Chapter Six: A Direct Line

As the days passed, Pippin continued to eat like a bird. That is to say, he eagerly opened his mouth for food to be shoveled in and, although the bites he consumed were small pecks, the amount that went into him each day seemed likely to near his total weight.

Although his family watched eagerly for additional signs of improvement, none were immediately apparent.


The rain spattered hard against the walls of the Smials, gusts occasionally jostling the shutters. Flashes of lightning sometimes added an extra brightness to the corner where Eglantine and Esmeralda sat at their stitching.

Merry and Pippin sat nearby on the floor, Pippin in Merry’s lap. Toys were spread out in front of them. Merry guided Pippin’s hand with his own to pick up a small wooden cow and place it on the roof of the toy barn.

“With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke, And the cow jumped over the moon*,” he sang. He paused and looked about as a flash of lightning illuminated the sitting room.

“Oh, bother,” he muttered, bringing the cow and Pippin’s hand back down to the floor. “We haven’t anything to make a proper moon with, or fiddle-strings, and anyway, it isn’t night.”

He picked up the cow and examined it closely, letting Pippin’s hand fall back to rest at his side. The carver had chiseled his initials and the date of the work’s completion --’95--into the bottom of the wooden oval that formed a base for the cow to stand on.

“Why, this cow is branded,” Merry said in a low voice. He set the toy down carefully in front of the barn and reached for another cow in the pile of toys. This one, added later to the set, had a dollop of black paint on its back and a carved ‘96 on the base.

“Tsk. Not the same,” Merry muttered, reaching across Pippin to set this cow down on a square of green handkerchief that was serving as a “pasture.” His other arm continued to clutch Pippin at the waist. “Maybe we should cull them and get them ready for auction like my da does.”

He proceeded to arrange the cows from the pile into neat semi-circles either in front of the barn or on the handkerchief. Merry worked busily, sometimes remembering to guide Pippin’s hand to pick up a cow and move it appropriately. For the most part, though, he was quietly intent on his task.

* * *No, no, no, no, NO COWS! My cows! Play ball! Ball! My toys! Play my way!* * *

Merry stopped arranging the last cow from the pile and leaned his head down to cast a glance at Pippin. For a moment, he had thought he saw a light in the green eyes. It must only have been a reflection of the lightning, though, for they were glazed again now.

Merry reached out to the toys on the floor and grabbed a multi-colored cloth ball that had been lying there. He rolled it across the floor to bump against Pippin’s foot, then gently grabbed the furry ankle to nudge the ball away again with the small foot.

“Here, Pip,” Merry said. “Maybe you’d rather play with the ball.”


Some rough benches were set up at the side of the meadow. They were placed at a safe distance from where the group of Tookland teens and tweenagers were notching their bows, but still provided a good vantage point. Merry sat on one of the benches, Pippin again on his lap. They watched as the Took lads, led by Reginard, fired their arrows into targets attached to a line of trees at the end of the meadow.

“Don’t worry, lad, I didn’t want to play anyway,” said the fair-haired hobbit on the bench, patting the smaller one’s knee. “I can organize as many archery contests as I want back in Buckland.” Hmm, maybe after the annual skiff races -- no, oiling and recaulking the boats always took such a long time.

“Anyhow, you and I should supervise. We need to se what kind of hobbits we’ll have working for us.” Merry settled his chin on top of Pippin’s head, elbows resting on the lad’s thighs, and hands laced together in front of Pippin’s neck to form a platform for his chin to rest upon. This had the effect of directing Pippin’s face toward the meadow, so he could “see” the actions going on.

“Yes, Regi’s definitely the best shot,” Merry commented a few moments later. He gave a slight nod, which jiggled Pippin’s head, too. “It’s probably because your da’s been teaching him well.” The hobbit who was currently third in line as heir to be the next thain after Ferumbras had shot several arrows into the center of his target, and was coming around behind various lads to adjust their stance or offer them pointers.

