A Slight Case of Magnificence

Summary: Just before one of the turning points in his life, Merry finds himself in an unexpected situation.  A Fourth Age tale.

Setting: Buckland, Late November, 1438.  Pippin is 48, Merry is 56, Estella is 53, Faramir Took is 8.

A/N: Massive apologies for the time I’ve taken since the last update and for the wordiness of this piece.  Real life went to hell for a while and this little story got lost amid all that.  I hope that you enjoy it, still (although this chapter’s quite depressing) and I promise that it will be finished someday.  To everyone who has reviewed, I really do thank you from the bottom of my heart and to anyone who’s still reading this, you deserve some lovely medal of patience. 

Disclaimer: Characters and places do not belong to me

Chapter Six:  A Dreadful Mess of Everything

                Merry threw himself onto the grass with an enormous sigh.  Then he laughed hoarsely, his breath coming in ragged jerks.

                “So it is your hill today, then?”

                “Mountain.”  Faramir squeaked from where he lay panting on his own patch of grass.

                “Yes.  Mountain.  Yes.”  With great determination, Merry hauled himself up onto one elbow and surveyed his victorious opponent.  They had been racing for claim of “Mount Took” for several afternoons now.  Merry had actually won the first day, but as he had laid there in the grass, his chest burning and his head spinning from the unaccustomed exertion, he had thought to himself that perhaps Opal Frogmorton had been right—it would not do him harm to get a bit more exercise.  He’d run the same stretch of steep hill with Pippin in his childhood countless times and could not recall every having found it so difficult.

                As he had been pondered this, Faramir had flopped down beside him and the boy could barely breathe, so rapidly did his paper chest move in and out.  Merry noticed this with concern but curiosity as well.  Faramir had certainly inherited many physical traits of his father, but as small and wispy as Pippin had been in his youth, he’d never had such trouble scaling the hill.  It supported a theory that Merry had long secretly held: much of the reason Pippin had been capable of so much more than one might expect was that he had never lacked for pure determination.  He had made himself stronger by countless attempts to do anything he wanted, whether adults thought him capable or not.

                Perhaps, Merry had thought, he could instigate something similar in bookish, passive Faramir; build the boy up even if he wasn’t really aware of it.  And perhaps Merry could get his own physical benefit as well…

                “So, so it’s Mount Brandybuck now?”  Faramir had asked once he’d been able to speak again.

                “For today.”  Merry had smiled and Faramir understood that there would be another chance to win back the mountain again the next day.

                It had been a handful of next days since and already Merry could see improvement.  Faramir did not breathe quite so hard or linger exhausted upon the grass for quite so long.  There even seemed to be a bit of color in his cheeks that had been missing before.  Merry, too, was finding the run easier and was secretly pleased to notice that his waistcoat did not seem to be fitting so snug.  Perhaps if they kept this up, he thought idly, he would even be able to fit into his Rohan finery by Yule, something he’d not attempted since his first wedding anniversary.  Wouldn’t Estella be surprised by that?

                Then his thoughts were interrupted.

                “Uncle Merry?”

                “Yes, Faragrin?”

                “What do you think we’ll have for tea today?”

                “What do we usually have?  I suppose it will be that.”

                “Well, sometimes we have sandwiches and sometimes we have biscuits and sometimes we just have bread with jam.”

                “Which of those do you prefer?  We can have whichever you like best today.”

                “I like sandwiches and biscuits and bread with jam best, actually.”

                “All three?”

                “Yes.”

                “You wish to have them together?”

                Faramir’s face lit up, as if it were Merry’s suggestion and he himself had never before contemplated the idea, a beautiful performance.  “Oh, could we?”

                Merry silently bid farewell to fantasies of Rohan finery and drew himself to his feet.

                “We will have whatever pleases you.” He said, dusting grass and dirt from his coat and breeches.

                “Truly?”  Faramir asked as he performed the same task of tidying, even shaking the tiny bits of debris out from his curls, much to Merry’s amusement—he had never known such a clean child.

                “Very truly.  Have you got something particular in mind, then?  Besides the sandwiches and biscuits and bread with jam, of course.”

                “Well…”  Faramir bent over to comb his fingers through his foot hair, careful not to make eyes with his cousin as he attempted this most delicate part of his scheme, “Dilly did mention that they make all the cakes in the kitchen on Fridays and today is Friday and I haven’t had cake in ever so long—since my birthday…”

                Merry did recall that they had begun making cakes only for birthdays at Great Smials, one of Diamond Took’s consistently peculiar notions (as lady of the Smial, she was in charge of the kitchens, as Estella was at Brandy Hall) but he found it doubtful that there had not been another birthday in the very populated home since young Faramir’s more than a month before.  He said as much to his companion.

                “Oh, there were lots of birthdays at the Smials but I was at Whitwell then and the only birthday there was Auntie Pervinca’s, but she wouldn’t let me have any cake.”

                “Why was that?”

                “Because I wouldn’t finish my supper first.”

                “Well, why wouldn’t you finish it?”

                “I wasn’t hungry.”

