Title: Master's Heir, Master's Son
Rating: G
Summary: An almost typical summer day hides some important revelations for the Master and his sons.
Year: 1361

Special thanks to Ariel for her endless patience and encouragement.

~*~*~

It was a warm day in late Afterlithe. The sun was ruthlessly burning down on the working hobbits. Saradas Brandybuck, head of the haying team, had gathered most of the lads between ages fourteen and twenty, as well as his son Seredic who was eager to participate in his father's occupation, and had taken them to the fields shortly after first breakfast. Togo Brownlock and some of the other farmhands had mowed the grass at dawn so that the children could start turning it right after arriving.

It was a custom in Brandy Hall that one of the Master's close relatives would supervise the haying and have the children help, no matter if they were gentry or of a lower class. Children up to the age of twenty were treated equally in work and education. Only when their apprenticeship began did the differences between working class and gentry eventually show.

Of course, the children did not have to work as hard as the adults did. There were several hours between each turning over of grass. In this time, they could roam about, some going down to the river, others sitting on the fences of the paddocks, and some getting involved in a sort of chasing game which eventually left them more exhausted than the work in the fields.

Saradas was usually quite proud of his boys. Most of them were mindful of their task and did their work without complaint, but, of course, there were always some black sheep.

At the sound of a squeal and laughter Saradas looked up from the mowing and mopped the sweat from his brow. One of those 'black sheep' was throwing a fistful of hay at another - again. Saradas scowled, put his scythe down and hurried to the source of his irritation.

"Merimac Brandybuck!"

The hobbit addressed turned, his face innocent, but his eyes full of mischief. "At your service," he called out gushingly, scrambling to his feet and bowing deeply.

"That's not funny, young lad!" Saradas chastised, pulling his nephew into an upright position and looking him sternly in the eye.

"Well, that's exactly my point, isn't it?" Merimac replied, obviously unimpressed by the firm grip on his arm.

Saradas simply glared at him. His brother's youngest son was a bright lad, looked up to by the others, but if he had a fault, it was that he wouldn't consider anything worth doing unless there was some sort of amusement in it. And unfortunately, his notion of amusement differed greatly from Saradas'.

"You're challenging your luck and my patience, boy. It is hard work to put the swath together and I won't have you and your friends scattering it again before we can put it on the cart."

"We don't even have swaths yet," Mac reminded him sullenly. "We're simply turning it over and why shouldn't we…"

"Because I don't want you to," Saradas told him grimly and made it clear to both his nephews, one of whom wisely kept himself inconspicuous, that their deeds would have consequences should they misbehave again. "Now, get back to work." He turned away, but knew he would have to keep an extra close eye on Mac, lest he come up with some new sort of the mischief that seemed to follow at his heels.

Merimac grumbled. His uncle was clearly on edge today, even before lunch, but he couldn't understand why. They were getting on well with the haying; surely a bit of fun wasn't too much to ask for. He and Milo hadn't even scattered any swaths, as they had the other day, so what was his uncle annoyed for? After all, it was only a hay battle. No one got harmed and nothing was damaged.

"He's a bore. I wonder how Dic does it."

Mac snorted at that and turned to Milo Burrows standing some steps behind him with his eyes glumly on Saradas. Milo was his cousin and best friend even though there were five years between them. He was a boy of light complexion and grey eyes with auburn hair that at times shimmered redder than he liked. It was currently hidden beneath a huge straw hat, which also shielded his freckled face from the sun.

Mac retrieved his own hat, which was also made of straw and had a ridiculously broad rim, and put it on. Picking up his hayfork, he muttered that Seredic had had a few years to get used to it.

Milo simply shrugged and, continuing their task, both lads soon forgot about the incident with their uncle.

~*~*~

Milo cast a hopeful look in Merimac's direction as Saradas gathered the group in front of Brandy Hall's main entrance for the afternoon. Mac caught the glance, winked and, reaching for his water skin, hissed between his teeth. Immediately Saradas' eye was on him.

"What is it?"

Looking sheepish, Merimac lowered his eyes. "I forgot to refill my water, Uncle. May I quickly run to the well in the back garden and catch up with you after?"

