Disclaimer: All names, characters, and locations mentioned in this story are property of the Tolkien Estate, with which I am in no way affiliated. I am making no profit from this story. It was written purely for entertainment purposes.

Notes: I was going to take a break from writing before I got started rewriting "Silver Lining," but the muse just wouldn't let me alone. So instead of doing my homework, I wrote this cute little ficlet. I hope you enjoy.

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Merry is six years old and Frodo is twenty.

"This little piggy went to market," I say in a sing-songy voice as I pinch Merry's toe.

"But Frodo," the lad interrupts me, "he can't go to market. It's not market day, or else Mum would be at the market, and she's not. She's having tea with Aunt Eglantine in the nice parlor."

"How about, just for now, we pretend that it's market day?" I suggest, hoping he'll agree so we can continue on with the game.

"All right," Merry answers cheerfully, always one ready to play pretend. "But why's he going to market?"

Thinking quickly, I say the first thing that comes to mind. "He needs flour so that he can bake a cake."

At the mention of food, Merry's eyes light up. "What kind of cake?" he asks eagerly.

"Porridge cake," I say, knowing that Merry hates porridge and that he doesn't know that there is no such thing as porridge cake. The lad looks disgusted and I seize the chance to continue the game. Pinching his next toe, I recite, "This little piggy stayed home."

"Why did he stay home? Why didn't he go with the other piggy?" Merry asks, his eyes wide and full of curiosity.

"He has a cold and has to stay in bed," I answer, hoping it will satisfy my little cousin.

"Oh, I hope he gets better soon!" Merry exclaims. "When I had a cold, Mum made me stay in bed and I hated it because I couldn't go play outside. It was horrible!"

"Don't worry about the piggy, Merry," I soothe. "He's almost better. In fact, he should be able to go outside tomorrow." Seizing the lad's next toe before he has a chance to speak, I say, "This little piggy had roast beef."

"I love roast beef, especially with mushroom gravy ! Mum says we can have it for my birthday dinner this year!" Merry is so excited that he is almost bouncing in his seat.

"Calm down, lad. Your birthday isn't for five months yet."

"But I'm sure we'll have roast beef before then," Merry assures me. "All I have to do is ask Mum and she'll have the cooks make it for me. Do you think we'll have roast beef for dinner tonight?"

"No, dearest, we're not having roast beef for dinner. We're having roast chicken, fried mushroom, baked apples, and many more goodies," I tell the lad. Moving quickly before he can speak again, I grab Merry's next toe. "This little piggy had none."

"Why not?" the lad asks before I can grab his last toe. "Did the other piggy not share? That's not nice. He should have to sit in his room without his toys for an entire hour. That's what happens to me when I don't share."

"The other piggy was willing to share, but this piggy didn't want any roast beef."

"Why wouldn't he want any roast beef?"

"Because he doesn't like roast beef," I answer.

"How can he not like roast beef?" Merry exclaims.

"Probably the same way I like porridge and you don't," I tell him while grabbing his final toe. "And this little piggy," I wiggle his toe, "went wee, wee, wee," I run both my hands over Merry, easily finding all of his ticklish spots, "all the way home."

I continue to tickle my small cousin even after I've finished. I consider it my retribution for having to listen to all of his questions. After a few moments I stop and listen to Merry gasp for air and get his breathing under control again. Soon, his breathing is back to normal.

"Frodo, why did you call my toes piggies?"


The End