A holiday ficlet written for Elendiari22 :)

Fireside Tales

1402 S.R.

One Yule evening at the Smials, Pippin was exasperated to find that he was being made to play with the littler lads because Merry and the other tweens had been invited by their parents to partake in more grown-up activities; namely, celebrating the season over several bottles of the Old Took's finest.

When Merry left Pippin at the door of the playroom with a sympathetic pat on the back, he watched his resentful cousin throw himself into a chair by the fire and pick up a book, scowling at the small lads playing with wooden farm animals on the floor. A dozen pairs of curious eyes landed on Pippin, and Merry smiled to himself as he closed the door. Pippin had no idea how much respect he had in that room, simply by virtue of being the lad who had known old Bilbo and could hold his own with the tweenagers, but he was so eager to catch up with Merry that he never noticed.

----

A couple of hours later Merry returned, in a rather cheerful and festive mood, and he opened the door to the playroom and poked his head around it, wondering if the youngsters had been sent to bed yet.

Confronted by the scene before him, his breath caught in his throat – but whether it was a gasp or a chuckle, he was too surprised to decide. Pippin was still sitting in the old chair by the fire, his legs curled up beneath him, but he was no longer sulking.

All around him the other lads and lasses had gathered on the rug, some of them holding each others' hands with slightly tremulous expressions on their young faces. Pippin was in the middle of telling them the story of Bilbo's encounter with Smaug, and every one of them was utterly spellbound. Aside from the flames crackling in the hearth and Pippin's animated voice drawing out the climactic moment before Smaug opened his eyes, the room was completely quiet.

As transfixed by Pippin's performance as any of the little ones in the room, Merry jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Frodo peering in around him, smiling fondly at the scene.

Merry shook his head, mystified, and grinned at his own response. "I suppose it doesn't matter that that lad is twelve, and has never seen anything more fearsome than a fox," he whispered. "He's memorised Bilbo's tales so well, it's like he was there with him."

"He learnt from the best," Frodo murmured, with a wistful smile. "At least they won't be forgotten." Merry met his eye and squeezed his hand, and together they watched in anticipation as Pippin reached the part of the story that had always made the lad jump out of his seat and into Merry's lap when he was tiny, back when Bilbo had been the one telling the story.

"Bilbo went back to Smaug's lair," Pippin continued. "He was rather frightened about going in there again, but the dragon was asleep; snoring, just like he was before. Bilbo decided that he was safe, so he crept a little further, ever so quietly, hoping he wouldn't wake him." Pippin lowered his voice and leaned forward, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. "He wanted to find his weak spot as quickly as possible so he could get out of there before Smaug woke up! But it was too late," Pippin announced, snapping his book shut loudly as he delivered the much-anticipated and dreaded news: "Smaug was waiting for him!"

A chorus of little gasps and squeaks of delighted terror burst out of the crowd of youngsters at Pippin's feet, and then a small voice begged, "What did Bilbo do then , Pippin?"

Pippin smiled enigmatically and drew back to resume the story, and Merry nearly applauded his cousin. He thought better of it though, and contented himself with sitting on the floor beside the door to listen along with the rest. Frodo joined him quietly, and if Pippin noticed their presence, he didn't look over.

Merry frowned, trying to ignore the sudden and unpleasant tug of jealousy at his heart, and settled down more comfortably, leaning against Frodo. Relishing the warmth, the familiar tale and the comfortable glow of the wine he'd enjoyed earlier, he remembered past winters when the roles had been reversed and little Pippin had been the one clutching Merry's hand tightly during the frightening parts of Bilbo's tales. He used to squeak if a log in the hearth burst into flames or if the wind rattled the windows, for the fire would cast light and shadows over their faces in such a way as to make them all believe they were in the dragon's lair with Bilbo…

Merry suddenly realised that Frodo was watching him, his lips quirked in an affectionate smile, and he shook himself out of his reverie.

"Don't worry, Merry," Frodo whispered, patting Merry's knee. "I think he'll still be your lad for a while yet. He'd rather be on one of your adventures than lead this lot into one."

Merry let out a sigh and grinned at Frodo, and a moment later he caught Pippin glance at him out of the corner of his eye. He gave him an encouraging wink and Pippin grinned back, narrowed his eyes at Merry, and threw himself back into an extremely suspenseful account of how Bilbo got away.

Bilbo knew just where the best adventures could be had, Merry thought as he put his arm around Frodo with a smile. Now it was just a matter of waiting until their little cousin was old enough to make a story of his own fit for telling by the fireside.