                “I find that hard to believe, dear Faragrin.  The entire week and a half I’ve had the pleasure of your company you’ve not left more than a shine upon your plate.”

                Faramir shrugged.  “Buckland makes me hungry.”

                And Merry could not help but laugh.  “Ah, it makes me hungry, too.”  He patted Faramir on the shoulder and began the walk back to the smial, taking in the sight of glorious midday Buckland as they went.  “A fine place for a hobbit,” he murmured, “a fine place indeed.”

~~~~

                “Are you awake, cousin?”

                Estella opened her eyes at the sound of the whisper and saw Pippin looking down at her hesitantly.  She cleared her throat and attempted to sit up a little straighter, no easy task.  “Yes, I am, actually.”

                “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”  He asked, taking her at the elbow and assisting her, “I couldn’t tell whether you were sleeping or just had your eyes closed.”

                “No, no, I was just drowsing, mainly.  Not really sleeping.”

                Pippin nodded, pulled a chair up to the bedside and took a seat.  “It does get remarkably dull confined to a bed all day, doesn’t it?”

                ‘What would you know about it?’ She thought grouchily.  She was achy and not particularly in the mood for conversation.

                Pippin laced his fingers together over his lap.  “I can remember being a lad and just wishing for something interesting to happen.  Just anything to break the tedium.”

                Estella flushed a bit, then, feeling guilty.  “You were bedridden an awful lot as a child…”

                “Oh, not too much.”  He brushed the topic away with a smile.  “So, Faramir’s been keeping you good company, then, has he?”

                “Yes, quite,”  Estella was relieved to talk about something else.  Faramir was a cheering subject. “I’ve been teaching him to play chess, actually.  You wouldn’t believe how quickly he’s picked it up.”

                Pippin puffed with pride.  “My smart lad.”

                “I was surprised, actually, that he had never seen the game before for I distinctly remember Paladin and Ferumbas playing tournaments when I visited the Smials as a girl.  Has it completely gone out of fashion there?"

                “I suppose quite a few still partake of it in the elder games room, but I don’t personally play it myself so we haven’t a set in our apartments.”

                “Well, perhaps Faramir will teach you to play after this.”

                “Oh, I’m familiar with how to play it.  I just lost my taste for the game some years back.”

                Estella found this to be a rather cryptic statement and wasn’t quite sure how to take it.  “Are you unhappy that I have taught him to play?  If so, I apologize.”

                “Goodness, no,” Pippin laughed.  “Every gentlehobbit really ought to know how to play a game of chess and it’s not likely that I would have thought to teach him myself.  No, you’ve done me a service and I’m grateful.”

                A silence fell between them then which Pippin filled with antsy movement.  He got up from his chair, walked over to the window, gazed outside for ten seconds and returned to his chair.  He sat there a moment before getting up again to examine the chess set near the foot of the bed.  This held his attention for another ten seconds before he returned to the chair.  Then he stood once more, removed his weskit, folded it over his arm and then sat still at last with a sigh.

                Estella looked at him sitting in his shirtsleeves and bit back the irritation that he seemed to have a knack for stirring up in her. It was irrational and she knew it, but she couldn’t help but feel it.

As if sensing this, Pippin smiled his most charming smile and asked in a sincere tone, “How are you doing?”

                Estella sighed.  “I’m not so bad.”

                “And how is baby today?”

                She laughed.  “Quiet, thankfully.  Finally giving me a rest from the kicking .”          

                “Ah, that’s good.  Enjoy it while it lasts.”  He scrunched down in the chair and stretched his long legs out before him.  “I imagine it must be frustrating, not being able to do everything you’re used to.  Diamond at least could still do a lot of her sewing and handiwork when she had to stay abed the last week or so having Farry.  You run a household.  Hard to just hand over that responsibility to everyone else.”

                “Well, yes, but it doesn’t bother me over much when I think about the reward I’ll get for it in the end.”

                “That’s true.”

                “And Diamond runs a household as well.”

                “Aye, but not the same way that you do.  And, anyway, when we had Farry, she hadn’t anyone under her rule.  Excepting myself, of course.”

                “Who do you think was running the house at Crickhollow?”

                “Oh, you can’t fool me, Estella.”  He grinned.  “You know just as well as I that that house was yours the first day you stepped in it.”

                “Why, I never…”

                “I, for one, was happy to let you have it.  I’ve never eaten so well in all my life, before or since.”

                Estella rolled her eyes.  “A lot of  good it did you.  You’re still as much of a garden rake as you ever were—no matter how I tried, I never could seem to change that.”

                “Were you actively trying, then?  Consciously, I mean.”  Pippin looked genuinely surprised and amused.

                “Of course.”

                “Really?  Why?”

                She shrugged.  “It was a challenge.”

                Pippin shook with mirth, a flush spreading from one ear straight across his cheeks to the other. 

Estella watched him uneasily.  She didn’t understand why he would find that so funny but she supposed it was a better reaction than being offended.  As she watched him begin to recover himself, she wondered just why he had come into her room and why he seemed so determined to make small talk with her. 

