Chapter Eleven: Bedtime Tales

The evening rain was cool with the hint of the approaching autumn as Merry descended from the cart in Hobbiton, clutching a bundle of blankets to his chest. The old hired hobbit -- pulled off the Banks family farm for this task -- continued toward the stables with the cart and pony as Merry headed for Bag End’s front door.

Frodo pulled it open as Merry was still on the path and stood in the doorway, blocking the way in. He craned his neck to peer past his younger cousin at the cart disappearing around the bend.

“Merry!” he chided. “You can’t let Pippin help with the pony in the rain! Cousin Paddin said he’d been ill.”

“Frodo,” Merry responded from in front of the doorway, standing stockstill with his bundle.

“Merry!” Frodo looked the dripping Bucklander in the eyes now. “I’m surprised at you! Go get Pippin and bring him inside the smial.”

“Frodo,” Merry said again, in the same low tone, and tried to move toward the doorway.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Frodo made as if to push past Merry onto the path himself, but was stopped as the fair-haired hobbit interrupted him once more with “Frodo! Shh!” and lifted a corner of the blankets. Within them, Pippin slept in his arms. “May we come in now?”

Frodo led them through the hole to the guest bedroom that had been set aside for Pippin’s use. “I suppose the journey would have been wearying anyway, but I think the motion of the cart put him to sleep,” Merry explained on the way. “I expect he’ll sleep the rest of the night after a bit of a sup.”

Frodo had to let the hired hobbit in with the baggage, and then confirm his directions to the inn, before he returned to the bedroom with a tray. Merry had a small fire crackling in the hearth and had hung his wet things up to dry and changed into a nightshirt. Pippin had actually been dry under the blankets, but he was now wearing a nightshirt as well and was tucked up into the bed.

Merry roused him briefly as Frodo set the tray on the room’s small table. “Pippin? Pippin?” Merry called softly, placing a hand on the smaller hobbit’s shoulder, “It’s suppertime. Don’t you want to eat something?”

Pippin’s green eyes blinked sleepily open, and he slowly opened his mouth. Merry took a bowl of the chowder thick with vegetables from the tray and began spooning it in. Frodo sat quietly at the table and watched, concerned, as Merry finished feeding Pippin the soup, some crusty bread, and a mug of milk before the child’s eyes drooped closed again.

“Come, then,” Frodo started to rise as Merry reached for his own bowl of soup and began to settle into a chair pulled close to the head of the bed, “Won’t you sup with me in the kitchen while he sleeps?”

“No,” Merry responded shortly, and began to shovel his spoon into his mouth with gusto, talking between bites. “And I’ll be sleeping in this room, with him, as well. I can’t leave him alone, Frodo.”

Merry’s eyes had strayed to the lad slumbering in the bed as he talked, and now Frodo looked as well. He saw, as expected, a hobbit lad who was small for his age -- about the same size as he’d been when Frodo had last seen him, near the end of the previous Yuletime, come to think of it. Pippin also seemed on the thin side, and a bit paler than he ought to be. And he seemed -- somehow -- to be a quieter child than Frodo remembered Pippin being.

“Perhaps you’d better tell me, Merry,” Frodo stated as he turned his eyes back to his other cousin. He took a piece of bread to munch on and leaned back into his chair. “What’s afoot with the Tooks?”

Merry paused and stared into his bowl. “First of all, Frodo, where is Cousin Bilbo? And what has he told you of Uncle Paddin’s letter? Have you read it?”

“Bilbo went to Frogmorton on an errand earlier. I suspect the rain caught him by surprise, and he decided to wait it out in an inn. I’m sure he’ll be along home tomorrow. What I don’t understand is why the two of you didn’t wait out the rain somewhere, especially with Pippin having been sick.”

Merry shook his head. “We couldn’t wait,” he said. “And the letter? Did you read it?”

Frodo smiled a soft, fond smile. “I believe Bilbo lost it in his study after he read it. You know how he is about those papers. No one else can touch them, but things are always getting lost in there. He just told me that Cousin Paddin said Pippin had been ill, and that they were sending him away with you to recover, and that he wanted us to take the both of you in for a while. Although I’m not sure why.” He said the last sentence slowly, and with an air of prompting.

“Right,” Merry said, and looked into his bowl once more. “You probably got the same sort of letter Mum was getting this spring,” he muttered, then, louder, after taking a deep breath, “Right,” he said again. “Well, you see, here’s how it is with Pip....”


Merry pressed his ears up close to Uncle Paddin and Aunt Eg’s bedroom door. It hadn’t been his intention to listen when he lay down across the sill, a poker from the fireplace clutched firmly in his fists, but they were whispering so loudly! He wondered if Pip, ensconced firmly between his parents in their bed for the night, was awake.

“...so then, I went to rouse Rumby to fetch you, but Mistress Lalia had parked her chair in front of his door, snoring away like the old, fat cow that she is, and I couldn’t budge her!”

“Eg! Hush, now. Little pitchers have big ears.”

“Oh, Pad! It’s not as if he’s going to say anything!”

“But you said he spoke today?”

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t--oh, oh sweetheart, did we wake you up?”

“Mmm?”

“Yes, Pippin. Yes, darling. Mama’s here. I’ve got you; it’s all right. Go back to sleep now.”

“Whisper, Pad, whisper. It’s just -- I was so frightened, and then Lalia -- ohh! grr!”

“I know, dear, I know. You do all the work, and she tries to take all the credit. When she’s lucid. But don’t worry, dear, our time is coming. Isn’t it, my lad?”

“Pad! Don’t wake him up for that! He’s had a hard day.”

“But he’s improving!”

“He can make that call for Mama, or Merry -- we’re not sure which; all he says is ‘mmm’ -- and we think he moved a little on his own, but it’s cost him, Pad! Could you not see how weary and frightened he is?”

“I see my lad growing stronger. You’re burdened with care, Eg; you need a rest. Now -- now, don’t weep, dearest, please!”

“Oh, Essie’s right! This is a horrid smial! Do you not see, Pad? We cannae trust the Tooks!”

“Cannae trust the Tooks? Nae any Tooks?”

“Only you, Pad, only you! Do you not see? Someone is threatening our lad -- stealing him from his mother, frightening him so, keeping him from his meals--”

“Keeping him from his meals?”

“Well, yes, Pad, did you not listen? Pippin went missing before first breakfast, and Merry did not discover him until teatime!”

“Well, yes, but I thought...how could a hobbit be so cruel? To keep a growing lad from his food! He needs that for his strength!”

“Yes, Pad, somewhere in the Smials there is a cruel hobbit. But my little darling cannot tell us who it is!”

A few moments of silence, and Merry thought the conversation might be over. Then he heard:

“Eg, I think we need to send Pippin away for a while.”

(Gasp.) “Send my baby away!”

“Not right this second, my dear, no need to clutch him so tight. Just for a while, to keep him safe until he recovers.”

“But...but, Pad, what if...”

“Nonsense, my dear; don’t look so. He’s already well on the way.”

“But who can we trust?”

“Hmm. Perhaps Essie and Merry could take him back with them when they depart.”

“Oh, but Pad, Brandy Hall is near as crowded as the Great Smials! So many hobbits are overwhelming for our little one just now, even were we to know we could trust them all!”

“Hmm. Yes. Yes, you’re right. We must send him somewhere safe, and quiet, where we know we can trust all the hobbits.”