Chapter Five

The two combatants stood sheepishly under the shade of an elm tree with their hands in their pockets. They were waiting for Paladin to finish giving instructions to one of the workers before he dismissed him. When he finished, he turned and walked over to the boys. For a long moment he glared at the young hobbits. “You had a simple task; bring the pig to the butcher, then come straight to the fields to work. Did you do as I asked?”

Paladin’s tone had a harsh edge to it--he’d been worrying over the boys for the past four hours. He pulled his timepiece out of his pocket and saw it was past four o’clock.

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

Knowing the boys would say just about anything to escape punishment, he asked more directly, “Did you both come straight here after the butcher?”

They eyed each other. “No, sir,” Merry replied, his eyes cast down to the ground.

“What took your attention away from the task I gave you?”

They said nothing.

Even after the heated argument, neither boy would tattle on the other. Merry thought to tell the truth: Well, Uncle Paladin, I snuck out of Brandy Hall with my father’s pipe and leaf, and your son and I decided to have a smoke before coming to work. He imagined that going over well with his uncle.

Paladin went another route, “I ask again; what have you two been up to for the past four hours?”

Again silence.

“One day, when the two of you are grown hobbits and have children of your own, you may understand what you’ve put me through this afternoon. For over four hours--four hours--I had no idea where two of my children were! Did something happen to them? Is all well at home? Were they waylaid in the road on their way here?” Paladin paced back and forth, “I don’t expect either of you to understand the torment.” He turned and walked away for a few minutes. When he returned, Pippin noted a look of anguish in his eyes.

It was rare that Paladin did this, but he took both boys behind the wagon and quietly meted out their punishment. His objective wasn’t to humiliate or mistreatment the boys, but to give them a small remembrance of the consequences of their thoughtless actions.

Neither lad felt anything physical, but it was etched on their hearts. Pippin was tearful because he now understood he’d caused unnecessary grief when he saw the anguish in his father’s eyes. Now it was compounded with the silly fight he and Merry had.

Merry’s anger and confusion surfaced again, but not over his uncle. It was over his own father. Paladin’s words kept echoing in Merry’s mind; two of my children... Merry wanted desperately to be Paladin’s son.

He tried to hold together his swirling unsolved anger, but the tears sprang up anyway. Perhaps it was just as well; Paladin would think the punishment took affect. Merry just stood there as a stone and stared straight ahead. Don’t cry!, he heard himself inwardly. He bit his lip until it nearly bled. Don’t cry!! But the weight was too much. His legs became weak and he sunk to the ground to sit. He was still trying to swallow the lump rising in his throat, when he just couldn’t control it anymore. The tears fell, barely touching his face before hitting the ground, and he couldn’t stop them.

Paladin knew his nephew almost as well as his own son. Something was wrong with Merry and it wasn’t from the retribution. It appeared to be something far deeper. Merry sat on the ground quietly sobbing. Paladin walked up to his nephew and sat down next to him. He spoke softly, “Merry, your tears are not from your punishment, are they?”

Still sobbing, Merry looked at the ground and slowly shook his head. He sniffed and tried to wipe away the tears as his sobs grew deeper; years of profound heartache rising to the surface.

Paladin had hardly to guess who was the cause of Merry’s tears. Over the course of the past several years, Paladin watched as Merry became more and more closed, bottling up his feelings. As Merry only spent a minimal amount of time out of the entire year at Whitwell, it was difficult for Paladin to get him to open up. Each time Merry arrived for a holiday, Paladin felt he spent the next week patching up emotional wounds. Just as he got his nephew to the point of talking out his feelings it was time to go home, and the cycle renewed itself with every visit. Paladin knew he had to get Merry to open up somehow. If Merry continued to bottle up his emotions and keep his anguish to himself, he’d be doomed to a life of misery.

Paladin knew of Merry running away to stay with cousins Frodo and Bilbo earlier in the summer; his sister Esmeralda wrote him about it. His blood began to boil over Saradoc. They had once been boyhood friends, but Paladin was finding it difficult to even think on those days anymore.

Merry had always been such a wonderful lad to have around during his visits. The boy was always eager to help with the chores or work out in the fields. His boyish pranks and laughter echoing throughout the smial. Only recently did Merry take to a few minor bad turns. Merry very much needed a father who had a constant eye on him, and he would fulfill that need as long as Merry would have him. Paladin took his nephew into his arms and held him until he was no longer weeping.

A little while later, Paladin remained on the ground next to Merry with his arm around him, and Merry’s face buried in his uncle’s shoulder. Merry had stopped crying....for now. Merry had been so upset that Paladin could feel his erratic breathing.

Pippin quietly sat on the other side of his father, worrying about Merry. Paladin put his other arm around Pippin and drew him close. He wanted Pippin to know he was not like Saradoc. But why? Though Paladin had guessed Pippin was going to be a bit more of a challenge to raise than he first thought, he did make sure Pippin knew he was loved. He leaned down and kissed Pippin’s curly head.

Presently, a small voice broke through the quiet, “Papa?”

“Yes Pippin?” Paladin also spoke softly.

“I love you.”

He gave Pippin a squeeze, “I love you, too.”