can find for luncheon, shall we?”

Merry had to admit, he did feel better after he’d eaten, though he had not eaten as much as usual since he was so nervous about his upcoming race. Unlike Frodo and Pippin, Merry had only managed to eat half a fried chicken, two helpings of fried mushrooms, some cucumber and onion salad, half a loaf of bread and butter, two apples, and three slices of cherry pie. Perhaps his appetite would improve after the race. In the meantime, Merry began to make his way to the paddock so he could saddle Stormy and then head for the track.

Merry tried to relax and breathe as he brushed Stormy yet again with the curry comb and inspected the saddle and blanket to make sure there were no burrs hidden underneath that might distract or even injure his mare. At last, he was satisfied. Once the saddle and bridle were in place, Merry let out a heavy breath and stroked Stormy gently on the blaze running down her nose.

“I guess it’s time, lass.” Merry gulped uneasily, his heart still pounding in his ears. As if sensing her master’s discomfort, Stormy snorted and whinnied softly before rubbing her nose against Merry’s shoulder. She was ready.

“Right. Off we go.” Merry grabbed the reins from the groom, placed his left foot in the stirrup, his hand on the pommel, and mounted his pony. He made a clicking sound with the side of his mouth and Stormy began an easy trot. Merry sat tall in the saddle and posted toward the track that had been set out for the races.

As Merry approached the track, he caught his first glimpse at the enormous crowd gathered in the wooden stands. When he got a bit closer, the hobbits started to become clearer until he saw Grandda presenting the winners of the race before his with their ribbons. Out of curiosity, Merry looked to see who had won and was shocked. His mouth flew open and remained agape as he stared round-eyed at the winner. How could that plug of a black pony of Pippin’s actually have won? Merry had seen the other ponies and they were all better, more muscular, better legs, better built … what if that meant that he was wrong about his own pony’s chances as well? Merry gulped hard and completed his approach to the track.

There were six ponies entered in Merry’s race, which was the third of eight races. As Merry and Stormy entered the track, he tried to spot his Mum and Da. It took a moment, but he found them soon enough chatting with Bilbo. Frodo and Pippin were right beside them, Frodo with his arm wrapped firmly around Pippin’s shoulder, planting the happy young Took to the spot. No doubt Pippin was gloating to Frodo that he was right about the black pony. Merry was glad he was not there to listen.

Mum was wringing her hands and holding tightly to a blue handkerchief that Bilbo had given her earlier in the day. Merry quickly turned his eyes away from her and toward the soft grass beneath his feet, his shoulders slumped as he tried to gulp some fresh air and wondered why he had entered the race in the first place. He was the youngest in this race and should have waited another year before he insisted on riding Stormy. He should have let someone else ride the pony today.

Perhaps Merry should not have eaten lunch; his stomach was turning flips inside of him and he was quite certain that it would not be seemly for the grandson of the Master of Buckland to empty the contents of his stomach right in front of such a large crowd. When he looked up again, Merry caught the expression in Da’s eyes as he looked right back at him. Da’s bright grey eyes were twinkling merrily, a confident grin on his face as he looked proudly back at Merry. Merry breathed hard and felt a little better.

The six ponies were pawing and stamping the ground as the crowd quieted in anticipation. Grandda would start the race by waving a white flag, and appeared to be waiting for relative quiet.

Merry saw the flag move as if it were in slow motion; quickly he squeezed Stormy's sides as he anticipated the start. They were off! The thud of the hoofs hitting the grass coupled with the whistle of the wind that whipped through his hair made Merry whoop as he urged Stormy on. If the crowd was cheering, he couldn't hear them; he was too focused on where the others were.

"Faster! Faster!" he urged, leaning forward, almost parallel to Stormy's neck.

The finish line was drawing steadily nearer, and Merry saw Folco Boffin out of the corner of his eye gaining on him. A rush of energy pulsed through him as he urged Stormy on. She seemed to sense the others gaining on her, for with a final burst of speed, she surged across the finish line in first place.

As if an invisible barrier had been lifted, Merry was suddenly able to hear the wild cheers from the stands. In the din it was nearly impossible to distinguish one voice from another, but Merry distinctly heard Da's booming yells over the mass of sound.

His face flushed in triumph, Merry gradually slowed Stormy, whose flanks were heaving from the race.

