A/N: I wrote this as a tribute to Frodo on his birthday last September, 22. The issue of Merry, Pippin and Sam's love for Frodo is unquestionable. But surely love has to start somewhere, someplace, sometime; it doesn't simply be. Hence, this story. I do this based on book canon, so when Merry first met Frodo, he was three, and Frodo was seventeen.
Meneg hennaid to Aratlithiel for taking the time to proof this story.
TALE TIME
A TLOTR Fanfic by Illyria
Prologue
We were lying on the springy, fragrant grass, gazing at the stars; our faces so close because your feet were facing north, mine south. It was a very warm night, with a slight wind. You had been patiently listening while I prattled about my pet rabbit. Then you told me a story about a boy who went alone to the wolves' den to rescue his beloved rabbit, an exciting story full of eagles and goblins bearing smoky torches. I closed my eyes and let your voice take me between the dark boughs of the old beech trees of Mirkwood, to the eyries of the eagles where I could see leagues upon leagues of the forest below me, to the stifling caverns, stinking of rotting meat and damp fur, where the wargs held the rabbit captive. I shivered in delicious terror as your voice dropped to a deep growl in the parts where the wargs talked, and felt my throat tighten when you made the rabbit weep plaintively, calling for its master. You always told such wonderful stories.
We were both quiet for a long moment after you finished telling the tale and I was beginning to get sleepy. I was just thinking how pleasant it would be to sleep under the stars with the wind on my face, when suddenly you spoke.
"Cousin Bilbo asked me to go to Hobbiton."
"Really?" I said, all sleepiness forgotten. "That's neat. When are you leaving?"
"He'll come to pick me up next month. He said he'll celebrate his birthday here with me for a change." Oddly enough, you did not sound all too happy about it. "It's going to be my last birthday party here."
I rolled onto my tummy. Propped on my elbows, I stared at you. "Last?"
"He asked me to live with him in Hobbiton." The stars were reflected in your eyes, you were frowning. "Do you think I should go?"
I swallowed with difficulty. "Do you…want to?"
"Of course," you sighed. "Very much."
"Then you should go," I said, struggling to keep my voice nonchalantly firm, though I had to look away so you would not see how close I was to tears.
"Do you really think so?" There was a quivering note of hope in your voice.
"Don't be a fool, Frodo. This is the one chance you shouldn't miss," I said with as much forcefulness as I could muster. "Think of the tales he will tell you, the places you will visit, the people who will come to his smial! I wouldn't think twice if I were you."
You laughed and pulled me to your arms. You sighed contentedly over my head, your breath rippling my hair. "I'm glad this doesn't trouble you at all, Merry. I was afraid that you might be against it…." You chuckled softly. "Well, maybe it's me I'm worried about. I know I will miss you."
"You're fourteen years older than I am, Frodo," I murmured against your shirt. "You should know better. Hobbiton isn't that far from Buckland. You can write."
"I will Merry. As often as I can. And I promise to come here on your birthday every year, if Bilbo will allow me."
"You just want a present," I said bitterly.
You laughed again, your fingers raking my hair, and I wondered how much longer I could hold back my tears. But then you stopped suddenly. "You're shivering, Mer," you said anxiously. "Oh. We've been out here too long. Let's get you into bed now."
You rose and pulled me to my feet, gently brushing the grass and dirt from my hair and clothes. I watched you with a growing coldness in my heart. I missed you already, that night under the gilded crescent moon, when we made our way back to the smial, my hand secure and content in yours, a sob trapped in my throat.