Mac's heart pounded with nervous excitement. He had felt his uncle's eyes on him all morning and knew he had only this one chance to get away. Uncle Saradas was not always as boring as during haying, but he liked the work done properly. Mac didn't mind that attitude except when his uncle's focus was on him. It was an oft repeated clash between them. Usually, it was Saradoc who diffused the situation and convinced Mac that haying could be fun even without mischief. Unfortunately their father had decided that his brother's education as the future Master would begin that summer and Mac sorely missed Sara's mollifying presence.

"I'm afraid I forgot to fill mine too," Milo piped in, shaking his almost empty water skin till the liquid sloshed and gurgled inside. Mac secretly heaved a sigh of relief at his cousin's well-timed intervention.

Uncle Saradas, however, seemed displeased by this development and scrutinized them both sternly. Merimac assumed the most innocent, guileless expression he could manage. He and Milo had, of course, planned everything that morning. They had had enough of haying and needed a break - a bit of fun. While everyone was still finishing their lunch, Merimac had secretly sneaked into the main pantry and gathered some provisions. "We will be back in no time," he assured his uncle, acting the older and wiser cousin able to take care of Milo and himself.

Saradas wrinkled his nose, suspiciously. "Go then, but be quick," he snapped.

Barely able to suppress a victorious grin, Merimac nodded, grabbed Milo by the arm and pulled his cousin with him behind the smial, knowing very well that their uncle watched them closely.

Only when they saw the group move southwards did he breathe easily. "That was close," he said, working the pump while Milo held first one and then the other water skin beneath the flowing water.

"Do you think he will come looking for us?"

"Of course he will," Mac grinned, grabbing his water skin. With a last look at the disappearing group, he hurried to the stacks of firewood where he had hidden his backpack and the food. "But by then, we will be miles away."

The cousins hurried to the river. It would be safer on the other side of the Brandywine should their uncle come looking for them. They took the ferry across without even looking back.

~*~*~

"I wonder what Sara is doing now?"

"Goodness, Mac!" Milo rolled his eyes as he scrambled up the shore of the Brandywine. "Can't you think of anything else?"

Merimac sighed heavily, flung himself to the ground and, folding his arms behind his wet head, lay back to watch the clouds drift by. They had had a lovely afternoon in the Marish, exploring the swampy parts east and west of the causeway, as they often did. The two had even paid a short visit to Mr. Greenhill, or rather to his blackberry bush. The farmer and his wife had been out in their garden, enjoying a peaceful afternoon, but neither had heard a thing from the stealthy raiders.

But Merimac had found strangely little pleasure in their adventures. Saradoc was missing. His brother was usually part of the mischief - that is, if he wasn't trying to talk them out of it. Milo thought Saradoc overcautious and boring, but Mac knew his other side. His elder sibling was more like Merimac than most guessed, but, now that he was in his tweens, Sara was expected to assume some of the responsibilities his status as the Master's eldest son brought with it.

"Who cares anyway? Sara's gone boring ever since your father started his training. All he does is sit inside all day. And I don't know why Uncle Rory's making such a fuss about educating his heir anyway. Grandfather may be too sick to carry on his office, but it isn't as if he's on death's door."

"Call me boring again, Burrows, and I'll dunk you in the river."

Merimac looked up in surprise. His brother was approaching the riverbank, a stern eye fixed on Milo who almost fell from the low branch he had claimed as a seat.

"I knew I would find you here," Saradoc said and shook his head. "Father's in a fury."

Merimac shrugged. "Saradas has enough lads to order about. What does he need me for? Besides, it was far too nice a day to spend haying."

"It was also far too nice a day to spend inside studying accounts."

Mac frowned. "He kept you in all day?"

Saradoc nodded and, giving his best imitation of his father's most instructional tone, said: "A Master doesn't have the luxury of enjoying a pleasant summer's day when there is work to be done." He sighed heavily.

