"The Patient"

"More tea?" Saradoc asked, taking the empty cup from his son’s hands.

"No," Merry sighed, and leaned back against his pillows. "I think I’ve had quite enough tea, thank you." He sighed again and glanced around the large room, taking in the nice warm blankets on the bed, the small fire, the big over-stuffed chairs that were placed on either side of the rather large bed and then his father who was returning the tea cup to the tray.

The tea tray was very ornate with an amazing amount of gold filigree and delicate flowers covering its surface. The tea cups were also delicate and fragile looking and the entire set matched perfectly with the tea pot which stood steaming in the middle of it all. Merry’s father looked even larger than he normally did holding one of the cups and sipping from it. Merry smiled.

"Well, then that’s better, though I have no idea why," Saradoc said, returning the smile. "Are you sure you don’t want another cup of tea, Merry?" He sat in the large chair next to Merry’s bed now.

"No, Doc," Merry grinned. "I am enjoying watching you drink from the Took’s fine china."

"Yes, well, too many lasses about a place and no cups of proper size," Saradoc agreed. "It would seem that everything in this Smail is designed to please the eye of a lass."

"I don’t know how Pippin stands it all," Merry said, shaking his head. He gave the room a look again. It was Pippin’s room. His younger cousin had insisted that he use it while he was recovering. There were signs of Pippin everywhere he looked. On the mantle above the fireplace there was a large tin of Old Toby and Pippin’s favorite pipe, several large, carved, wooden boxes that Pippin stored things in, junk mostly, a clock, a painting that someone had done of Pippin’s three sisters and Pippin together, and a stack of books that leaned slightly as if they might fall at any moment.

Pippin’s coat was hanging on a hook on the back of the door along with his scarf and on a second hook there hung several of Pippin’s shirts which he’d never gotten around to putting in his closet. In the corner by the door leaned Pippin’s fishing pole and sitting beside of it was his pack which was probably still full from their last fishing trip. Pippin rarely remembered to unload things. More books covered the top of Pippin’s desk along with scraps of paper covered with notes that Pippin had written and half-finished letters. Pippin was not much for corresponding and often started letters only to forget about them completely.

"I hope the party is going well," Merry said, frowning again.

"I am sorry that you are having to miss it, son," Saradoc said, sitting the small tea cup on the table beside of his chair. "I am sure you’ll be up and around in another day or two."

"I know," Merry said, glumly. "I just never miss Pippin’s birthday parties. He counts on me being there, you know. He really hates all of the formalities."

"Well, he’s older now and I am sure that he is doing just fine," Saradoc assured his son. "How is your leg feeling?"

"It isn’t hurting right now," Merry said. His left leg was propped up on some extra pillows and resting comfortably. There certainly were a great many pillows in Pippin’s room. "I think that the stitches are beginning to itch a little. Mum always says that means that they are healing."

"Yes," Saradoc said. "The healer said that your wound was much better this morning when she re-dressed it. I think you’ll be about in no time."

"I hope so," Merry sighed. "I am very tired of just laying here all day." Merry looked over at his father. "I don’t suppose you would go and steal me some of the party food, would you?"

"I most certainly will, if you promise me that you won’t try to get up while I’m gone," Saradoc said. He had been very worried about Merry for the first few days after the accident. His son had lost a great deal of blood and the healers feared that an infection might set up in the wound. Merry had been very lucky. The wound was not infected and he was regaining his strength quickly. The color had come back into his cheeks during the last couple of days and his appetite was good.

"I promise, Doc," Merry said. He was very tired of Pippin’s bed, but he knew that his father would not suffer any nonsense at this point. Merry was aware of just how worried everyone had been. In fact, though he’d never admit it, he’d been a bit alarmed himself when he’d first come to. Having one’s leg sliced open by a shard of glass was a very frightening event indeed. Merry still shuddered inwardly when he thought of it.

"I’ll be back shortly, then," Saradoc said.

"Say happy birthday to Pip for me, will you?" Merry added, as his father started to leave.

"I will, but I am sure that Pippin will be in to see you as soon as he can get away," Saradoc smiled.

Sometime later, Merry woke and found that he was looking over at Sam Gamgee. Sam was now sitting in the chair that his father had occupied earlier. Merry had been sleeping quite a bit lately, but the healer said that was good for him and to be expected. Any time a hobbit lost as much blood as Merry had, rest was the best thing for them. "Hullo, Sam," Merry said. "Why aren’t you at the party?"

"Oh, it’s all a bit too grand for me, Mister Merry," Sam smiled. "I feel like a fish out o’ water in there. I thought your father might like to spend some time at the party and so I volunteered to come up and sit with you. He sent some food, but you were asleep when I got here."

"I don’t really need a nurse-maid," Merry growled. "I wish all of you would go and help Pippin celebrate."

"Oh, there’s plenty o’ folks doin’ that, Mister Merry. I won’t be missed," Sam said. "And I won’t miss it." He arranged a tray with party foods stacked high on it in front of Merry as he spoke.

Merry smiled. "I suspect that Frodo will be looking for you at some point, Sam."

"Well, I’m sure your father will tell him what I’m doin’," Sam grinned. He was very glad of an excuse to miss the party. He didn’t really know many of the guests and he felt self-conscious here in the great Smails at a party for the Thain’s son. He liked Mister Pippin, but he did feel uncomfortable around the youngster’s family. Mister Frodo had insisted that he come along when he found out that Mister Pippin had sent Sam an invitation. He didn’t like refusing Mister Frodo because Mister Frodo did so many nice things for him and so he had agreed to come. They had arrived two days ago and Sam had been very nervous the entire time that they had been here.

"Is Pippin having any fun at all?" Merry asked, as he began to eat.

"Well, it’s hard to tell," Sam said. "I think they were getting ready to start the party games when I left."

Merry groaned. "What sort of games? I mean, Pippin is a bit old for party games."

"Oh, not children’s games or anything, Mister Merry," Sam said. "I think they were going to bob for apples and play mimes."

Merry chuckled. "Pippin is terrible at games. If he isn’t careful, he’ll drown himself while trying to get an apple."

Sam smiled. "Oh, I’m sure he’ll win at something. It is his birthday and so someone will see to it."

"You don’t know Pip like I do," Merry grinned. "He excels at losing. The lad has made an art of it over the years. I’ll never forget the first birthday part that Pippin attended."

"Sounds like a story," Sam said.

"All right," Merry said. "I’ll tell you about it while I eat. I don’t think Pippin would mind too much as it was a while ago. He was just five at the time and his mum had brought him to Buckland to the Hall to attend a party for one of my young cousins who was turning seven."

Sam smiled and settled into his chair to hear the story. Merry was good with a story, as most hobbits were. He wasn't as skilled as Mister Bilbo had been, but still, Mister Merry’s stories were nearly always amusing.

Merry finished chewing  and then began his tale.