"Well done" he whispered to her as she slowed to a walk. Turning her around, he guided her toward the stands at a gentle walk.

Grandda was waiting there to greet the winners. Grandmum handed him a rosette with a red ribbon attached to it, which Grandda then presented to Merimas Bolger, who came in third place. Folco grinned at the cheering crowd as he accepted the second place rosette with the yellow ribbon. Still, Merry could see the slightest hint of disappointment behind his eyes.

And then the crowd grew quiet again.

Grandmum picked up the rosette with the blue ribbon attached to it and grinned proudly at Merry as she handed the ribbon to Grandda. Merry’s fingers were tingling with anticipation as Grandda shook his hand in congratulations and then held the ribbon out to him, his face beaming with pride for his grandson. At last, Merry clutched the bright ribbon in his hand and allowed himself a look at it. First place.

And then Grandda presented Merry with a trophy to the loud cheers of the crowd, making Merry blush to the very tips of his ears. Merry had been so excited to actually win the first race he had entered that he had completely forgot all about the trophy each of the winners of the eight races received, an iron shoe for a pony mounted so that it stood on a carved piece of wood. For as long as he could remember, Merry had been dreaming of getting one of those trophies and now that he had won, he forgot all about it. He blushed again at his own folly and then hugged Stormy around her neck as well as he could while holding the trophy.

After Merry had walked Stormy to cool her off and led her back to her stall, he gave her a good rub down followed by an extra portion of oats as a well-earned reward. “Thank you, lass. I’ll be back later with an apple.” Now that he had taken care of his pony, it was time for him to rejoin his kin. He closed the door to the pony barn behind him and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

“Oomph!” Merry exclaimed as something charged right into his middle, forcing the air right out of him.

“Oh, Merry, Merry! You did it! I knew you could! Frodo said you had stiff competition, but I knew you would do it! You’re always so careful about the way you take care of Stormy and I’ve seen you ride often as not whenever I’m over here and you always ride faster than anyone, even your Da, and he’s older than you. Oh, but of course your Da is older than you. Can you imagine if you were older than your Da? That would be funny, wouldn’t it, Merry? Then you could tell him that you were coming to live in Whitwell with me and there would be naught he could do about it, would there, Merry? Not unless your Mum wouldn’t let you come live with me, and I can’t see that happening since Aunt Esme was born a Took after all. Oi! Maybe she would be able to come and live with us at Whitwell, too! Wouldn’t Father be surprised to see his sister come live with us! Wait until I tell him you won – he’ll have to let me have a pony then! May I see your trophy, Merry?”

“Pippin! Let Merry catch his breath!” Frodo reached out and grabbed the little Took away from Merry. “Well done, sprout!” Merry smiled at Frodo, not only for his words of praise, but out of gratitude for rescuing him from their little cousin. Merry loved Pippin dearly, more dearly than anyone could imagine, but he did tend to be too enthusiastic at times.

“Goodness, lad! Did you breathe at all?” Bilbo asked Pippin as he, Mum, and Da caught Frodo and Pippin up. “Your father could match you for talking up a storm when he was your age, but even he paused to take a breath!” Bilbo chuckled. Pippin looked innocently up at Bilbo and grinned.

“Oh, Merry! We are so proud of you!” exclaimed Mum as she wrapped her arms around Merry in a hug.

“Well done, son!” Da said, patting Merry on the back once Mum had stepped aside. “So how was it?”

As they made their way back up to the Hall so Merry could put his trophy away and clean up, Merry told them all about the race from his vantage point. They had many questions to ask him, which he was only too happy to answer.

Merry felt much refreshed once he had cleaned up. They all headed back out to the festivities, for there was to be music once afternoon tea was over. Grandda hired professional musicians each year just for the occasion. Merry was glad, because now Mum would be able to dance to the music instead of having to play her fiddle.

As Merry thought, he had a much better appetite now that the race was over. It wasn’t long after they had finished afternoon tea that Pippin turned his large green eyes on Merry and Frodo and begged them to come fly his kite with him.

“Please, Frodo! You, too, Merry! You’re both so much taller than I am that you can get it up really high. Mayhap Mother and Father will even be able to see the kite all the way in Whitwell, wouldn’t that be grand?” Pippin turned his little face up to them and used all of his Tookish charms on his older cousins.