It was not usual practice in their relationship.  Although there was no specific animosity between them, they had always seemed to have an innate understanding that they were two people with very little in common, brought together by the simple fact that they were family.   In turn, they had developed a rather neutral relationship wherein they were cordial but Pippin minded his business and Estella minded hers.  And Estella had been comfortable with this arrangement.  She was fond of all things predictable.

But if there was one thing to be said about Peregrin Took, it was that he was not always especially predictable.

“My,” Pippin murmured, shaking off the last of his laugh and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “that was grand.  You look lovely, by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“You.  You make quite a nice picture with your hair like that and the sun…the sun coming in from the window the way it…is.”  He flailed his hand a bit in the direction of the window and smirked at the awkward execution of his compliment.

It was a bit too unpredictable for Estella to deal with at that moment and so she bypassed it, asking instead: “Is it true that you have fired all the cooks at Great Smials?”  If he was so determined to have conversation, she decided, she would give it to him.

Pippin looked taken aback but he answered quickly.  “No.  That is a rumor, I suppose.  Only our personal cook, the one who worked for Diamond and I, has left but as far as I’m aware the cooks in the main dining hall are all still there.”

“Your cook’s been gone for some time now, hasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t thought about replacing her?”

“There hasn’t seemed much need to.  There are only three of us.”

“But who does your cooking?”

“Well, sometimes we take meals in the main hall but usually Diamond or I will put something together.”

‘No wonder you are a family of garden rakes.’ Estella almost said but held her tongue just in time.  The memory alone of Pippin and Diamond’s culinary attempts in Crickhollow conjured up a distinct ache in her temples.  

“And lots of times Faramir will get his own meals,” he continued, “He’s quite good about that.”

Again, Estella refrained from comment, though there were many things she considered saying. 

Another gap opened in the conversation and Pippin once more felt the need to fill it, jumping again from his chair, pacing to the other side of the room and then leaning against the bay of the window.  He folded his arms in front of himself and gazed down toward his feet.

“Merry and Faramir seemed to be getting on well,” he said after a time, “They’ve spent nearly every afternoon out together since we got here.”

“Merry’s always been fond of Faramir.”

“Yes,” Pippin nodded, “He does seem to understand him.”

As he said those words, a look of sadness passed over his features, just flickered, really, but Estella realized exactly why Pippin had sought out her company that afternoon: He was lonely.

A twinge of sympathy tightened around her heart then and she resolved to ask Merry later just why he had decided to take Faramir out and away from his father for so long every day that they had been there.  It hadn’t occurred to her before, but now it struck her as rather a mean thing to do.

“Pippin?”

“Mmm?”

But she was not sure what she had been intending to say so Estella faltered for a moment before she gave him what she hoped was a warm and genuine smile.  “Sam…Sam is on his way, you said?  You heard from him and he is coming?”

A lock of his unkempt hair had fallen into his eyes and Pippin made a practiced head-twitch so that it fell back in place with the rest of his curls before he nodded.  “Yes, he wrote that he would leave as soon as he got the chance this week.  If he left when he predicted he would and he makes good time, I imagine he should be reaching Buckleberry this evening.”

“You should get matters straightened out soon enough then.”

“Yes.”

“That will be nice.”

                “It will.”  He sighed and closed his eyes, deep with thought, “And then I should be off to Tookland to see how bad things have gotten there.  And to do what I can, whatever that might be.”

                Estella started to say something of comfort but the words disappeared in a gasp.  Pippin looked at her in alarm.

                “Are you all right?”

                She couldn’t speak for a moment but then nodded shakily and took a deep breath. “Baby is not sleeping anymore.”

                “Oh,” he said with relief, “How wonderful.”

                Estella gazed at Pippin for a moment and thought that he looked a bit pathetic, as though he’d lost a great deal of sleep over the past few weeks.  It was likely that he had, she realized and felt again a surge of pity.  And guilt.  He had been the one to insist on the doctor when she’d been so terrified that the baby’s movements were not normal and then he’d kept his word and not said a thing about it to Merry when it turned out to be nothing, so to spare him needless worry.  He had also not mentioned the conversation that Estella was quite sure he’d overheard between she and the doctor.  In short, he had been nothing less than a perfect gentlehobbit to her since his arrival.  As exasperating as he could sometimes be, she did feel that she owed him something to show her gratitude.  And so, she gave him the only thing she had to offer.

“Would you like to feel it kick?”

                Pippin looked both surprised and pleased by the offer.  “May I?”

                “Of course.”

                He sat gently on the edge of the bed then and put his hand to her belly.  Immediately he felt the odd sensation of movement below.  A grin crept over his face and he bent his head down beside his hand.

                “Hello, little Brandybuck,” he whispered, “I cannot wait to meet you.”

                At that moment, Estella Brandybuck forgave Pippin Took every bit of annoyance he had ever cost her.

~~~~

                Teatime that day was an elaborate affair, both Pippin and Estella (and Dilly as well) astounded by the spread Merry brought up from the kitchens.  It had necessitated the use of two tea trolleys to get it all to the Master’s apartments, Merry pushing one in front of himself and pulling the other behind him.

