Disclaimer: These hobbits are, unfortunately, not mine. They belong to JRR Tolkien.

A/N: I do like to write these sort of stories between Merry and his dad, but it's not as easy to think up a story with a grown-up theme to it as it is when they're children. A warm and fuzzy story set a few weeks after Master of Comforts. Enjoy.

From The Bottom of My Heart

Chapter One - A Peculiar Evening

"Ouch!" Esmeralda stuck herself yet again as she painstakingly stitched the monogram "SB" onto the dark blue cloth. The heavens know I've done this enough times, she thought to herself as she put the injured finger to her mouth. But at the recent age of seventy-two, her eyes weren't as sharp as they used to be. She reached into the pocket of her apron for her spectacles; she hated wearing them, but Saradoc insisted. Rather than argue, she complied--if he were to find her sewing without them on, she'd never hear the end of it.

Upon hearing the door open and shut in the room next door, she quickly slid the sewing needle into the dark material and stashed it into her workbasket. She then took the patchwork quilt she'd been working on the past couple months and set it in her lap, continuing on with her sewing.

Saradoc peeked into the parlor before entering. "Hullo, Essie. Sewing again I see." He came over to his wife and placed a kiss on her cheek; nothing. She said nothing about the pipe smoke on his breath or in his clothing, and it had been a long while since she did. Ever since she was expecting their first child long ago, Esmeralda complained of the smell of pipeweed; how it made her feel nauseated. For the past twenty-seven years or so, he would sneak outside or go to a different room (usually his study) and open a window in order to enjoy a smoke. Lately though, he had come to just going to the common room in the main hall with the other hobbits to sit and smoke while having good conversation on the side. He made sure he enjoyed the company of his fellow pipe smokers these days as he had big plans for the future: as one of his wife's anniversary gifts, he would quit smoking his pipe.

"I'm trying to finish this quilt before winter is over with and we won't need it anymore." She let her shoulders relax as Saradoc gently massaged them.

"Well don't overdo it, love. We have plenty of blankets and quilts as it is."

"But this one is...special." Esmeralda put her hand on his and kissed it.

He didn't understand what made this quilt so special, but he wasn't going to put a damper on this evening. "Is Merry about?"

"He just left not too long ago. He went back to his apartment to do something, though he wasn't very clear about what it was." She paused in her sewing. "He's was acting quite peculiar. Do you know of what he's up to?"

Saradoc settled himself in a stuffed chair nearby. "No, I don't. As a matter of fact, he was behaving very strange when he visited my office earlier."

Esmeralda put down her sewing, "Yes! It was as if he was staring at me. For a moment I thought that I might've missed wiping food from my chin at supper!"

Saradoc was going through his personal letters from the Post. "I know what you mean; I thought he was boring holes into the back of my head. I finally sent him on a forged errand to the North Tunnel."

"Sara!"

"It wasn't entirely false. I gave him a message to remind Aunt Dellie that 1 Yule Dinner would be formal this year."

Esmeralda crinkled her brow in concern. "But it's always been formal, Sara, she knows this."

"Yes, well, I told Merry that since Auntie was getting up in age she needed a bit of reminding. Merry didn't question it, and that's all that mattered," He took one letter and laid the rest aside. "and it saved the rest of my head from further holes. I daresay he takes after your side of the family when he behaves so." He ignored the sharp look she gave him as he opened the envelope and silently read the letter. After a few seconds, he refolded the letter and slipped it back inside its envelope. "I need to take this letter to the office right away. It's business."

"Now? It's almost Eight o'clock."

"It's rather important and I'm afraid it will slip my mind to bring it with me the next time I go there. I promise to return quickly." He explained.

Esmeralda sighed, "Seems more than just Aunt Dellie needs a bit of reminding. Will you be having dessert in our quarters this evening, or in the dining room?"

Saradoc shook himself from his thoughts just in time to catch most of what was said. "In our quarters tonight, dear."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merry sat at the desk in his office concentrating on the paper at his hand. It wasn't this week's inventory of the larder, nor was it a legal document that would require his father's signature. It was a rather large sheet of paper that he'd recently purchased and had specially cut by an itinerant merchant from Staddle. Brass paperweights covered each of the four ends of the paper to keep it from curling inward. He smiled as he thought of the subjects that would be in his drawing. Poor Mum!, he thought to himself. And that wild goose chase Dad sent me on to be rid of me! And Aunt Dellie's mind is as sharp as it was ten years ago! Merry quietly laughed at her response to the message: "I know that 1 Yule dinner will be formal! You can tell that father of yours that I still have my wits about me, and being Master or not, I can still turn him over my knee--and I will if he sends me another message like this one!"

He took in a deep breath, filling his lungs to capacity, then slowly let it out. He picked up a sharpened piece of charcoal that lay near his right hand, and began to draw in explicit detail what his inner eye recalled of his parents earlier that day. His inner eye was 20/20; drawing was his niche in life. His cousin, Pippin, dearer than a brother and also his best friend, had the ability to sing, dance, recite poetry verbatim without cues and dramatize it at the same time. Although Merry was known to carry a half-ways decent tune himself, his talents were not the same as Pippin's. However, drawing objects, scenery, and people, were part of Merry's repertoire of talents (among others) and he enjoyed it immensely. He'd already drawn portraits of his younger cousins, and a few older ones as well. He was still honing his finer skills, so he wasn't quite in demand yet.

This portrait would be a very special project for him; the 30th wedding anniversary of his parents would arrive in two days, and he estimated he would be able to finish it by then if he worked diligently. He could see his mother's face before him as if she, herself, stood there. He could see her mouth that readily gave way to a smile, which contributed to the laugh lines around her shining green eyes. Countless times those smiles chased away an ugly dream, or soothed a hurting heart.

His father, on the other hand, proved to be more of an enigma; his face was not as familiar (emotionally) to him as his mother's, as he'd only become truly acquainted with his dad within the last few years or so. Merry could see Saradoc's face as clearly as his mother's, but it seemed as if a stranger were looking back at him. He pressed on. His father's facial features weren't as precise as his mother's--not because he wasn't able to draw it, but because it was simply unfamiliar to him. He had no idea how the lines around his dad's mouth got there. Was it from holding his pipe? Or perhaps did he smile several hundred times while Merry wasn't looking and develop them? Maybe it was just plain age? Merry laid down the piece of charcoal. He stared at the half-drawn, unfamiliar face before him and resolved he would find the answers to those questions in the morning. He let out a big yawn. It was getting late. Before he could draw his father any further, Merry had to know the stories behind the unique features of his dad's face--to be inspired by them. He pulled open the upper left drawer and took out the large red silk cloth that would cover his unfinished work. Now to figure out a way to keep his father out of his apartment until he was finished...