Title: Tomp Tomp
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac gets a hearty welcome from his young cousin. But said young lad has second thoughts.
Year: 1371

Special thanks to Ariel for her swift beta.

~*~*~

"Mac! Sa!" The barely three-year-old scrambled across the lawn almost tripping over his feet in the process. Every muscle in his small body seemed in motion as he made his way toward them.

"Mac!" he called again and a moment later his older cousin caught him in his arms and lifted him high into the air. Frodo squealed happily and stretched his arms into the golden evening sky, flying like a bird among the clouds.

"Hullo, scallywag," Merimac greeted tousling the brown mop of hair. "Still up at this hour, are you?"

"Yes," young Frodo nodded happily. "Da said."

"Drogo's here too? I thought he was in the Westfarthing," Saradoc wondered.

"He back," Frodo told him as if it were one word, before he focused his attention on Merimac again. "Down!" he demanded and Mac, suspecting the child's intention, winced. He definitely made a mistake when Aunt Primula had been at the Hall with her lad the other evening.

Saradoc grinned. "I told you not to show him because he would remember. Obviously I was correct. Now go gather the fruits of your foolishness."

Merimac glared at him, saying nothing. Sometimes his brother could be such a know-it-all. With an inward sigh he put the struggling child in his arms back onto the ground. Perhaps Frodo just wanted to get down? Merimac could not be so lucky.

And it seemed he wasn't. A moment later Frodo had grabbed both his arms and jumped on Mac's feet.

"Tomp, tomp," the child sang cheerfully while shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stomped on each of Merimac's feet. "Tomp, Mac!"

His cousin remained motionless weighing his options. Finding no other recourse, Merimac did as he was bid. Grabbing the young lad a little tighter he stepped through the grass with Frodo standing on his feet giggling gleefully. With every seemingly heavy step he droned "stomp, stomp" in a deep voice pretending to be very tall and heavy which, in Frodo's mind, he doubtlessly was.

Saradoc chuckled as he went ahead leaving his brother and his cousin to their play. Primula greeted him at the door shaking her head as she saw her nephew shambling along the lawn. "Merimac of all hobbits," she sighed. "He cannot even look after himself most of the time."

"Mischief finds mischief, they say," Saradoc pointed out helpfully trying not to laugh at his aunt's indignant glance. Surely she thought her child would never be as much the source of trouble as Mac.