Chapter Five: Supper, Supper, Suppertime

“Meriadoc,” his mother sighed wearily at dinner that night in Uncle Paddin’s quarters. “Whatever were you thinking?”

Her son did not look contrite. Instead, he looked as if he was ready to burst with suppressed excitement. He kept his face schooled well enough, but Esmeralda had learned to read that expression. Besides, she could feel his foot rapidly tapping against the chair rung next to her. She sighed inwardly, and glanced across the table at her nephew, who had been propped to sit leaning back against his mother as she spooned rice pudding into his mouth. The child’s eyes were closed, but he was swallowing steadily. He also looked much cleaner than he had this afternoon, when Merry had returned him to the Smials in a state that required a change of shirt, plus a thorough washing of the face, and even the hair.

“I wasn’t thinking, at first,” Merry admitted, “but, now, Pip and I have a surprise for you.”

The subdued conversation among Paddin and the lasses ceased as Merry left his chair, carefully carrying a small triangle of his creamed peas on toast with him. He paused in front of his aunt, who had ceased feeding Pippin to watch Merry’s actions, and held the toast up to touch his cousin’s lips.

The hobbits in the room held their collective breaths as Pippin, eyes still closed and nothing else moving, parted his lips and then bit down as Merry pushed the toast into his mouth. They could see him chew, then swallow, then open his mouth again for Merry to push the toast in a second time.

“Merry...,” Aunt Eglantine was the first to speak after Pippin had finished the toast and was now waiting with his mouth open like a baby bird for something else to be put into it. Her eyes were glistening as she hurriedly snatched more toast from the plate in front of her and began feeding it to her son. “Merry...”

“It’s all right, Aunt,” Merry said from where he stood smug and proud next to her. “He liked the raspberries, too.”

There were a series of odd noises around the table -- crosses among snorts, laughs, gasps and cries. Pimpernel rose from her own chair to stand next to her mother and drew her long braid streaked with sand- and tea-colored curls over her shoulder.

“You scamp,” she said to her brother as she placed the end of the braid in his hand, closing her own hand around it to make a loose fist. “You just keep getting better, and I’ll let you pull my hair as much as you want.”

“Aye,” choked Paddin from the head of the table, his own eyes suspiciously bright, “We’ll wait as long as need be for that day. And mayhap,” he leaned across the table to aim a loud whisper in the direction of his son, “we can prevail upon that wizard for a tug on the long beard!”

* * *Mmm, sweet. And that’s good, too. I’m so hungry! Everybody’s laughing. I guess they were tired of custard, too.* * *