Mac shook his head in sympathy at his brother's plight and walked over to the tree to stand below Milo. He shivered in the gentle breeze that seemed much cooler in the shadows. "I'm glad you're the heir," he said, and pulled himself up on one of the branches. Casting a mischievous glance over his shoulder, he winked. "I'd hate to become as boring as you have."

Saradoc answered the challenge by catching a limb of the broad tree and heaving himself up into the canopy with his brother. The beech had its ancient, mossy roots dug deep into the gentle slope of the bank, some even reaching down to the river. The snarled old branch stretched out over the water gently rippling along several feet below. A small bush had started growing there, already covering parts of the beech's dark bark.

"I wonder if we could reach the bottom here," Milo murmured wonderingly.

Merimac looked down at the gurgling waters upon which his cousin's eyes rested. He grinned. "Whoever touches bottom first gets the others' dessert at dinner tonight."

Milo, his red hair sticking to his forehead and droplets of water running down his cheeks, considered the suggestion for a moment before accepting the wager with a handshake.

Grinning, Mac moved to a branch that hung out over the river to give Saradoc a place to sit. "Are you game?" he asked his brother.

Saradoc looked down at the curling brown surface of Brandywine River. "No," he said and shook his head.

Merimac shrugged again. "Boring, as I said."

The youth had barely got the words out of his mouth when Saradoc leaped up and shoved him hard. With a yelp, Merimac splashed into the river and re-emerged, spluttering, almost immediately.

"Git!" he shouted at the smugly grinning tween above him. He swam quickly to the bank and climbed the tree again. Saradoc was leaning comfortably in the branches, his arms folded, his bearing superior. Mac shook his curls, which sent a few droplets of water flying in his brother's direction. "What has he done to you in that study of his? You'd never have refused a wager before."

Saradoc didn't answer, but looked at him thoughtfully, his light brown hair fluttering in that gentle wind that had sent such a chill down Merimac's back. "All right," he said, at last, rising with easy confidence. "I'll get both of your desserts and be there when father gives you a piece of his mind."

And then Saradoc let himself fall like a stone. Moments passed, but when he resurfaced, he gave a quick shake of his head just as Milo had done. "Nothing," he called, shaking the water from his hair and then dipping back again to sweep the springing curls from his face. "But it does feel good. There's no better refreshment than jumping in the river on a hot summer day."

"What are you doing, Milo?" Merimac asked. His cousin was standing at the bank, bent over inspecting his feet.

"Plucking weed from my foot hair," the younger mumbled working a blade of droopy green from his toes.

Merimac shook his head and, seeing that his brother had moved out of the way, he took a deep breath and jumped. The river closed over his head and he sank. He had enough air in his lungs to go very deep and he was determined to win the wager, extra dessert or no.

It felt as if he were floating. The water caressed his skin and played with his hair. Opening his eyes, he could see nothing but green and the occasional flicker of sunlight stabbing the water. Down he sank, his arms held over his head to streamline his body, but no bottom could he feel, only the changing temperature of water the deeper he got.

It was fascinating how much the temperature could change from one depth to another. He had always wondered how a warm current and an icy cold one would lie so close together, or how sometimes warm water could be deeper than the cold even though the sun was shining brightly. He blew a little air from his nose and sank deeper. Warm water, cold, colder. He had wondered about this phenomenon, but had never asked anyone about it. He had supposed it was simply something to accept. Another trickle of air wandered upwards in a trail of little bubbles and Mac knew he should start back up. But he wanted to reach the bottom. He felt downwards with his feet but there seemed no bottom to the swirling green. He closed his eyes again concentrating on his breath.

~*~*~

Saradoc scrambled up the bank, tipping his head to the left to get the water out of his ear. He watched the many circles Merimac's plunge had produced, but the brown waters calmed and his brother did not resurface. Frowning, he returned to the water's edge. Perhaps Merimac had come up downstream where the weeds blocked Saradoc's view? The older boy strained to hear the sound of splashing or breath, but there was nothing but the murmur of the water's monotonous song. Suddenly, Saradoc felt an unfamiliar fear grip his heart. "He's been down quite a while."

Milo came up next to him, his eyes also on the river. He shrugged the comment off. "He's only boasting. Letting us know how long he can hold his breath."