                “Is there some holiday I’ve forgotten about?” Estella questioned as dish after dish was set out.

                “Do we need a holiday to eat well?”  Merry laughed and poured her the first cup of tea.  “Drink up, my love.  Just because you are not in the kitchen, waving your wooden spoon about and brandishing your rolling pin of doom does not mean that we should all waste away into Tooks.”

                “Oh, I don’t think you’d need to worry about that any time soon.” Pippin muttered and spread a layer of marmalade over a slice of bread.

                Estella merely shook her head at her husband’s teasing and sipped her tea.

                Conversation did not go much beyond that as they all concentrated on the serious task of packing away the spread.  Merry seemed to take great pleasure in putting extra treats onto Estella’s plate, saying “Oh try this” and “You must have one of these.”  He did the same with Faramir and the lad gleefully accepted everything Merry pushed on him, much to Pippin’s chagrin.  Pippin, too, had been encouraging the boy to try certain things or offering to cut him a slice of one thing or another but every one of his offers had been refused.  No one else seemed to notice so he didn’t say anything.  Perhaps it was nothing, but…well, he couldn’t quiet a growing feeling in his belly that it was very deliberate. The reasons why it would be, though, he couldn’t imagine.

When all the sandwiches and cakes and other treats had been eaten and the last drop poured from the teapot, they were all feeling quite full and relaxed.  A questioning  look sat on Faramir’s face, however, and Merry, who seemed somehow to be anticipating it, noticed.

                “What’s the matter, lad?”  He asked, just barely suppressing a smile.

                “Well…”

                “It’s all right, Faragrin, you can ask me.”

                “Well, what’s in that last dish, Uncle Merry?  The one that’s still all covered.”

                Pippin sat up a little straighter.  He hadn’t even noticed the last dish on the trolley which still sat there, untouched and covered.  “How many types of cakes does one smial need on a regular day?”  He wondered out loud.  It sounded more scornful than he intended but he was feeling increasingly left out.  He noticed a flash of offense pass over Estella’s face and he blushed.

                “Oh, it’s not a cake,”  Merry assured them as he stood and began to stack the dirty dishes and cups.  “It’s a special treat.  For Farry.”

                “For me?”

                “Yes, but I cannot give it to you until we return to the sitting room for it looks to me like Estella didn’t get her afternoon rest today and we’re just keeping her from that, being in here.  So, come, help your Da and I clean up and then you may have your treat.”

                “But,” Faramir picked up his own dish and cutlery without taking his eyes from Merry’s face, “then Auntie Estella won’t know what my special treat is.”

                “Oh, I know what it is already, love,” Estella murmured, settling deep into her pillows now that the trays had been removed from the bed,  “In fact, it was my idea.  I mentioned it to Merry last night.”

                “Have you got any room left for treats?”  Pippin asked, “I don’t think I could fit another tart after a spread like that.”  He meant for the tone to be teasing, but to his ears it sounded a bit flat.

                “I think I still have a few corners.”  Faramir replied, not entirely convincingly.  In fact, he was at that moment considering whether it was worth the tummy ache to partake in whatever special treat his Uncle Merry had brought for him.  He did wish he had known about it sooner.  He would have at least tried to save a bit of room.

                “This is the sort of treat you always have room for,” Merry smiled.  He handed a few of the dirty dishes on one tray to Pippin and taking the other for himself, kissed Estella goodbye and then lead the way out to the sitting room.  He closed the bedroom door quietly and then continued the conversation.  “In fact, it’s also the sort of treat that you can never have too much of, no matter what some ignorant folk might tell you.”

                Faramir was now thoroughly intrigued and waited impatiently as his father and his cousin stacked up the dishes once more neatly on the trolleys so that Dilly could take care of them when she came back.  When that was finished, he gave Merry his most beseeching look.

                With a slight bow, Merry took the last tray from the trolley and handed it out to Faramir still covered.  “Your treat, my lord.”

                Tentatively the boy reached out and took the cover from the tray, revealing what was beneath.  His eyes grew wide and his face lit up at the sight.

                “Books!” He cried.  “You’ve brought me books to read!”

                “Yes.  I noticed you’ve been working on whatever you could find around here, but I’ll be the first to say the books in the Master’s apartment are not all that interesting.  Unless you’re a boring old adult like myself.  And so Estella mentioned that I ought to find some of the books I enjoyed when I was a lad your age and so, I did.  While Cook was putting together our order for tea this afternoon I went to the Hall library and tried to find a few of my old favorites.  I hope you like them.”

                Faramir was speechless.  The open gratitude and admiration on his face spurred something once more in Pippin’s heart, something rather aching and surprisingly painful.

The boy picked up the three small books and hugged them tightly to his chest, then he found his voice again.  “Do you really have an entire library here?”

                “Oh, yes.  Quite a lot of books.  We Brandybucks are a bit more civilized than you might have heard.”

                “There’s an awful lot of books at the Smials, too, Farry.”  Pippin interjected.