“See, Everard’s aim is a bit off,” Merry pointed. The teen on the end of the line of archers nearest to the benches had fired a couple of arrows into his target, but several more were stuck in the ground at the foot of the tree, in the meadow between him and the tree, or even off to the side in the meadow. “I think Regi’s going to help him out next.”

Regi did indeed stop behind his younger brother to offer tips and adjust his grip on the bow. As soon as Regi stepped back away and Everard let the arrow fly, however, Merry let out a yell. It was coming straight toward the bench.

“Duck!” he shouted as he twisted sideways to fling himself face-forward onto the bench, clasping Pippin to his chest with both hands and covering the lad with his body.

He heard the whoosh of the arrow singing through the air, then cautiously opened his eyes a few moments later when he realized he’d also heard the reverberations of the arrow hitting something, but hadn’t felt any pain. The arrow was stuck bolt upright in the ground a couple of feet from the bench, the end still quivering.

Furious, Merry jumped up from the bench with his hands balled into fists at his sides to confront Reginard and Everard as they rushed over.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted. “We could have been hurt!”

“I’m sorry, Merry, I’m sorry!” Everard was close to tears. “I tried to do like Regi said, really I did!”

“Regi?” Merry said with an icy calm as turned to face the older hobbit. “Is this true?”

“’Course ‘tis true,” Regi answered brusquely. “Lad wouldn’t lie. He just needs some time to practice, ‘tis all.”

“Well, his ‘practice’ could have killed the future Thain!” Merry huffed.

“Regi, I thought you--”

“Everard! Quiet!” Regi snapped. “Anyway,” he said with a nod toward the bench behind Merry, “looks to me as if The Little One’s entertained right enough.”

Merry turned around to see where he had left Pippin lying on his stomach on the bench. Pip’s legs and arms dangled limply over the sides -- except for his left arm, which was swinging slightly back and forth, as with the smallest sway of a breeze, in the direction of Everard’s arrow. The arm movements accompanied the tracking of two bright green eyes, which studied the arrow in clear fascination.

Merry froze for a moment, and gave a gurgle in his throat. Then he lunged toward the bench, catching Pippin around the waist and hoisting him over one shoulder. With the other hand, he snatched the arrow out of the ground. “I’m taking this by order of the Thain,” he said with a swfit glare at Regi, before he ran back to the Smials.

Merry collapsed to sit on Pippin’s bed, not having found anyone in Uncle Paddin’s quarters, but still holding both lad and arrow. He put the arrow on the bed next to him and hastily pulled Pippin down from his shoulder to look into his eyes.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” he sobbed. The light had gone out of the eyes again. “Here.” He turned Pippin around to sit in his lap and pressed the arrow into the small hands, curling them around to grip the shaft. “You wanted to play with it.”

Merry pulled Pippin’s arm back, and mimicked the sound of an arrow firing. “Whoosh! I know you’ll be the best archer in Tookland someday, Pip! Why, I’ll bet you’ll get to be as big as the Bullroarer, and just as fierce!” His breath came in little gasps as he continued to peer anxiously into the sharp little face. He was rewarded when the green eyes brightened again, and swept back and forth along the length of the arrow.

“Pip!” Merry let out his breath in a whoosh. “I think,” he said after a moment, “that, on second thought, your mama better not find your Bullroarer arrow.” He lifted the smaller hobbit up, still keeping both their hands gripping the arrow, and guided Pippin to wedge it between the back of an old bureau in the corner of the room and the wall. Then Merry clutched Pippin to him and collapsed backward onto the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

* * *Bullroarer! Rarrgh! Hooray! Then I can shoot the sleepy-darks away!* * *


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*Song from “The Fellowship of the Ring,”; chapter “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”

**Grateful acknowledgment to Grey Wonderer for her fic, “Thinking of You” (available here on SOA), which helped to inspire Merry’s literal-mindedness in the toy barn scene.