Saradoc shivered. He could not share Milo's confidence. After hesitating one moment more, he plunged into the river and swam to the point where Mac dove in. His brother had still not reappeared. Taking a deep breath, Saradoc submerged into the green and silt speckled water.

Mac.

Saradoc was growing truly frightened. Where was his brother? He searched under the water till there was hardly any air left in his lungs, but still there was no sign…

There!

Deeper than he had yet gone, Saradoc saw the pale glimmer of a face looking up at him. A strong stroke and Saradoc reached the blindly groping hand. For a second, his brother's eyes were on him - desperate and as full of fear as he had ever seen them - then Sara pulled and heaved the youngster upwards. Merimac fought his way to the surface and Saradoc followed him feeling his chest burning with the need for air.

Merimac broke the surface coughing and sputtering and struggling blindly to keep himself afloat. His breath came in short, painful gasps and his limbs trembled and seemed unable to obey him. Saradoc's head emerged beside him, but Merimac took no notice. All his focus was on the bank and on driving his shaky arms and legs to move him towards it. He didn't even seem aware that Saradoc's steady arm facilitated his slow progress.

Milo ran into the shallows and supported Merimac as he staggered out of the river and sank to the ground. Eyes closed and body trembling, Merimac simply breathed, great, deep breaths till the trembling eased and his inhalations became less laboured. At last, he opened his eyes, blinked at the bright sunlight, and found Saradoc and Milo gazing down upon him.

"Are you all right?" his brother asked concerned.

Merimac frowned and sat up. He was dizzy but managed to steady himself. "I think I am."

"What happened?"

Merimac shook his head, brushing away his brother's hands. Saradoc was fussing about him like their mother would have and for a moment he was unsure whether he should be annoyed or amused. "My ankle must have got caught in some weed," he replied. "I couldn't pull it loose." His eyes turned from Saradoc to Milo and a smirk curled his lips. "I almost made it."

Milo's uncertain answering grin turned into a broad smile when Merimac jumped to his feet.

"Though, I will this time…"

The pronouncement seemed too much for Saradoc. The older boy grabbed Mac by the arm, turned him round, and punched his face so hard that it send his brother sprawling to the ground. Milo gasped in shock, looking from Merimac to Saradoc in bewilderment.

Merimac's ears tingled, his cheek pounded and he wondered for a second whether his brother had broken something. Fumbling over his face and feeling that nose and teeth still were where they belonged, he turned around, his eyes dark with anger. "Are you mad?" he yelled.

"No, but I think you are!" came the hot reply. Saradoc towered over his brother like a menacing shadow. "Haven't you learned your lesson? It's too dangerous!" He trembled with fear and Merimac remembered the panic that had seized him in those green depths, but in Saradoc's eyes was reflected an even greater terror and fury.

Staggering to his feet, Mac glared daggers at his brother. How dare he strike him? Saradoc might have been two years older, but Merimac equalled him in height and strength. But the elder did not falter, and kept his green eyes locked on his brother's, his brows drawn in fury and his clenched fists twitching. At that moment, Saradoc Brandybuck, the heir, looked so much like their father that Merimac felt his blood boil.

"Look at you!" he snorted. "Two months of apprenticeship and already you act the responsible heir. But I'll tell you something, Sara. You didn't change, not at all. You're still only my brother. There's nothing better about you."

"Merimac…"

"Why should I learn lessons? You're doing quite a good job of that already." He was trembling now, his lips pressed to a tight thin line. His nails dug deeply into the flesh of his hands to keep himself from shaking his fist in his brother's face. "But of course you learn your lessons well. You're the heir; I'm only the second born."

Saradoc frowned, his expression wary and puzzled. "Don't tell me you envy me for having to study."

Muscles as tense as a bowstring, Merimac shoved past his brother. Saradoc had no say in what he did. This had been his and Milo's wager after all and Saradoc had only interfered. Why did he have to come anyway?

Merimac felt himself tighten further as Saradoc reached for his shoulder. "I swear I shall knock you down again if you're planning to climb that tree."

