My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits

Chapter II

"Merry"

Frodo collapsed into the seat of his stuffed armchair in exasperation. It had been an extraordinarily long week, with the last two days cultivating in a climactic whirlwind.

The heir and now Master of Bag End couldn't remember the last time when he experienced so many emotions surging through him. It seemed as though Bag End itself had exploded earlier that day, and now he wondered, with all the chaos from the last 24 hours, if he would do the same. The hobbit allowed himself a quiet smile as he imagined what exploded hobbit would look like on the walls inside his inherited smial, but he frowned again very quickly, wondering how on earth he would find the time or energy to tidy up the disarrayed Bag End.

It all started last night with the long-expected party, an unforgettable celebration that neither the Shire nor indeed all of Middle-earth had seen for a hundred years. It was literally the Party of the Century, in which Frodo himself came of age at thirty-three and Bilbo, having reached the extraordinary age of eleventy-one first applauded (then insulted) the attendees publicly before disappearing with a flash.

This grand exit sent hobbits into a fit of panic, and all aspects of respectability (and civility) were abandoned altogether in favor of gossip and scornful remarks. Frodo himself had drained his glass silently to Bilbo's health and then looked for the quickest and easiest escape route before the hobbits could ambush him and demand an explanation.

As bad as that had been, it got even worse when the young Baggins opened Bag End up to all of the residents of Hobbiton the next morning. Word quickly spread from hobbit to hobbit (as it often does) that Bilbo had left presents to some of his relations in the care of his nephew, and the result was catastrophic.

Every Grubb, Chubb, Boffin, Goodbody, Bolger, Bracegirdle, Proudfoot, Hornblower, and many others found themselves bumping shoulder to shoulder in the hobbit hole, eager to collect a gift or to scavage the depths of Bag End for hidden treasure, or both. Some of the visitors demanded a different present from Frodo while many others shouldn't have been there at all. There were fights, trades, treasure excavators, and thieves all present that morning, and poor Frodo couldn't remember a time when the name of Baggins was thrown around so ruthlessly and in such an unrespectable way.

It all would have been too much for the Master of Bag End had his friend Merry not been there to support him. By the time the morning had proceeded into afternoon, Frodo was so flustered and weary that Merry insisted his cousin rest while he managed things for a time. The older hobbit was too flummoxed to argue and slipped away as quickly as he could.

It was a short-lived rest, however, for the sound of Lobelia's shrill voice cut through the halls of Bag End, making Frodo think that an actual goblin had invaded his home. But the unfortunate truth was that the Sackville-Bagginses had arrived.

The confrontation with Otho and Lobelia was the beginning of the end, and after seeing them firmly off the premises (and receiving a back-handed insult in the process), Frodo and Merry were finally able to start ushering the rest of the remaining hobbits off the property.

"It's time to close up shop, Merry," Frodo had said to the tween before running off for a much-needed cup of tea.

But an unexpected visit from Gandalf prevented him from taking one sip. And while the visit was brief, the Wizard's words to him left Frodo feeling confused and bewildered. The questions he asked of Gandalf, the Wizard could not give an answer to, and the questions Frodo assumed he could answer were never asked, for just as quickly as Gandalf had arrived, he was gone again.

Frodo sighed and drew his eyes to the cup of tea. By now it had grown cold along with the fire that had burned out over an hour ago. These were usually two comforts that the hobbit enjoyed regularly, but now, he didn't know if he had the energy to indulge in either one. He scarcely had enough to check in with himself, but his mind was still racing, and he was afraid of what would come up if he finally permitted himself to relax.

"Why didn't you go too?" Lobelia had shrieked earlier. "You don't belong here!"

Why didn't he go with Bilbo, he wondered. He'd suspected for a long while that his uncle would leave, but he'd still been caught off guard by his sudden disappearance. It had been slightly amusing at the time, but now he was beginning to understand the depth of Bilbo's departure.

Frodo sighed once more and forcefully blinked back tears. Why didn't he stay? Frodo thought that was a more appropriate question. But the young hobbit knew in his heart that Bilbo couldn't. Staying was not his way. He was a Baggins, that was true enough, but he also had Tookish blood in him, and he'd been longing for a holiday for some time. And after Frodo's discussion with Gandalf earlier that evening, it seemed that this holiday would be permanent.

The sound of a yawn followed by shuffling footsteps echoed through the tunnel of Bag End, and Frodo turned his gaze to see his younger cousin approach. The tweenager snapped his loose brace on his shoulder with one hand and scratched his curly head with the other. The Brandybuck had retired shortly before Gandalf's arrival and was just rising from a well-deserved nap.

"Hullo, Cousin!" he greeted, stretching his arms over his head.

Frodo simply smiled. "How are you?" he asked.

"Feeling quite restored, thank you, although I think I'm overdue for some restoration in the other department," Merry continued with a smirk while patting his stomach. Frodo enjoyed a quiet chuckle as his cousin seated himself next to him. "The question is, Frodo, how are you?"

