Merry’s first word was “eat,” not uncommon among hobbits, and his second and third were “Mum” and “Da.” His fourth word, though, was “Fro,” and he used it lavishly once he had learned it. “Fro!” he would crow in delight when Frodo came into the room. “Fro?” he would say hopefully to Esmie when he tired of his toys. “Fro!” he would demand sternly when he felt they had been apart for too long. “Fro,” he would sigh in sleepy contentment as he rested his head on his cousin’s shoulder. Frodo had never known his name could mean so much.

***

“It’s just odd,” Gilda said to her daughter-in-law. “Lads his age aren’t interested in babies.”
 
Esmie sipped at her tea. “Merry adores him,” she said. “And Frodo is a great help to me.”
 
“If you would get a nurse, you would not need Frodo’s help,” Gilda answered.
 
Esmie set down her cup. “Mother Gilda,” she said, “Frodo has nothing in this world to love with all his heart, as his very own. I’ll not begrudge him his friendship with my son, not for anything.”
 
Gilda sniffed, but there was no reasoning with Esmeralda when she had her mind made up.

***

They had been waiting and waiting for Merry to walk, and while he would pull himself up beside chairs and grin proudly at them, he would not let go and take those first steps. Enticed by favorite toys and treats, he would drop back to his hands and knees and crawl quickly toward the prize. It took Frodo returning from a fortnight’s absence to watch the roopie tournament at the Midsummer Fair for Merry to start toddling, and then it was all the way across the room in one confident go, arms open wide, with a delighted cry of, “Fro!”
 

***

Frodo knew that Merry was too young to understand the stories, but the baby was always so seriously attentive that it seemed, sometimes, that he understood every word. He even would smile or giggle in delight at the right moments, sensing from Frodo’s voice that they had reached an amusing plot point. He gave little squeals when Frodo’s voice would rise with excitement, and when Frodo would drop his voice into a serious, intent whisper during riveting or scary passages, Merry would stare at his face in rapture, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, waiting to discover what happened next.