Turning around, Merimac locked eyes with Saradoc's, their faces almost touching. "Try," he threatened feeling the boiling heat of rage wash over his damp body. "Try and I'll send you sprawling."

Then they stood, both relentless, both too proud and stubborn to give in. The wind rustled in the leaves, the water murmured its melody, and Milo Burrows fidgeted, increasingly uneasy. The brothers had quarrelled before and all knew that two furious Brandybucks, even if their wrath was directed at each other, were nothing to meddle with. Yet something had to be done.

Gathering his courage and clearing his throat noisily, Milo approached his cousins and said simply, "The sun's already sinking." He pointed toward the horizon and then shrank back as two pairs of blazing eyes turned to him.

"He is right," Saradoc replied, his voice suddenly as calm as a summer breeze, despite the fire in his eyes. For another couple of moments he studied Merimac, but then his brother turned away with a grunt, tramped to the bush where he had piled his belongings, gathered them up, put his hat on and stomped towards Brandy Hall. Milo followed him closely, glancing back at Saradoc from time to time. Saradoc walked behind them both, his head high in the air, making it clear he felt victorious over his rebellious brother.

~*~*~

"Explain yourself!"

Rorimac was furious. Shortly after lunch, his brother had told him that his son and nephew had decided not to help with the haying and had mysteriously disappeared. He had not looked for them, knowing they would eventually come home, but with every hour of Merimac's absence he had thought of new and more effective ways to punish him. When he saw them return in the hands of Saradoc, he had immediately grabbed them both, taking special care of his youngest's ear, knowing that such nonsense could only have been his idea. Rufus Burrows, Milo's father, had met them halfway to the Master's study leaving him alone with Mac, much to the child's displeasure.

With glaring eyes, he glanced down at the boy who insolently held his gaze. Merimac stood erect, his straw hat in both hands, his manner defiant, as if he were in no way to blame.

"I needed a change."

Rorimac didn't know what annoyed him more: the fact that his son had left without telling anyone or that his tone was smug and content instead of rueful. He had expected his children to become complicated as they grew older, but he had not thought Merimac would be the difficult one, after all, he was still a year from his tweens. Yet, since Yule his youngest had had an air of rebellion about him and though he had always found ways to get into trouble, he no longer seemed interested in getting out of it.

"How about telling me what you needed?" he asked calmly.

Merimac shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You wouldn't have allowed me."

"And why not, son?" Rorimac stopped his pacing and stepped closer to the boy. The last light of evening shone through his study's huge western window and cast a red glow on the teen's bare chest and face. His dark mop of hair was tousled and the biting smell of sweat and river-water lingered about him.

Merimac shrugged callously. "You don't care anyway. I guess, you're too busy educating Saradoc."

"Don't blame your brother for something you did," Rory chastised hotly.

"But it's true!" Merimac shot back. "Ever since the summer started he's under your wing. You don't even allow him to breathe."

"Merimac Brandybuck!" the Master thundered, outraged at his son's display of impertinence. Merimac shrank back with a sharp intake of breath and averted his eyes. Rorimac checked himself, relieved to see his son had not yet lost all sense of authority and respect, but stood sternly before him in order to remind the boy that it was not his place to shout so.

After a long silence in which even the sound of their breathing grew to seem deafening, Rorimac turned to light the candles on his desk. Calmly he said: "I thought we were talking about you and what you needed, not about your brother."

"I already told you I needed a change," Merimac told him quietly and when Rory turned to face him he found the blue-green eyes on him once more and the sullenness had returned to his son's voice. "Uncle Saradas won't even allow us a little fun so I went to find my own."

"And you took Milo with you," Rorimac noted blowing out the match.

Merimac nodded. "He wanted to come. He's of the same opinion as I am about Saradas. We'd had more of him than we could stomach that morning and wanted to have a little fun."

"I don't doubt that," Rorimac remarked eying his son closely. The shimmer of three candles was now performing a fleeting dance of light and shadow in the young one's face. "What do you know about Mr. Greenhill's berries?"

Merimac winced, his hands clutching the rim of his hat tighter.

"How do you know it was me?" the child asked. "He didn't catch me."