Frodo, of course, never had a chance. “Perhaps they will at that, Pippin-lad. There’s only one way to find out.” Frodo got to his feet. “You heard him, Merry. You’re taller than Pippin, too.” And Frodo pulled Merry to his feet while Pippin jumped up and gave a whoop of joy before running to get his red kite from the oak tree that he had rested it against.

The three cousins took the kite and ran over to the open fields where the ponies usually grazed. As Merry looked up, he saw several other bright kites just like Pippin’s already in the air. Not only were there other red kites, but blue ones, greens, yellows, even some orange kites. Merry saw Berilac and Merimas flying a green kite while Folco and his younger brother, Flaco, were flying a yellow one. It seemed that several other lads and lasses had decided that this was the best place to fly kites in order to keep them from getting tangled in the trees.

Merry, Frodo, and Pippin took turns flying the kite for the better part of an hour. Thanks to Bilbo’s borrowed red handkerchief, they could always tell Pippin’s kite from all of the other red ones flying. Pippin was right that Merry and Frodo could fly the kite better and higher than he could, but he insisted on his turn at flying the kite anyway. Actually, Merry noted, Pippin wasn’t doing too badly at getting his kite to fly. There was a good breeze and Pippin seemed to have the luck of the Tooks and was able to catch the breeze just right, unlike Saffron Bolger and Folco’s sister, Flora, who were having troubles getting Flora’s blue kite high enough in the air to catch a good breeze.

Merry got Frodo’s attention and motioned toward the lasses, whose kite had just fallen down onto the soft ground once again.

“You go on, Frodo. I’ll watch after Pip,” said Merry.

“Right,” Frodo replied. “Pippin, I’m going to help Saffron and Flora. You stay here and mind Merry. He’ll help you with your kite.”

“All right, Frodo,” said Pippin cheerily.

Once Frodo was gone, Merry and Pippin continued to fly the kite in the strengthening breeze. The kite was really high up now, making graceful arcs and circles in the sky, Merry noted as he held the kite aloft.

Soon, Pippin wanted another go at it and Merry carefully turned the kite back over to him. “Make sure you have a tight hold of it, Pip. You don’t want it to get away from you.”

“I won’t Merry,” smiled Pippin, wrapping the string around his hand a couple more times. They both turned their gaze toward the kite with the bright red tail and watched as it made one loop and then another in the bright blue sky before a strong gust of wind caught it and started carrying it along. Pippin moved to keep up with his kite, but he was just a slight lad.

“Here, Pip. Perhaps I should take it back,” suggested Merry.

“No, no, Merry! I’ve got it!” cried Pippin determinedly, holding onto the string with both hands.

But the wind was stronger than the little hobbit-lad. It caught the bright red kite and continued blowing it toward the edge of the field, forcing Pippin to run to keep up with it. The kite did not slow down. It floated high above Merry and Pippin past the pasture field and through some trees.

“Come back here, kite!” Pippin urged even as he scampered through the trees and tugged on the string to try to pull the kite back. At last, it stopped in the tallest branches of a large oak tree. No matter how hard Merry or Pippin tried to pull, the kite would not yank free.

“I’m sorry, Pippin. It’s too bad you’ve lost your kite,” said Merry. He was already thinking of how best to ask Da for another one for Pippin.

“What ever do you mean, Merry? I’ve not lost my kite. It’s right there!” said Pippin, pointing up at the kite.

“Yes, but it’s too high up to reach,” Merry explained.

“Silly, Merry!” laughed Pippin. Before Merry had time to object, Pippin was already climbing the tree.

Not only was Merry afraid of heights like all sensible hobbits, but Pippin was his charge now. Frodo had said so. And here Merry was letting him climb high up in a tree! Merry could just hear Da now, “Trees are for genealogy, not for climbing.” Merry would never be allowed to watch after Pippin again. And worse – what if something happened and Pippin got hurt?

Merry’s heart lurched in his throat as he watched his little cousin climbing higher and higher. He turned back and looked toward the pasture, but couldn’t see Frodo anywhere.

“Pippin, stop!” yelled Merry. He gulped hard. “You stay right where you are. I’ll get the kite.”

“All right, Merry!” Pippin yelled back happily. He waved his hand as Merry started toward the large oak tree.