The Master of Bag End blinked, and his smile faded as his eyes broke from Merry's. He wasn't sure how to answer and was afraid of opening his mouth at all, lest a floodgate open, resulting in a loss in control of emotions. He wasn't sure if he was quite ready for that yet.

Merry squinted a suspicious eye, noting the silence that followed his question and seemed to understand his cousin's dilemma. Intuitively, he released his gaze on Frodo to sweep his eyes over the state of Bag End. He stole one more brief glance over at his friend before whistling very loudly. "Lawks! I had no idea dragons still ventured in Hobbiton!"

Frodo turned a confused gaze on Merry. "Dragons?"

Merry snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right! Lobelia was here today." The younger lad watched as a shy smile began forming across Frodo's face, flushing his cheeks a light shade of pink. This gave Merry permission to continue. "Someone really ought to tell her that her race isn't in business anymore."

"Lobelia a dragon?" Frodo questioned the tween with an arched eyebrow.

"Her hair does remind you of one, doesn't it, Cousin?" And then Merry lowered his voice to just above a whisper and leaned in to ask, "Do you think it would improve her appearance if she shaved her head?"

"Meriadoc!" cried Frodo, but a crack in his voice suggested he was highly amused. "You shouldn't say such things!"

"Oh relax, Frodo!" Merry retorted with a wave of his hand. "Don't pretend you haven't thought of similar, or even more vile things. And anyway, I think you're just envious that I'm able to vocalize what you can't!"

Merry held a smug grin as he watched his older cousin shift uncomfortably in his seat, his mouth gaping open in astonishment. Finally, the gentle-hobbit closed his mouth and folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "I don't believe I know what you're talking about," he said calmly.

Merry glared and allowed his eyes to scan Frodo head to toe as if to scrutinize for any weakness. An evil grin slowly etched its way across his face, and he sat back triumphantly as Frodo shifted again, avoiding the invasive stare of his young friend.

"Oh, you're probably right," said Merry in a tone that Frodo couldn't interpret. "After all, you just became of age yesterday and, well, I'm only a tween still. So obviously, it would make sense that you'd be more educated on this matter, you being far wiser now in your old age."

"Old age?" Frodo questioned accusingly, but his blue eyes danced with merriment.

"What I mean to say, Cousin, is that I concede, and I'm happy to reconsider my opinion of Lobelia, especially in the case of her hair. In fact, I find her altogether quite charming." Merry took a fleeting glimpse at Frodo, catching sight of his curling face, and continued. "Well, maybe charming isn't quite the word I'm looking for. I think possibly elegant or refined may be more suitable." Merry watched as Frodo's face soured and his ears turn from light pink to deep crimson. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down into hysterical laughter. "In the case of her hair," Merry continued, forcing his face to remain neutral, "I'd describe it as luxurious locks of lusciousness, like brown ribbons flowing gently from heaven's gate."

"All right, stop please!" Frodo wailed, cupping his hands over his steaming ears. "I yield! She's horrid and absolutely atrocious! And her hair is far from heavenly, indeed more like a bird's nest!"

Merry erupted into laughter, holding his stomach while he squirmed about in his chair animatedly. Frodo couldn't hold back any more than Merry could and joined the younger lad in a playful sequence of giggling. It had been a long time since they shared a moment like this and the freeing experience of engaging in whimsical banter took Frodo back for a moment to a time of childlike innocence.

It was he who'd first taught Merry this game when the hobbits were children living together in Brandy Hall. The first occurrence took place just after Old Rorimac caught the toddler's face in an oversized jar of marmalade. Merry had cried uncontrollably at the scolding he received and was sent to help the servants for the next two days as punishment.

Frodo, who'd been twenty at the time, had undoubtedly heard of the whole affair and had snuck off to bring some cheer to the young child.

"You know what, Merry?" Frodo had said, prompting the child to bring his puffy eyes to Frodo's while his bottom lip continued to quiver. "Old Rory looks kind of like a goblin, don't you think?"

The younger child paused sweeping the floors to scrub his nose with the back of his hand. Behind it were the sweet beginnings of an innocent smile. Merry blinked. "But do gobwins have hair, Fwodo?"

"Hmm," Frodo pondered. "You're right, Mer. I guess he's more like a dwarf, or perhaps even a hairy wolf! Maybe both!"

Merry had burst into shrieks of unruly laughter, and anyone who passed by would have seen the older lad impersonating his idea of an old hobbit galloping around like a dwarf while adding in an occasional howl. The next thing that they'd see would be the toddler clutching his sides, face red from laughter, and pointing a pink finger at the hilarious sight of his entertainer.

Frodo had grown more somber during the next year, but Merry continued to look up to his cousin for everything, from manners to games. But during the last year of Frodo's residence at Brandy Hall, it was up to Merry to remind Frodo that sometimes games needed precedence over manners. This was just another one of those times.

The two hobbits ceased their laughter when Frodo reached up a hand to catch a stray tear. His cheeks were fully flushed, and his throat felt hoarse.