                “Yes, but not in one place!” Faramir snapped.  “They’re just all over the place and everyone takes them where ever they want and lose them so you can’t find anything ever.”

                Pippin mouth dropped open in shock, but Faramir had already returned his attention to Merry, eyes shining once more.

                “May I read in your study?”

                Merry seemed pleased by the response his surprise had gotten out of Faramir and not aware of anything amiss in the tension between the boy and his father.  His back was to Pippin as well, so he did not see the way the elder Took’s shoulders slumped, making him appear to shrink several inches.  “Of course you may.  The big chair by the window is the best to read in.”

                “Thank you.”  Faramir squeezed the books against his chest once more and started to head to the office but then paused and turned back.  “Uncle Merry?”

                “Yes?”

                “Do you think maybe when I’m not supposed to be hiding anymore you can take me and show me the library?”

                Merry beamed.  “I would enjoy that.”

                Faramir grinned in response, then fairly skipped out of the room.

                Pippin sunk into an arm chair and did not speak.  Though he chose not to look at Merry, it was not out of spite.  The hint of anger or jealousy that had been building inside of him had all but evaporated, replaced immediately with hurt.  And confusion.  His eyes gazed down at his lap but they did not focus.

~~~~

                Merry had sat for some time in the chair across from Pippin, seemingly oblivious to his cousin’s upset.  He smoked his pipe contentedly, only after a while appearing to recall Pippin’s presence. 

“Would you like a pinch of pipeweed, cousin?”

                “No…” Pippin replied absently, “No thank you.”

                “Suit yourself.” Merry shifted back into a comfortable sprawl in the chair.  He blew a string of excellent smoke rings toward the ceiling, then asked in a dreamy fashion, “Whatever happened to your idea to build the grand library at the Smials?  I seemed to remember Lord Faramir sending you a great many books when you wrote to him of the plan.  What became of all that?”

                Pippin sighed.  The furrow that had been imbedded in his brow relaxed slightly as his thoughts moved away from what they had been focused on.

“The books are in a storage room for the time being.  In one of the Old Took’s rooms, as a matter of fact, since I knew no one would dare to lay a finger on them there.  Or ‘take them where ever they want and lose them so you can’t find anything ever .’ ”  A shadow of a smile could be detected as he said this.  “I suppose I gave up on the idea after Farry was born.  I just didn’t have the time for it, really, and then my father…”

                Merry nodded  to let Pippin know that he needn’t go on, that he understood what he was referring to without it having to be actually said.  Although it had been four years, his cousin still ached greatly at the memory of Paladin’s death. 

                “Well, then I had to take on all my father’s duties.”  Pippin finished shortly.  “I haven’t had much time for a project like that since.”

                “It’s a shame,” Merry commented, “I think Faramir would enjoy taking part in something like that.  He’s got quite an impressive interest in books.”

                “Yes, it’s ironic, isn’t it?”

                “How so?”

                “Well, he looks like a Took.  He speaks like a Took.  He’s got more purebred Took blood in him than any other hobbit in the Shire…”

                “And yet?”

                “And yet if you didn’t know any of that you could easily mistake him for a Baggins.”

                Merry choked on his pipe.  Coughing and laughing at the same time, he turned and grinned at his cousin.  “I never thought about that before but you’re right.”

Pippin crossed his arms and smirked at the ceiling.  “Where ever Frodo is, I’m sure he’s having a good laugh about it.  And old Gandalf too.  You can be certain he had something to do with it.  Probably cast one last spell on me just before the boat took off.”

                “Yes, now that you mention it, I do recall that there might have been a mysterious glow coming off you as we rode home that night.”

                “I thought as much.”  Pippin ran a hand through his hair and settled deeper into the chair.  He felt more relaxed then, as if he could be as candid with his cousin as he used to be. “Merry?”

                “Mmm?”

                “Why are you angry with me?”

                The question took Merry by surprise.  He peered intensely at Pippin.  “What makes you think that I’m angry with you?”

                “Well, you haven’t been very welcoming.”  Immediately, Pippin wished he had not phrased it that way, as it was the wrong to say and he knew the instant it passed over his lips that it would set Merry’s temper off.  Sure enough, it did.  The Brandybuck became all tense posture and glare.

                “I haven’t been very welcoming?  I have been nothing but!”

                “I…I meant…”

“Do you not think that allowing you into my home is welcoming?  To let you hide out here while poor Sam lies and tells everyone you’re at Bag End, risking my reputation as well as his--not to mention your own—is that not welcoming?  Do you know what would happen if people were to find out that you were here, that Faramir is here when every hobbit in the Shire thinks he’s safely quarantined in Tookland—do you know what sort of a riot I would have to deal with then—will have to deal with if they do find out…”

                “Mer…”

