Watching

Every morning when Merry crawls out of bed and patters over to the door he likes to pretend that he is going on an adventure, like the ones in the books Frodo reads to him. He reaches up for the doorknob, turning it slowly so it doesn't squeak, and tiptoes out into the hall. Across from his room is Frodo's, and Merry stealthily creeps toward the door and quietly pushes it open.

Inside Frodo is asleep on his side, facing the door with the blankets tucked snugly under his chin. Carefully avoiding the creaking floorboards Merry shuffles over. Then he stands by the bed, his hands resting on the mattress and his chin on the pillow, watching and waiting.

The routine is the same every morning. Frodo stirs once at the slight dip in the mattress as Merry's hands dig into the blankets, and again when he feels the pillow sink beside him. Although his eyes are closed he has the distinct sensation that he is being watched, which he ignores for as long as he can stand, repressing the smile that longs to stretch across his face.

At last he cracks one eye open, squinting in the early morning light at the face resting on the pillow so close to his own, silently watching him.

"It's much too early to be awake," he says as always, his voice thick with sleep. Pushing the blanket down he extends a hand that Merry eagerly accepts with both of his as he scrambles onto the bed beside him.

Soon Esmeralda will come in (knowing, of course, when she finds Merry's bed empty, as it is so many mornings, that he will be with Frodo) and wake them with promises of a nice hot breakfast on a chilly autumn morning. But for now Frodo tucks the blankets around them both and holds Merry close as they both doze off.