As Merry got closer to the tree, it seemed to grow taller and taller until at last when he got to the base of the tree and looked up, it seemed to be touching the sky. Just like the tree Bilbo had to climb to escape the wolves, he thought. Even Bilbo had learnt from his experience and was fond of saying, “Trees are for Eagles, the ground for hobbits,” whenever Pippin wanted to climb a tree at Bag End.

“Don’t move, Pippin. I’ll be right up.” Merry took a few deep breaths and gathered his courage.

“You just hold onto a branch with your hand and put your foot up in that foothold,” volunteered Pippin with a grin.

“I know how to climb a tree!” Merry barked back. I’m just afraid of actually doing it, he added in his thoughts as he did as Pippin suggested.

By the time Merry had both of his feet in the tree and looked down to see the ground below him, he was already breaking out in a cold sweat. But still, he kept climbing. He could see Pippin sitting on a branch of the tree above him, singing happily.

Blast Frodo for ever teaching that Took how to climb a tree in the first place! If not for him, then Pippin would have seen sense and understood that the kite was lost and then Merry would never have had to climb this tree to get Pippin and the kite down.

Merry carefully placed his right foot on a thick branch and tested its weight to make sure it would not give. Only when he was satisfied did he venture to pull himself higher in the tree, pausing only to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and to find a good tree limb to step on or grab. His heart was beating so loudly now that he was certain that even Pippin must be able to hear it, though Pippin was still a good five feet higher than he was.

At last, Merry was level with Pippin, who was calmly sitting on a branch on the other side of the tree, swinging his legs below him.

“Hullo, Merry!” he grinned.

“Hullo, yourself, Pip,” said Merry with a frown. “You just stay put until I come back down and tell you to move.” Pippin flashed him one of his impish smiles and began singing again.

At least Pippin was minding him. That was one less thing to think about. Merry looked up and picked out another branch that looked like it might be able to support his weight and grabbed it with his left hand. He continued climbing higher despite his growing anxiety and fear.

With a nervous chuckle, Merry recalled Bilbo’s and Frodo’s gardener once warning Frodo and Pippin when they set out to climb a tree with the wise old adage that “A hobbit climbs no farther than the top of his smial.” He began to wonder if he were as high up as the top of the Hall yet. He probably was. It was a discomforting thought.

When Merry reached up and his hand came into contact with a bird’s nest, he remembered how Berilac had quoted another old saying when he had told Berilac of how Frodo and Pippin were silly enough to climb trees, “If hobbits were made to climb trees, they would have feathers.” Now, Merry started to tremble. But still he kept climbing.

At last, Merry looked up and saw Bilbo’s bright red handkerchief just a few more feet above him. If he could just reach up and grab it …

“MERRY!” shrieked Pippin loudly. But it was too late.

THUD!

In a flash, Pippin was hovering over Merry’s aching body on the ground, tears streaming down his face as he apologised over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Merry! I’m so, so sorry! Oh, Merry, you’re bleeding! Please say something!”

Merry wanted to raise his hand to wipe away Pippin’s tears, but found he couldn’t since his left arm was trapped under his body and his other arm was not cooperating. He hurt everywhere.

“Merry! Please be all right!” Pippin continued to cry with all his might.

At last, Merry cleared the cobwebs in his brain enough to respond. “Mum was right, Pip. ‘Trees are a long way up, but a short way down.’” And with that, the world went black.

When Merry awoke, his head was throbbing and his nose felt stuffier than it ever had before. His left arm was also paining him greatly and he couldn’t see straight.

“Ah, I see you are coming around.” Gradually, his vision cleared and he saw the face of Verbena Tunnelly, the Healer at Brandy Hall, looming above him. “Now that you are awake, drink this. It will help with the pain.”

Merry did as he was bid and drank what he knew to be willow-bark tea.

“That was quite a fall you took, young hobbit. A broken nose, a broken arm, a cracked rib, and a concussion … yes, that’s why your head hurts so much … quite a mess you made of yourself,” continued Mistress Verbena. “When are you young hobbits going to learn some sense? The best place for a hobbit is on the ground,” she said firmly. “I’ll be back straight away. Your family is waiting right outside your door in the sitting room. They can visit with you, but only two at a time for now. You need your rest.” It was only then that Merry realised that he was in his own bed.