                “Just what exactly is your definition of ‘welcoming,’ Pippin?  Does it involve giving you and your son a safe place to stay while you figure out the ridiculous mess you’ve made?  Giving you a comfortable bed to sleep in and good food that you mock?  Running secret letters out to Michel Delving for you?  Making Estella’s honest handmaid lie to the rest of the staff and half the hall?  Entertaining your poor son who’s bored to tears and yet too good a lad to say ‘boo’ about it?  Do you consider all of that terribly unwelcoming of me?!”

                Pippin did not meet the fierce gray eyes that bored into him.  Instead, he kept his watch on his cousin’s hands trembling in outrage on the arms of the chair.  When he finally replied, he spoke cautiously. 

“Forgive me, Merry.  That isn’t what I meant to say at all.”        

                 Merry’s voice came out low.  “What did you mean then, Pippin?”

                “I don’t know how to phrase it exactly.”

                “Try.”

                Pippin bristled at the terse, condescending tone and suddenly found himself trying to keep his own temper in check as well.  He took a deep breath and attempted to start from a different angle.

                “‘Welcoming’ was not the right word.  What I suppose I meant, Merry, was that you’ve been leaving me out and…and, well, I don’t understand why.”

                Merry’s eyes grew wide with offense, temper soothed none.  “Leaving you out of what?”

                “Well, like what’s going on between you and Farry.  And not telling me things.”

                Merry looked completely bewildered.  “Whatever have I not told you?”

                “About the fact that you’re going to be a father two months from now, for one thing.”

                “Pippin.  I said already that I was sorry about that.  You just have to understand…”

                “No, I do understand, Merry.”  Pippin’s voice dropped and his eyes grew sad.  “I understand because there are other things you haven’t told me…that you never told me.”

                “Other things?”

                “Yes.  And I should like to think that you could tell me these things, that you would want to tell me.”

                Realization dawned visibly on Merry’s face, realization of just what ‘things’ Pippin was referring to, of the babies conceived then lost, kept secret in a desperate attempt to dull the pain.  The attempt had been vain, Pippin understood as he witnessed all the light drain immediately from Merry’s eyes.

                He waited with trepidation for Merry to speak.  His cousin was still, too silent for too long.  And yet, Pippin did not tell him not to speak, did not offer a quick apology or words of comfort or any means of easy escape from having to reply.  He knew in his heart that he should, that it would be the kind, loving thing to do.  But his curiosity would not let him.  It overpowered all his better sense, just to wait and to see what might happen next.  There were times when Pippin felt he had no strength at all against that desire.

                When Merry spoke at last it was in a tone Pippin had never in 48 years heard him use.

“There are things,”  he began, then tore his eyes away from Pippin before he continued, “There are things that I do not talk about because it does not do to think about them.  It only hurts.  More than you can likely imagine.”

                Pippin was shocked.  “But we are best friends and family.  We have always told each other everything.”

                “Have we?”

                “Well, I have always told you everything at least.  I thought until now that you had done the same.”

                “No,”  Merry shook his head, a smile on his face but one that did not seem in the least bit amused, “No, you certainly have not.  And I have never asked you to because I understand that the things you have not told me are too painful to speak about and I have enough of a care not to go poking around and dragging them out so that you have to face them again for the satisfaction of my own curiosity.”

                Pippin flinched at being pinned so deftly and still, he could not stop himself from pressing on.

“I haven’t any secrets from you.”

                “You do, Pippin.  Just understand that everyone has secrets that no one else has any business to go touching.”

                “Well, I don’t know what mine are so please tell me.”

                “You don’t want me to bring these things up, Pip, trust me.”

                “No, Merry, I do.  So tell me.”

                At that moment, light returned to Merry’s eyes; unfamiliar in its darkness, however.  Pippin nearly shivered at the frigid anger that he saw there.        

“All right.” Merry said evenly.  “If you want me to go poking at things, let us start with your wife.”

                “Diamond?  What secret have I about her?”

                “The secret everybody in the whole Shire wants to know: why in the world you ever married her.”

                “Merry…”

                “No, Pippin, why did you?  She is one of the coldest people I have ever known.”

                “She is not cold.”

                “Isn’t she, though?  In all the years of her acquaintance, I  don’t believe she’s found it in her to utter more than two dozen words to me.  When I’ve seen her, that is.  Because she’s hardly ever about, is she?  Hasn’t got much time for you and Farry.  She always seems to be off somewhere with her ‘real’ family or pursuing her more important interests.  How there was even time for Farry to enter the equation I’ll never know.  One of the great mysteries of the Tooks, I suppose, and one the gossips from here to Hardbottle never seem to tire of discussing.  I used to try and stop them, but then I wondered what is the point—no one likes her.  Frankly, neither do I.  I don’t know what I am supposed to say to them when they ask me what sort of wits you had about you when decided it was wise to marry that girl; I haven’t the slightest clue myself.  Imagine employing bricklayers and painters instead of cooks and nursemaids—it’s a wonder Faramir has made it to eight with what little there is of him in tact.  No help from her, of course.  I doubt she remembers what he looks like.  And you’re no better, letting him run about the way you do without a care for his well being.  A desperate excuse you are for a father, Pippin and a shame that is, a terrible shame, considering you had a fine father yourself and even more of a shame because you’ve been blessed with a wonderful, beautiful lad like that and you’re too much of a fool to realize just how lucky you are.”

