14. Before First Breakfast

Merry was so deeply asleep that he didn't even hear the door creak, or the soft pitter-pat of stealthy hobbit-feet. The room was filled with the grey twilight of very early morning, and even if he had been awake, he might not have seen the small figure pull itself up on the bed.

Little Pippin gazed at his big cousin fondly and tugged on the quilt. "Merry, 'wake."

Merry snored. Like most healthy hobbit-children, his great concern, waking and sleeping, was finding the next meal. Right then he was in the middle of a lovely dream, where every room in Brandy Hall had turned into a pantry, full of rashers of bacon, nicely browned, and bowls of custard as big as washtubs.

Pippin pulled on the quilt again, but Merry only clutched it tighter (while his dream-self was busy pulling the cloth off an enormous wheel of Marish cheese,) and smacked his lips. Why did big hobbits sleep so much? Pippin thought, then giggled. He carefully inserted two pudgy fingers into his beloved cousin's nostrils, and with the other hand he carefully pinched Merry's lips shut.

The effects were startling and spectacular. Merry flew up with a frightened snort, bedclothes flapping, then fell back against the pillows, his mind filled with fading, nightmare images of attacking foodstuffs. "Oh, Pippin, it's you."

"Merry! Merry!" Pippin cried, bouncing on the bed. "Merry 'wake! Tory, Merry?"

Merry yawned, and squinted at the mantel clock across the room. "No story, Pippin, it's too early."

"Tory!" Pippin insisted, his rosebud mouth beginning to quirk. Merry knew that continued refusal would lead to a wail that would wake every hobbit in Brandy Hall, or at the very least, baby tears that would wring his heart with guilt. Merry really was very fond of his little Took cousin, even if he did often interrupt perfectly good dreams in the wee hours of the morning, and he would never hurt his tender feelings if he could help it.

Merry lifted the quilt. "Oh, very well, but get in under the covers." If he got Pippin warm and settled, perhaps they could both get more sleep before first breakfast.

Pippin stood up, wobbling a bit on the soft surface of the mattress, then staggered up to the headboard of the bed and plopped his nappy-covered bottom down on the pillow. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, then scooted down until he was snug against Merry's side. Merry sucked in his breath-Pippin's feet were, as always, colder than a Goblin's hindquarters-and pulled the coverlet up and tucked it firmly around him, with an extra poke or two in the ribs to make him giggle. "There you go, nice and warm. Now, what shall I tell you?"

Pippin's thumb came out of his mouth with a wet-sounding pop. "Tory?"

"Yes, yes, but which one?" Merry searched his mind for something terribly dull that might quickly bore a little hobbit into a stupor, but since most of the stories that lingered in his memory had come from Cousin Bilbo, or Frodo, and involved exciting subjects like dragons and treasure, he was at a loss. "Well, once upon a time-"

"Ponna time," Pippin whispered, and snuggled close. Even a little hobbit knew good stories started with those words.

"Once upon a time," Merry began. "There was a hobbit-lad who lived in a great Hall, with his Mam and Dad, and Grandad Rory, and lots and lots of other relatives. His Mam was very pretty and kind, and his Dad and Grandad were very, very wise and important hobbits, so whenever there was trouble or something needed to be done, all the other hobbits in the Hall looked at them, because they always knew what to do. He was a lucky hobbit-lad, and he had his own room, and plenty of other lads to play with-and lasses, too, sometimes, even if they do act silly-and the food was very good. Even though he hadn't any brothers or sisters, he still felt lucky, because he had an older cousin who was his good friend, his best friend. His best friend had no Mam and Dad, so he lived in the lucky lad's room, and they were like brothers then, and had two beds side by side. And sometimes, when it was raining, or very cold, the lucky lad's best friend would let him crawl into his bed, and he would tell him the most wonderful stories, and they both lived very happily that way for a long time."

Merry thought about stopping right there, but Pippin's eyes, wide and expectant, were fixed intently on his face. "But one day, the Very Old Cousin came to visit. He was a nice old fellow, and he knew a lot of good stories, and riddles too, and he always had sweets, and often he would bring the lucky lad and his cousin presents, even if it wasn't his birthday. He liked the lucky lad's cousin an especial lot. One day he asked him, would you like to come live with me in my great, big smial far away, and be my boy? You shall have your own room, and brand new things that will belong to just you, and no one will ever call you Orphan anymore. And the lucky lad's best friend said, yes."

Here Merry went quiet. Pippin's small face puckered with concern, and he reached out to touch his cheek. "Merry cry?"

"I'm not," Merry said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his nightshirt. "Only babies and lasses cry." He took a breath. "At any rate, Frodo-that is, his older cousin, put all his books and clothes in a trunk and kissed the lucky lad goodbye, even though he was a grown hobbit all of seven years old, and he went away. He wrote lots of letters to the lucky lad, but it wasn't really the same, not having him there, and he missed him. But..."

Pippin held his breath, but then Merry smiled, and to Pippin it was like the sun coming out. "But the lucky lad knew that it made his best friend very happy to be someone's boy again, and that made him feel a little better. And before too long the lucky lad got a new lad-cousin, and when he got old enough he would teach him riddles, and how to swim, and ride a pony, and catch a fish, and they would go for long walks and visits together. The lucky lad, and his best friend, and the little lad-cousin would have great adventures and never be parted from each other ever anymore. The end."

Pippin laughed and clapped his hands. "Again!"

Merry groaned and buried his face in the pillow. "Not again. Hush."

"No!" Pippin cried, arching his back like a fish and kicking his feet to toss the blanket aside, but Merry had already closed his eyes. His arm was stretched over Pippin's chest, too heavy to throw off, so Pippin at last sighed and lay still. He put his thumb back in his mouth for comfort and twined his fingers in Merry's mess of brown curls. He lay quietly for a long time, listening to the steady whisper and rush of Merry's breathing, until drowsiness crept up around him like a warm tide and carried him off to sleep.

********

the end

(of this, but more to come...)