"No, he didn't." Rory had not missed the boy's revealing flinch but he held his anger. Yelling, he had quickly learned, only served to increase the youngster's rebelliousness. "But we both knew who the likeliest culprits were." He sighed. "How many times, Mac?"

Merimac tensed at the question. Each time Mr. Greenhill caught his son, he had escorted him back to Brandy Hall in person to make sure Rorimac would see to the boy's punishment, but both gentlehobbits knew Mac was guilty of far more than he had ever been punished for. Rory had tried his best. He had tried talking to Merimac, had even threatened him, but to no avail. Mac was not the only lad who pilfered the bushes, but he was the worst offender. It was understandable why Mr. Greenhill, furious and frustrated, had insisted on Rorimac caning his son when he brought Merimac back last time. Rory had not, of course, but there were times when he could not see any other solution.

"What am I to do, child?"

Merimac's eyes instantly flashed in anger. Rorimac glared a warning back at him, but Merimac did not relent. Rory raised an eyebrow. If Mac would rather be called a tween, then he should start acting as one. A tween indeed! He straightened to his full height, a warning to Merimac that here was a line he had best not cross. The boy at last averted his gaze, though he clutched his hat even tighter.

"I don't like beating you, Mac," Rorimac said, his voice a mixture of regret, anger, and disappointment. "But you've left me no alternative. How else can I teach you this lesson?"

Merimac held himself, but Rorimac could see the trembling in his hands. The boy would not give in yet, but there was a chink in his prideful armour. He looked up at his father, his mouth open as if to say something, but seeing the stern look in Rorimac's eye, lowered his head and swallowed hard.

"Don't you see there's a difference between plundering the Hall's pantries and raiding some farmer's berries?" Rory asked. He knew Merimac did and was violating the rules purposefully, but why he was, Rory could not guess.

"They're good!" the child insisted.

It was too much for Rorimac, he could hold back his anger no longer. He strode towards his son, his brows drawn together, his dark eyes flashing. "And even if they were the only berries in the Shire, you would still not be allowed to take them!"

Merimac, to his credit, did not shrink back, but his fingers trembled even more where they gripped his hat. His eyes glittered in the candlelight as he searched his father's angry features, but whatever he was looking for; pity, understanding, a reprieve, he did not seem to find. At last, he hung his head and after a very long silence whispered: "Will Sara eventually be free again?"

"Oh, Merimac," Rory rolled his eyes. "Saradoc won't always be there to help you out of trouble."

The boy's head snapped up again. "I know," he cried angrily, "because he is the first born, he is the heir, he's got what it takes to be Master, and I…" he hesitated, suddenly looking away from the Master. His voice cracked. "I'm only in your way."

Rorimac kept himself from trying to shake some sense into his son. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

Merimac suddenly seemed extremely unsure of himself. He looked from one corner of the room to the other, avoiding his father's gaze. "I don't know," the boy stammered, then shook his head as if to clear his mind. Rorimac's frown deepened, alarmed at his youngest's uncharacteristic behaviour. "You're taking him away from me," Merimac fidgeted even more nervously with the rim of his hat. "You… you're robbing me of my brother."

Rory almost took a step backward in surprise. So that was what this was all about? Rejection? Suddenly, it all made sense. He had first announced that he would start Saradoc's apprenticeship that Yule. Merimac had teased his brother that he'd never be able to have any fun again, but one evening Gilda had told him that every time Mac mentioned Sara's training, there was something worrisome in his eyes. He had not thought his youngest would feel rejected by his actions, but now he understood what he had unintentionally done by excluding the boy.

He placed a hand on his son's trembling shoulder and made the child look him in the eye. Merimac was terribly conflicted and it pained him to realise that he had been the cause of his son's troubles. He smiled lovingly and the boy's dark brows knit in confusion. "My dear son," he said shaking his head. "It is true that Saradoc will be my heir. He has a long and tiresome education ahead of him that will hopefully prepare him for the day when I pass my responsibilities onto him. He will be the Master, but that does not mean you mean less to me." Rory held his son's gaze as the child tried to look away. "Did you ever think that I might have plans for you as well, Merimac?"