                Merry’s voice faltered there but it was only half a second before he continued with renewed venom.

                “Faramir!  There’s a subject I could poke around a long time.  I’m certain there’s plenty of things you’d rather not talk about there.  If I had a mind to, I suppose I could ask you just how close you’ve come to losing him.  Hmm?  How many times have you sat up all night, just watching him sleep to be sure that he’s still breathing?  Do you blame yourself there at all, Pippin?  Does that sort of accountability ever enter your mind?  Do you blame yourself for that body you gave him?  Do you worry about the fact that he’s so small, that he’s thin as paper—that one strong wind could blow him down or one bad cold could be the end of him?  Do you think about what would happen if you lost him, that it would be your own daft fault if you did because you didn’t take better care of him? I--”

                Abruptly, Merry stopped speaking, as if it had suddenly caught up to him how far over the line of cruelty he had just crossed while temper and pain had possessed him.  He went pale as a bed sheet.

                “Oh.  Oh, Pippin, forgive me.”

                Pippin didn’t move.  He felt as if his entire being had gone numb and only after great effort did he find he still could speak.

                “You are right, Merry.”

“About what?”  Merry stared at him in horror. 

“There are some things it does not do to speak about.”

                Merry began to tremble with shame.  “Pippin, I’m sorry.  I can’t believe the things I have just said.”

“No,”  Pippin shook his head and stood.  “I am sorry that I drove you to that.  I’m sorry that I hurt you that much by pushing the way I did.  I did not think and I was foolish.  I am foolish.  I’ve made a dreadful mess of everything.”

                “No, Pippin, there’s nothing to justify what I’ve just done.”

                “I’ve made a dreadful mess of everything.”  Pippin repeated.  He was hardly even aware that Merry was standing before him, so lost was he in his own conclusion.  “I should never have dragged you into my own problems.  You’ve nothing to do with it and I’ve only managed to cause you pain.”

                “Pippin, what are you talking about?”  Merry was alarmed at the dazed way Pippin was speaking.  He wondered if he had somehow managed to send his cousin into a state of shock.

                Pippin blinked at the fear in Merry’s voice and it brought him back to the moment.              

                “Merry,” He said softly, putting his hands on his cousin’s shoulders.  He drew him close and their faces touched nose to nose.  “I’m sorry for all the trouble and pain I’ve caused you.  This wasn’t your problem in the first place and it still isn’t.  You have your own worries to deal with and I will leave you to them.  Perhaps later when things are more settled I can make it up to you…or perhaps that can’t be done, I don’t know, but I do hope for the former.”

                Merry looked into Pippin’s sad, calm eyes and was suddenly the younger to his cousin’s elder.  “What do you mean later?  You make it sound like you’re leaving.”

                “Well, I am.”

                He broke away from him in alarm.  “Pip!  No—don’t be driven away by me!  I’m a cruel, stupid hobbit but--”

                “No.  No, Merry.”  Pippin caught Merry’s hands and tried to smile.  “You’re not driving me away.  Far from it.  I’m driving myself away because I must deal with my problems on my own and it isn’t fair to tax you like this, to tax Estella as well.  You should be so happy right now and not bothered by my foolishness.  I’ll take Farry and we’ll go meet Sam in Buckleberry.  We’ll take him to Crickhollow and get everything straightened out there, just Sam and I--the way it should have been.

                Merry didn’t speak for a moment as he processed everything that Pippin had said.  He was still aghast at his own behavior and desperate to repair things in whatever way he could but there was a logic to what Pippin had decided and there was a resolve in his voice that Merry knew he was powerless to argue with.  That stubborn Tookishness could be quite compelling, in its own way.

                He took a deep breath.  “Do you promise that you’ll come back once everything is sorted out?  I won’t let you go if I think this wretchedness will be hanging between us any longer than it has to.”

                “I promise.”  Then, smile dropping slowly, Pippin backed away and picked up the pipe that Merry had dropped on the floor in the blindness of his anger.  He returned it to his cousin and then added quietly: 

“I do love her, you know.  For everything you have said…I do love her.”

                “Pip, I…”

                “And Faramir…”

                “Please, I didn’t mean…” Merry moved toward Pippin, deep regret on his face once more, but Pippin held out a hand to stop him and shook his head.

                “We will talk about this later, Merry.  But just…”  He hesitated.  “…Just don’t ever think that your pain is the only one that’s real, that your love is the only one that means something.”

                Pippin closed his eyes after having said this.  It hurt him to speak that way, so boldly, but he also felt that he needed to say it, although seeing Merry’s response would indeed be too difficult to handle.  Head bowed, he turned and walked from the room, leaving Merry alone in front of the fire.

