A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Six: What One Really Needs

Faramir was awake when Pippin entered their chamber, two small hands and a pair of eyes peering over the side of the bassinet. A smile crept over Pippin’s face and he bent over so that they were at eye level. They had a stare-down for a sustained moment, then Faramir started to giggle.

"What a naughty little hobbit!" Pippin laughed, scooping him up and into his arms. "How long have you been up, refusing to sleep until your Da came home? I’ve got you quite spoiled, now, haven’t I? If your mother comes back and finds you not content to sleep alone in your own bed, she shall have my head!"

He walked the lad about the room for a bit, gauging how sleepy his son was, how quickly he could get him back to bed, as Pippin himself was quite tired and eager to retire. It seemed for a moment that he would be lucky, that Faramir would go quietly and easily for once, but then he started to squirm and to pull at the curls just behind Pippin’s ears.

"That’s not a nice thing to be doing to your Da, love." Pippin murmured, pushing his hair back carefully, out of the reach of tiny fingers.

Faramir squeaked and reached out for it again.

Pippin yanked his head back and nearly lost his footing. Faramir laughed delightedly.

"Here," Pippin cried. With exasperation, he plucked a biscuit from a tin that had been sitting on the bedside table for weeks and handed it to his son. The biscuits, he knew, had gotten a bit stale, but they would be good enough for the lad to gnaw on, to keep his mouth (and hands) busy.

Faramir eagerly accepted the treat and with a sigh, Pippin sat the two of them down in the great rocking chair.

"I suppose I shall have to make you tired again, before I am I allowed to rest," he said with tired resignation.

Faramir gazed at him around the biscuit, eyes large and attentive.

"A story, then," Pippin nodded, "perhaps that will put you in the mood for slumber."

He put his head against Faramir’s warm, powder-scented neck and contemplated which story to tell.

"How about the tale of the first time I saw an elf? I don’t believe I’ve told you that one in quite a while. A week at very least."

And so, in the cozy bedroom at Crickhollow, Faramir Took cuddled closer to his father and listened to one of his many favorite stories and hoped that afterward he might get a song, for songs always put him to sleep best and were the nicest.

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"Is he not coming out for his supper?" Merry questioned, frowning in the direction of Pippin’s quarters.

"We had a good bite at the Inn," Sam explained as he enjoyed a mouthful of Estella’s famous oat bread, "and he seemed somewhat on the sleepy side as we came up the walk."

"Too much ale always makes him sleepy," Merry noted, "like some great child."

"Better that than some hobbits, get down-right mean with all their drink."

"That’s true," Merry agreed.

"We’d all do well to be getting on to bed sooner than later tonight," Estella commented, glad that this would be the last meal she’d be putting out that evening, as it was always hard work feeding a house of hobbits, particularly when you had a reputation regarding it, "It’s been a long day."

Merry seemed to grow sullen and thoughtful after that and said little as they ate their meal.

When they had finished, Merry and Sam brought out their pipes, but Estella bid them goodnight and headed off to bed.

"I suppose I’ll talk to him tomorrow." Merry said after a bit. "If he’ll talk to me."

"He’s not angry with you," Sam added helpfully, "Not really."

"He ought to be," Merry looked grave, "I should not have said what I did. I was cruel."

"You’ve been watching over him nearly all your life. I suppose you’re entitled to lose your patience. Now and again."

Merry appeared unconvinced so Sam continued.

"And it’s not like Mister Pippin is the easiest hobbit to love all the time."

"No." Merry bit down hard on his pipe. "The problem is, he’s too easy to love. I can’t bring myself to do anything to hurt him, even if it’s something for his own good." He looked pained then. "So then I go and burst out, say things I don’t mean…things that never ought be said."

Sam looked thoughtful. "I should think that if you just talked to him about…well, about parting ways for now, he would be very understanding. He seemed so when we spoke of it this evening."

Merry shook his head. "He thinks he understands, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t got proper sense, just like the Took he is. He doesn’t realize he relies on me, how much he needs me."

"Now, I beg your pardon, Mister Merry as it’s not my business, but I wonder if maybe you don’t need him just as much and, maybe…maybe more?"

Merry sat forward. "It is your business, Sam, for you are a good friend. To both of us. But what good is Pippin to me, what use could I have to need him? To cause me worry every moment of the day? To make me hold my breath every time he steps into the world, trouble rolling to his path the way it does?"

Sam was quiet and smoked the last of his pipeweed. Then he set down his pipe and spoke quite directly.

"I think you need him for yourself. To be responsible. It’s always good for one to feel needed, is it not?"

Merry was hesitant to answer. "But he is my responsibility," he started, then cut himself off with a dismissive shake of the head and a smile. "Ah, come now, Samwise," he said, rising from his chair and laying down his pipe, "It’s late now. It’s time we went to bed."

He set about the room, putting out candles and setting bits back in their proper places. Then, he took up the small night lamp and lead the way down the hall. Sam followed, as he was indeed quite tired, although it bothered him some that the conversation had not been resolved.

Just before they reached the second corridor, Merry stopped. Sam could barely see his form in the darkness and nearly walked right into him. "What is it?" he asked.

"Listen."

"Why…is that Mister Pippin?"

"Yes. He must be singing Faramir to sleep."

Sam listened intently. It had been some time since he’d had occasion to hear Pippin Took sing and he’d forgotten what a sweet and clear voice the hobbit had. It had cheered many of them along on their travels, back in those years that seemed so distant now. He found himself leaning in closer and closing his eyes to concentrate on it. Then he smiled. "That’s one of Mister Bilbo’s songs."

Merry nodded and Sam opened his eyes again just soon enough to catch a fleeting look of sadness upon Merry’s face.

"Sam," he whispered woefully and shook his head, gesturing toward Pippin’s room, "How could I ever leave that?"

Sam was somewhat shocked of that mournful look, juxtaposed against such a lovely song, and could not think of any answer. He brought his eyes down to his feet and when he moved them up again, Merry had left, slipping away quietly to bed.

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