It was a lazy day, as many in the middle of summer tended to be, and the heavy, floral scent of a well-tended garden hung in the air around them. Merry lay back with his feet up on the stone marking the corner of the flowerbed (an offense that he knew would be punishable by death should Samwise happen to come round earlier than announced) with his eyes closed against the sun. Next to him, and not nearly as pensive, lay his very favorite cousin, squirming about in the short, clipped grass and sighing heavily whenever he thought Merry might be listening.
At long last, as the few clouds present drifted lethargically across the sky, Pippin decided that he had had quite enough of this relaxing business, and it was high time that Merry opened his eyes and paid him attention.
"Merry," he said quietly, in the manner of one who desperately wishes to wake his companion from a heavy sleep while retaining the pretense of tact, "Merry, can we do something?"
Merry opened his eyes just wide enough to fix Pippin with an amused smile, and hoisted himself up on his elbows.
"We are doing something, Pip," he replied with a grin.
Pippin, entirely dissatisfied with this answer, wriggled himself into a sitting position and fixed his elder cousin with the most pathetic pout he could muster.
"But Merry," he said, his voice tinged with a whine. "This is boring."
Merry resisted the urge to laugh at the comical picture before him, and instead sat up the rest of the way, clasping both hands together in his lap. But before he had the chance to suggest any other activity, or even to tease his friend for his lack of patience, Pippin let out a shrill squeak, and pawed at the air frantically. Merry started, shocked by the sudden outburst. But it wasn't long before his eyes fell upon the cause of this disturbance. The adrenaline diffused, he broke into a laugh.
"Honestly, Pip, it's only a bee," he said, shoving Pippin's shoulder gently. The smaller hobbit looked back up at him, eyes wide and frightened, and Merry's amusement on his account melted a bit. He reached out and tousled his cousin's hair.
"Really, love, it's nothing to be afraid of," he added in a softer tone, watching the offending creature as it alighted on a nearby bloom. "They're our friends, see?"
He pointed at the bee as it began to nuzzle into the flower's center, and saw Pippin's gaze follow.
"It's just helping old Sam's flowers to grow," he said with a smile, which slowly, Pippin returned. "It isn't going to hurt you unless you frighten it terribly, and even then it's only in defense of its life."
Pippin nodded slowly, watching the bee as it finished with its business and took to the air once more, quickly disappearing off over the top of Bag End.
"Without bees, you know, there wouldn't be very many nice things in the Shire at all," Merry continued, watching Pippin absorb the information with eager awe. "And without the bees, Sam wouldn't be able to make such pretty flowers grow for cousin Frodo."
The two of them shared a moment of silence as a rare, cool breeze brushed past them, and then Pippin turned to peer at the air where the bee had vanished.
"Thank you, bee," he said quietly, gaze moving to the array of well-cared-for flowers before them. Almost immediately, a second of the insects showed itself in the corner of the garden, and Pippin let out a delighted squeal, giving it his full attention. Merry smiled, once again reclining and leaving his little cousin to his own devices. It was still a lazy summer day, after all, and perhaps now, Pippin could content himself in watching the bees.