 ~~~~

                “Put the book down, Farry, we have to go.”

                Faramir jumped in his chair, startled by the interruption of the study’s comfortable quiet.  He had not even heard his Da come in.

                “Faramir, please.  I’m sorry but you must gather your things together quickly.”

                “Where are we going?”

                “Crickhollow.”

                “Crickhollow?!”

                “Well, Buckleberry first, actually, but then on to Crickhollow.  We mustn’t burden your Uncle Merry any further.”

                “Uncle Merry’s not coming?”

                “Well, no.  That’s why we are leaving.”

                “Because of Uncle Merry?”  Faramir was terribly confused.

                “No, because of me, mainly.  But come now, are all your things still together?  All your clothes and such?”

                Annoyance darkened Faramir’s face.  He pulled his book back sharply from his Da’s hands and held it as precious against his chest.  His father looked surprised by the movement and reached again for the book.

                “No,” Faramir squeaked and crumpled his shoulders over the book.  “I’m not going.”

                “Don’t be ridiculous, Farry.  Give me the book.  It belongs to Merry and we can’t take it out of his home.  We will find you something else to read later.”

                “No!”  Faramir continued to speak to his knees, curled protectively over the book.  “I am not coming.”

                If he had been looking, he would have seen a smirk of irritation pass over Da’s face as he crossed his arms.

                “Well, I’m sorry but you are coming.  There isn’t any choice in the matter.”

                “But I don’t want to come.”

                “It doesn’t matter if you want to or not.  I must go and you must come with me.”

                “Why can’t you go by yourself?  I want to stay here.”  Faramir continued to keep his face hidden.  He didn’t dare look at Da because they had never had a fight like this before.  It scared him, actually—he could hear his heart pounding in his chest—but he was also so angry that he didn’t want to give in and say all right or that he was sorry.    He wasn’t sorry.  He didn’t want to go to Crickhollow.  He hated Crickhollow and its stupid, dusty rooms.  There was nothing to do there and no one to play with.  Brandy Hall was so much better and Uncle Merry and Aunt Estella and his new cousin on the way—it wasn’t fair for Da to take him away now.  He wanted to stay and it was just Da being mean not to let him.  Just mean and not fair.  No one ever asked him what he wanted.  No one but Uncle Merry.  Why could Uncle Merry be his father?  He would be so much better.   It wasn’t fair!

                His father sighed.  “I’m not going to argue with you, Farry.  I’m your father and if I say that you must come, you must.  It’s as simple as that.”

                “I wish you weren’t.”

                The words were out before Faramir even realized he was saying them.  Then they hung there in the shocked silence between them.                  

                Faramir’s  tummy flip-flopped, but he didn’t move.  He was waiting for Da to say something.  He wished that he would say anything.    When he didn’t, Faramir couldn’t help but look up.

                Da’s face looked strange.  Faramir couldn’t tell if he was mad or sad or about to laugh.  He hoped for a laugh.  That might make what Faramir just said go away.

                But Da didn’t laugh.  Instead he spoke quietly.  “You wish that I wasn’t your father?”

                Faramir felt his ears and cheeks turn hot.  He wanted to hide or look away but that would be babyish so he didn’t.  And he wanted to speak but his throat felt tight like if he did he would cry and he didn’t want to cry.  He wouldn’t cry.  Not ever.

                So he nodded.

                Then his Da bent down and put his hand on Faramir’s knee.  “Well I’m sorry that I’m not who you would like me to be.”

                Faramir squirmed.  He was scared, by what he had said and by the way Da was acting.  He swallowed hard and looked away from him.

                “C-can I just stay here?”  His voice sounded very tiny and strange to him but he didn’t know what else to do.  And his collar was becoming clammy against the back of his neck.

                Da was quiet for a bit and then he said “If you’re a very good boy and you try to help them as much as you can I’m sure Merry and Estella won’t mind having you for a bit longer.”

                Faramir nodded.  He couldn’t speak again.

                “But it is only while I’m with Sam.  When I return in a few days you will have to come back to Tookland with me.  You may not like having me as your father and you may not like Tookland but that is your home and you must stay there, at least for a few more years.”

                Faramir nodded again.  He heard his father move toward the door but didn’t hear him leave.  He looked up and saw him standing there, watching him.

                “Merry is not your father, Faramir.  And it isn’t fair to ask him to be.”

                “I know.”

                “All right, then.  Be a good lad.”

                “I will.”

                His Da left and Faramir kicked his book to the floor and curled up as small as he could in the big chair.  He though about things like what was fair and how one thing that could be fair to one person might not be fair at all to another person and how he wasn’t going to cry, wasn’t going to cry even a little because he was a big lad and instead he decided that he would just stay like this as long as he could and swallow up all those things that made him want to cry, even if that made his tummy hurt terribly.

~~~~

Pippin made his way quickly to the stables and in some part of his mind was relived to have not encountered any other hobbits along the way.  He found the pony that he had borrowed from Pervinca and mechanically put on her tack and saddle.  He led her from the stable, latched the doors behind him and then mounted her.

                The wind was bitter cold but Pippin paid little attention.  He did not raise his hood nor put on his gloves.  He rode until he was out of the view of Brandy Hall, until he had passed the edge of the Brandybucks’ property.  Then he dismounted the pony, tied her to a tree, and wept into the grass.