3: Merry

Cooking was neither Merry nor Pippin's strong point, so they scrambled round the kitchen and the pantry trying as best as they could to put together something edible. They found a loaf of bread, gone rather stale now but not too hard as to render it impossible to eat, some relishes and various cheeses. Pippin rather hoped that a mug of the fine ale Bilbo had stored in the cellar would hide the obvious lack of tasty fare, and so he served three mugs – which were unfortunately rather warm, but that couldn't be helped.

Merry returned to Bilbo's room where Frodo was still reminiscing – when Merry entered he was cradling a little silver clock he had given Bilbo for his first Yule at Bag End – to try and get him to come and eat. At first Frodo refused to come to the kitchen, but Merry was not easily deterred.

'That's fine, Frodo. I'll just get Pippin to bring the food down, and we can all eat in here. It's a rather cosy room, don't you think? Yes, it would be rather nice-'

'Alright, Merry. I'm coming,' Frodo sighed irritably.

Merry grinned at his older cousin, and led him down the hall, walking at Frodo's side to make sure he didn't try and slip away back to his room or Bilbo's.

Pippin was sitting waiting for them, and once Frodo had sat down they set to with gusto. Or rather, Merry and Pippin began eating enthusiastically – Frodo didn't eat at all and instead sat ripping up his bread, forming little dough spheres and rolling them around his plate; he crumbled his cheese into little scraps forming a layer of creamy yellow morsels over his plate. The ale he didn't touch.

Pausing for a moment, Merry looked over at his cousin.

'Frodo, you must eat,' he said seriously.

Frodo shrugged. 'I'm not hungry,' he said sullenly.

When Merry continued to glare at him, Frodo gave a sigh and nibbled on what remained of his bread. Eventually he stood up.

'I'm going back to bed now,' he stated. But Merry jumped up and stopped him.

'Frodo, you haven't been out of this smial for two weeks. It's such a nice day today; why don't we go for a quick walk? We can wander in the woods for a bit, if you like; that way no one will see you.'

At Merry's obvious concern, Frodo allowed himself to be bundled into his coat and ushered out of the smial, his cousins keeping a firm grip on his elbows, guiding him along. They kept under the cover of the trees, the autumn air chilly and crisp, and birdsong filling the air with unusual clarity. It was a beautiful day, Merry thought.

Frodo remained silent, and soon Merry couldn't stand it any longer. He would get Frodo to feel better.

'Hey, Frodo, do you remember when you lived with us at Brandy Hall and we used to see who could name the most plants in two minutes?'

Frodo nodded, but unenthusiastically.

'Why don't we play it now? You surely can't have forgotten your flora! You always were a whizz. Even Mother thought you were the best – I disagree though, I think…' Merry chattered on, trying to draw out Frodo's competitive side, which who only knew was big enough for the both of them; but it didn't work. Frodo remained as tight-lipped and sad as before.

Merry couldn't help but feel that Frodo's great big eyes, usually so full of laughter and light, now looked washed out and pale, like the sky reflected in a puddle. Not really real; a reflection, a mirage. Merry hoped his cousin was not so deeply caught in his depression that it would be impossible to pull him out of the depths.

With a sigh at his cousin's refusal to cooperate, Merry turned back to the path ahead. Then inspiration struck.

'I found a manuscript in Father's study the other day,' he began nonchalantly.

Frodo looked up; talk of manuscripts had caught his attention, as Merry knew it would. Always the intellectual, was Frodo.

'It was old, and it was a record of all the previous Masters of Buckland – but that's not all…'

When he was sure he had both Frodo and Pippin's attention, he carried on.

'What was special about this document, my dear cousins, is that not only did it list the names of all my forbears, but it also told a curious tale. Apparently, in the early third age, I don't remember exactly when, there was a strange incident with the then Master of Buckland scouting his borders and coming face to face with a Man. Can you believe it? A Man on the borders of the Shire! I've never heard of Men roaming in these lands, but there you go!'

Pippin gave a nervous laugh.