“Oh, Merry!” Mum gasped as she came over to him, carefully stroking his hair. Even that little movement seemed to hurt. Da was right beside her.

“I’ll be fine, Mum,” Merry managed, though it sounded thick even to his ears.

Mum and Da visited with Merry for a while, reassuring themselves that he would indeed get better, Merry supposed.

“I’m afraid Pippin is beside himself with worry,” said Mum. “He seems to blame himself for your accident and insists on staying with you day and night until you are better. Despite Pippin’s pleas, Mistress Verbena refused to allow him to sleep next to you. She said that you must not be jostled right now by a squirming little lad. But Pippin just keeps crying and saying that he has to stay with you.”

Merry frowned. Even though he wanted Pippin to stay with him as much as Pippin himself, he knew Mistress Verbena was right.”

“It’s all right, Mum. I’ll talk to Pippin.” Mum smiled appreciatively down at him. When they left the room, Frodo led a teary-eyed Pippin over to Merry.

“Hullo, sprout,” Frodo smiled wanly, his hands resting on Pippin’s shoulders. “Pippin ran over and fetched me straight away after you fell. How are you feeling?"

Merry bit down a wave of pain before responding. “Hullo, Frodo. I'm all right," he replied. "I've got broken bones".

Frodo nodded gravely, though his eyes were smiling. "Everything's broken, even your pride, eh?"

Merry laughed, but stopped quickly when a sharp pain shot up from his chest. Biting his lip, he turned to look at Pippin, whose lower lip was wobbling as he tried valiantly to fight back a fresh wave of tears, but to no avail. “Thanks, Pip.”

“I’m so sorry, Merry!” He loosened Frodo’s grip from his shoulders and carefully lay his head down on Merry’s bed right next to Merry’s chest. “It’s all my fault! If I were a big, stout hobbit, my kite never would have dragged me over to the trees and then it never would have got caught in one! And I’m sorry I ever let you climb up a tree – you’re not a Took! Though Frodo isn’t either, but he acts more like a Took than you do. I keep forgetting that most hobbits don’t like to climb trees!”

“It’s all right, Pip,” said Merry. He wished he could get his right arm around the left one pinned across his chest so that he could hold Pippin. “It’s my fault, not yours. I wasn’t careful enough, that’s all.”

“But you’re always careful!” Pippin retorted.

Before Merry could reply, Frodo had already begun to respond for him. “No … not always… but usually… now that he’s older. Now he tries to plan everything out, whether it needs to be or not.”

Merry tried to scowl at Frodo, but it hurt too much so he satisfied himself with a, “Thanks, Frodo.”

“My pleasure, sprout,” added Frodo, with a mischievous grin. “But here’s a planning tip for you to remember for in the future. If ever you decide you do want to climb a tree again, I suggest you remember the old Took saying, ‘Watch your hands and watch your feet, or you will land upon your seat.’”

Pippin brightened. “That’s right, Merry! Frodo taught me that saying when he taught me how to climb trees and Father still says it to me whenever I go climbing to this day.” Pippin looked pointedly at Merry. “You make sure you pay attention to Father’s and Frodo’s advice if ever you get the urge to climb a tree again, Merry. I’ve minded their advice and I’ve never fallen out of a tree.”

“Get the urge?” cried Merry, though it came out with a sharp pain in his aching ribs. “I didn’t get the urge to climb in the first place, you rascal!”

Pippin scrunched up his eyes and tilted his head in confusion. “But … you must have, Merry. Why else would you have climbed the tree? I know you told me you were going to get the kite, but I’d already told you I could get the kite, so that couldn’t have been why you climbed the tree.”

Merry glanced up at Frodo for help. But Frodo’s head was bent down, his eyes cast up at Merry in silent communication.

“I … I mean I only climbed the tree because … because I wanted to be with you, Pippin-lad.” Merry looked up at Frodo and was relieved to see Frodo smiling approvingly at him.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense,” Pippin nodded. “I’d climb a tree any day to be with you. Or Frodo, too. But, Merry, you really must remember that you are not a Took. Promise me that you will be more careful next time you decide to climb a tree.”

Merry chuckled underneath his breath. “I promise, Pip. I’ll be more careful next time I climb a tree.” But inside, Merry swore to himself that he would never again climb a tree.