Chapter 67. Object Lesson

When Merry wakened, he realised he had fallen asleep again halfway through his second mug of beef tea, though he'd have sworn that he could not sleep another wink after three weeks abed.

Despite the heat of the day, the October evening was chilly, and a cheerful fire burned on the bedroom hearth. The only other hobbit in the room was Pippin, concentrating on an intricate bit of carving as he sat in a chair by the hearth.

Merry cleared his throat, and his cousin looked up. 'Ah,' he said. 'Welcome back. I thought you might sleep the night away.'

'Why should I do that?' Merry asked wryly. 'I'd got out of the habit, you know.'

'You could always get back into the habit again,' Pippin said. 'Jewel told me just the other day that he'd like to sleep through the night himself upon occasion.'

'I'm sure the old pony was just making polite conversation,' Merry said. 'He often says "as one wants to hear" in hopes of getting a carrot or apple, you know.'

'Tricky.' Pippin said. 'Just like his master.'

'Hah,' Merry answered, finding no suitable rejoinder. Pippin continued to carve, occasionally throwing little curls of wood upon the fire. 'What are you making?' Merry asked at last.

'O just a little something,' Pippin answered absently. 'Why don't you go back to sleep?'

'Seems as if you need sleep just as much as I do,' Merry said reasonably. 'Didn't you say you'd been sick as well?'

'I got a nap earlier,' Pippin answered. He turned the carving in his hands and began to work on the other side. Merry watched in silence until his cousin spoke again. 'Merry...' he began.

'Yes?'

Pippin did not look up from his work. 'You're still feeling well and hale from the effects of that athelas, you know,' he said. 'The scent lingers a long time; I fancy I smell it a little even now.' He looked up, then back at his work. 'But you'll be back to your old self soon enough.'

'I am back to my old self,' Merry said, trying to reassure his cousin.

'That's what worries me,' Pippin replied unexpectedly.

'Worries you?' Merry said, puzzled.

'That's what I said,' Pippin responded firmly. 'Your old self has shown precious little sense.'

Merry was dumfounded. 'I have no idea what you are talking about,' he said slowly.

Pippin looked up again and shook his head. 'I know,' he said sadly. 'But I hope you will listen to me in this.' He looked down and Merry almost missed his next words. 'Brandybucks are so stubborn.'

'Tooks are worse,' Merry replied.

Pippin looked up, smiling in spite of himself. 'That doesn't do you much good,' he said, 'seeing as how you're half Took.' He looked back down and dug out a bit of wood, surveyed the result, and dug out a little more.

'You've never listened to me in this, cousin, but... I am going to try again. And I dearly hope I am not wasting my breath this time, I had so little breath for so long a time I begrudge every bit of it now.'

'Go on,' Merry said, wondering where this was leading.

'Merry, you work too hard,' Pippin said. Merry nodded. He had heard this particular lecture before from his carefree cousin. Though, come to think of it, Pippin had not been all that carefree for quite a few years, now. 'You're up early and you drive yourself until late,' he continued.

The Thain sighed. 'Now I know you have a poor opinion of my father,' he said. Merry did not comment. 'He had his warts, I'll give you that, and after he became Thain and realised he had to train me up to be Thain after him, and me in my twenty-fifth year already, and terribly spoilt... he became nearly impossible to live with. But he was a wise hobbit for all that. He never worked past teatime that I can recall, yet look at all he managed. You have to admit he accomplished a great deal in the short time he was Thain.' Merry nodded. It was the truth, Paladin was legendary in the Shire. Pippin continued, 'He used to tell me, "Son, the work will still be there in the morning, 'tisn't going to sneak off in the night if we don't nail it down. And if it did sneak off, then what would be the harm?" '

Pippin smiled. 'I can still hear him laugh,' he said wistfully. He gazed earnestly into Merry's eyes. 'I found it to be true, you know,' he said. 'I tried working long hours, and I realised that I could work from dawn to dawn and the work would still be there, but I'd be worse off for the lack of rest.'

He bent to his carving. 'I still remember,' he said in a faraway voice.

'What do you still remember?' Merry asked softly.