"So, Cousin," said Merry, returning to a more civilized state of mind. "How do you feel now?"

"Oh, you are a beast," Frodo replied after taking in a much-needed breath of air, "but I think I needed that."

Frodo sighed and rested his head against the chair, breathing deeply again as he returned his focus to the empty halls of Bag End. Merry watched keenly as the pink from his cousin's cheeks began to fade, and the blue eyes restlessly wandered as if to rehearse the events of the previous 24 hours. Merry knew that while Frodo was an expert at keeping his feelings to himself, he wasn't always good at hiding them. It was evident that he was in pain. Merry knew this because he was no stranger to this sort of remorse himself.

He also suffered a loss twelve years earlier when he was only seven-years-old. He remembered hearing hushed voices one evening when he couldn't sleep and wandered about the halls of Brandy Hall to discover the source. There was a light coming from the Drawing Room, and Merry had been quick to identify one of the voices. It belonged to Bilbo Baggins. The other two belonged to his parents. As he quickly creaked open the door, it was immediately understood as to what and whom they were discussing.

"Are you sure about this, Bilbo?" asked Esmeralda. "We are prepared to raise him a little longer if you need more time to consider the responsibilities."

"I have considered the responsibilities," the old hobbit confirmed. "I've wanted to take him in this whole time, but for other obligations that I can now only chalk up as stupidity, I haven't. But I'm ready now, and I don't want to delay another moment."

"I'm very glad you care so deeply for Frodo," said Saradoc. "He needs someone like you to look after him."

"He needs his parents," Bilbo retorted. "But because that's not possible, that boy deserves the best that I can offer. I am deeply grateful to you both for all the love you've provided him these past years, but now you need to focus your attention on your own little one."

"Very well," said Saradoc. "We can tell Frodo in the morning that-"

"Oh Saradoc," interrupted Bilbo, "would you mind if I talk to the lad? I think it would be better if I personally invited him to live with me in Hobbiton."

"That's a splendid idea!" Esmeralda agreed before turning an eye to the open door. Funny how it had opened by itself, she thought, but she rose from her seat and looked in the doorway carefully for any nightly eavesdroppers before closing it. But she would have no idea that it was closed a moment too late, for the eavesdropper had heard all he needed to and was now pacing back to his room in defeat, tears streaming down his face.

Twelve years later, the same lad thought he was looking at his own reflection, and while Merry's loss wasn't forever, it was difficult to say if Frodo's was. Instinctively, he placed a hand on his cousin's and gave it a tender squeeze. "You miss him, don't you?"

Frodo blinked, revealing a shiny tear that made its way down the gentle-hobbit's cheek. He swallowed and nodded. Merry's grip tightened gently, and the recipient breathed in carefully to avoid any other leakage. "You should go to bed, Merry. You have an early start in the morning."

Merry furrowed his brows, conscious of his own surfacing emotions, and he looked hard at his cousin, imagining him sitting alone in Bag End the next day, and the next day, and the next day. The image broke his heart. "No," he said firmly.

Frodo turned his head in surprise at the young hobbit. "What?"

"I'm canceling my journey back to Buckland."

"Merry-"

"I'm going to stay here with you for a week and help you get Bag End back in order. I have no obligations to see to, and my family will certainly understand."

"Merry, you can't do this!"

"Oh yes, I can," countered the younger hobbit with a laugh, "and I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to stop me!"

Frodo could not think of what to say for a long time, but his piercing blue eyes filled with tears very quickly and it felt like a relief to not bother hiding the emotions anymore. "Drat you, Merry!" he laughed as they began to spill down his cheeks. "You are a beast, but bless you! I shouldn't let you stay, but I will, indeed I will. You are very dear to me, and as good a hobbit as there ever was. Thank you!"

Frodo pulled his cousin into a tight embrace, and Merry planted a kiss on his head. The warmth of Merry's smaller body radiated and filled Frodo's heart with a joy that the gentle-hobbit had needed for a long time.

"Well," said Merry, taking Frodo's hands in his. "I don't know about you, but I could go for some nice juicy mushrooms right now."

Frodo looked down the hall toward the pantry and slowly returned his gaze back to Merry's with a sly expression. He arched an eyebrow and said, "Race you to the kitchen?"

The younger hobbit's face broke into a playful smile and without a second longer, the two jumped up from their seats and were sprinting down the tunnel with raucous laughter reverberating throughout the smial.

The evening strayed into night with the music of hobbits snorting, giggling, and guffawing at memories past and jests made about the reactions at Bilbo's disappearance. As they cooked up the mushrooms, Frodo watched his younger cousin, glad of his company and good humor, and was grateful for his persistence. He knew that Merry cared more for Frodo than was good for him and understood that his presence brought both an ally and a friend.

As the night progressed, he smiled reflectively, knowing that the previous years spent with his beloved Uncle Bilbo had now at last reached a happy finale. Frodo was convinced that a new leaf had turned over, bringing the start of a new and brighter season. Indeed, it had already started out as a merry one.