'Really, Merry? You're not just teasing, are you? I don't know that I'd like to meet a Man, myself. They're so big.'

'Don't worry, Pip. I doubt you'll ever need to; they don't really bother with us much. Which is why I was so surprised to find out that there were Men around the borders. Isn't that right, Frodo?'

Frodo looked glumly ahead of him, and didn't respond at first, until Merry heard a hoarse whisper beside him.

'Bil… Bilbo told me about them once. That they guard the borders of the Shire. When we used to go on walks…' Frodo squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from crying.

Merry was surprised; but when he thought about it, if anyone would have known about it, it would have been Bilbo. After all, Bilbo was the only hobbit who'd left the Shire in living memory.

'Once again, Frodo, you prove yourself more knowledgeable than me! And there I was thinking I'd got the upper hand for once.'

Frodo gave a ghost of a smile, the barest twitching of the corners of his lips, and then – 'I'd quite like to go home now, please.'

Merry shot Pippin a glance – perhaps their plan was working! – and they all turned round, and walked back in the direction they had come. Merry was feeling optimistic – Frodo had nearly smiled, but he was still not talking much. They still had work to do.

That evening as they made dinner, Merry contemplated how best to get Frodo to talk. He'd always loved arguing – and he'd always won, back as a young hobbit at Brandy Hall. Many a time he'd beaten even hobbits older than him when it came to a battle of wits. Maybe that was the way forward…

Together, the three sat at the table over a bowl of hot stew – Sam had been able to provide a much-needed hand, and he was only too happy to help, if it meant his master would be happy.

Merry looked at Frodo thoughtfully. What was a subject that Frodo cared deeply about, but that was not directly related to Bilbo, which would just make him more upset? He'd spent the rest of the afternoon in Bilbo's study, poring over maps just like his uncle had done before he left. Then Merry had it – that room was full of books. Frodo loved to read. Here, then was his subject matter!

'Frodo, what do you think about novels?'

Frodo gave a shrug.

'Personally, I think they're terrible.' (Merry, of course, was lying through his teeth here. His father had his own collection back at Brandy Hall and in the lonely days after Frodo left to move to Bag End, Merry had spent many a day lost in these novels to forget his own solitude.) 'They're a bad influence on people and, let's be frank, they're all the same.'

He could see Frodo struggling to maintain his nonchalant façade – he knew that Frodo wanted to shoot down everything Merry had just said but at the same time didn't want to become too animated.

Merry heartlessly continued, encouraging Frodo's inner struggle. 'They all use the same themes; the same messages… give me one example of a story which is completely new. See? You can't.' Merry was enjoying this now.

'Merry, you can't say that. It's not true…' Frodo began to speak, but soon was quiet again.

'Come on, Frodo. Persuade me. Just like you used to, argue with me,' Merry goaded his older cousin.

'Well for a start, Merry, novels are not a bad influence. I know you read novels after I left, because you told me about them – and you haven't turned into a mad, cracked hobbit, and neither have I, so there's one argument of yours that's invalid. And secondly, novels are only written about what's important – love and friendship and courage. There's only one hobbit I know who'd read a book about vegetables, and that's Sam; so don't tell me you would because I can see on your face it would be a lie. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Good night, Meriadoc and Peregrin. Don't bother getting me up in the morning.'

He stood up suddenly, the chair scraping on the stone tiled floor, and stormed out of the kitchen. They heard his bedroom door slam. Merry and Pippin shared a glance.

'Perhaps I overdid it,' Merry said sheepishly.

Pippin looked thoughtful.

'No, Merry, I don't think you did. I think he's cross at himself, not you; he didn't want to respond but he did, and now he's annoyed. And that's a good thing, I think. He's ready to get better.'

Merry saw the truth in this; although he was a little surprised. For one so young, Pippin was surprisingly astute.

'Well, I don't think he'll respond to me again. It's your turn, Pip, to try and get Frodo to cheer up!'

Pippin grinned.

'I know just what I'm going to do!'