'I still remember, he would stop working at teatime. He'd be out long before the dawn, in the fields or in the barns, with the hired hobbits, but when the sun came halfway down the sky to her rest we'd know he'd be in soon, and there'd be a scramble to finish our tasks and tidy up and put the kettle on. He had a saying, "If your troubles try to come to tea, shove them out the door and shoot the bolt!"... O, and my mother, I remember now, she'd sing a little song as she brought the tea tray into the parlour... "Work past tea, more fool thee!" '

He chuckled in reminiscence. 'We would all come into the parlour to take tea with our Da, pile onto the rug by the hearth together, Da in the middle, and the stories he'd tell... he could make you laugh and cry with the same breath, or gasp with wonder until the world was filled with delight.' Merry remembered his uncle's storytelling, indeed. Pippin had inherited the gift from his father, and was passing it down to Faramir in turn, along with all the old family stories and quite a few new ones of his own experience or invention.

'On nice days the whole family would go, after tea, to walk the fields and woods, or sometimes we'd have our tea all packed up in baskets and go to picnic in a meadow; the girls would make daisy crowns and Da and I would hunt bugs or lie on our backs and make up stories about the cloud shapes passing overhead.' Merry listened spellbound. This was a side of his Uncle Paladin he had never seen; his uncle had always been stiff and formal when the Brandybucks had come to call.

'On winter days, we'd gather before the fire and our Da would carve toys for us... how clever his knife was... a flock of sheep and a shepherd for my little farm, a table-and-chairs for my sisters' dollhouse, a pony with a rider who would come off the saddle if you wished, or a ball within a ball within a ball, all carved from one piece of wood...' He stopped to pay more attention to his own carving for a bit, and Merry watched in silence, so deep in thought that when the fire popped and a log fell in two, he jumped.

Finally Pippin looked up, and Merry was startled to see a sheen of tears in his cousin's eyes. 'Merry,' he said. 'We came so close to losing you this time. Had the King not been in the North-land...' he could not continue for a few breaths. When Merry would have spoken, he shook his head. 'No, hear me out. You have to hear me out this time, I have to make you listen. Merry,' he said, and stopped, looking down at his carving, turning it in his hands.

'You work too much, and you worry too much, and when anyone takes you to task you make a joke of it,' he said at last. 'Here,' he said, suddenly tossing the carving onto the bed. Merry automatically picked it up. It was an exquisitely carved little boat, an intricate design worked into its sides, "Meriadoc Brandybuck" picked out in precise lettering, the top of the boat hollowed out. As Merry turned it in his hands, he gasped, realising what he held.

'Yes,' Pippin said, nodding. 'It's for Remembering Day.' The day when hobbits remember their dead, carving boats, hollowing them out, fixing wicks and pouring in fragrant beeswax, and then at dusk, lighting the candle-boat while saying the name of the departed, and setting the boat to float down the river, to join all the other flickering boats, hobbit tradition, a way of honouring the dead.

'It could easily have been made for this year,' Pippin went on. 'Thankfully not, since the King came in time. Perhaps next year...' he said, '...if you keep on going the way you have been.' He looked keenly at his cousin. 'What do you say, Merry?' he asked intensely. 'Do I light the candle and set this boat upon the River, and say your name, and sing you a song, and walk your grieving widow back to the Hall, on the Second of November this year, or the next, or do I throw it in the fire now?'

'Throw it in the fire,' Merry whispered. He looked up. 'I don't know how to do any differently, Pip,' he said pleadingly. 'But I want to see my son grow up. And this new little one, if only...'

'It is the "if onlies" that will bring your head down to an early grave,' Pippin said softly. 'Walk in the light, Merry. Promise me, the way you promised Frodo. Work until teatime, worry until teatime if you have to, and then set it all aside and fill your life with joy.'

'I'll try,' Merry said. 'I don't know how...'

'We'll all help you.' Pippin said. He got up from his chair, took the beautiful little boat from Merry's lap, and tossed it into the flames. 'All of us who love you will help.' He sat down on the side of the bed and took his cousin into a fierce hug. 'Promise me,' he whispered. 'Take joy.' There was a soft noise nearby, and Estella came in from the other room, holding their little son, to join the embrace, then Berilac, leaning heavily on Merimas and Doderic, followed by their wives, to take part as well.

'I will,' Merry said. It seemed that he didn't need to go in search of joy, it overwhelmed him where he found himself, in a firelit room, in a borrowed bed, in the bosom of his family.