For the first time in many months, Rory saw the veneer of defiance lifting. Merimac looked almost hopeful, if a bit unsure. "Really?" he asked, then he smiled. "What kind of plans? Will I like them?"

Rorimac burst into laughter and ruffled the dark curls. "I hope so. But as to what path your life will take, that is yet to be decided. You're not even in your tweens. Apprenticeship will come to you early enough and believe me," he shook a warning forefinger at his son, "should you decide you 'need a change' once your real work has begun, you won't find me nearly as understanding."

"What kind of plans did you have for me?" Merimac asked again, eagerly, unimpressed by the earnest tone of his father's voice.

Smiling Rory walked to the window, crossed his hands behind his back and looked out into the darkening night. Merimac came to stand beside him and, as he felt the blue-green eyes gazing expectantly, impatiently, up at him, he shrugged. "Well, the Master has his own pony breeding program, hasn't he? But, I'm afraid Saradoc is no good with ponies. You have a far better hand with them. Perhaps, in a not too distant future, you'll be Saradas' apprentice."

"Uncle Saradas?" Mac's smile turned into a grimace. "Haying all summer?"

Rorimac placed a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder and pulled him close. This time, Merimac did not tense and pull away. He smiled. "Some day, son, you will be head of the haying team and if you decide your lads need some fun during the work day - and if you can afford it - I don't think anybody would mind you allowing them a little," he made a vague movement with his hand, "distraction."

Merimac grinned at that and, much to Rory's surprise, leaned his head against his father's arm, the tenseness completely gone. "I would like that."

"That's settled then," Rorimac said, savouring his son's rare closeness, but knowing Mac too well to not see the ulterior motive in it. "Now, to your room, young lad."

Merimac looked stunned. "What about dinner?"

"No dinner for you. And the rest of this week the dishes are yours."

"But father…"

Rory cut him short before he could finish his protest. He turned to face his son. "No 'but father' or I shall reconsider whether a sound trashing wouldn't do you better."

Merimac hurried to the door without another word. At the threshold, he turned again, put on his ridiculous hat and took his leave. Rorimac stared after him for a moment and shook his head. Who would have thought the lad would be jealous of Saradoc, especially over doing accounts? Mac had always been better at practical tasks than with numbers. Yet, he might somehow involve him into Saradoc's education. It would do neither of them any harm. Mac would keep himself out of trouble and Sara might be glad to have his brother to assist him once he became Master.

~*~*~

"I told Cook I needed a midnight snack."

Saradoc grinned broadly at his brother's stunned expression as he hastily entered the room. The younger was sitting on his bed eyeing the tray he carried. On it was a bowl of steaming stew and two thick slices of bread. The hungry grumble of Mac's stomach spoke eloquently for him. Saradoc grinned. "I'm afraid she saw through me, but I don't think she'll tell father. Even if she does, it was my idea to stick my neck out." He placed the tray on the writing desk on the far end of the room. "Eat hearty!"

Merimac grinned and jumped from the bed. "You're the best."

He ate at the desk; the largest piece of furniture in the spacious but crowded room. Candles perched on the chest of drawers, the nightstand and the desk provided illumination, but the room was so large, the corners remained in shadow. The two brothers had shared this space their whole lives so even its darkened recesses held no fear. It was a comfortable, welcoming space, and even though they occasionally got on each other's nerves, neither could imagine relinquishing it to have a room of their own.

Saradoc smiled as his brother greedily devoured the stew. He sat down on the window seat and stared into the starry night. In his mind, accounts, reports on the progress of the harvest in Buckland and the Marish, and the events of the evening battled for attention. Remembering the scene at the river still made him shiver. He did not regret punching Merimac, in fact, he would do it again, yet for some unfathomable reason he felt sorry for his brother.

"Father thinks you're no good around ponies."

The muffled words stirred him from his thoughts. Saradoc blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

Merimac turned toward him with a broad grin. "That's what I might be doing one day. Managing the herd. Merimac Brandyuck, Head of the Master's breeding program. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

Saradoc stared at his brother, not quite understanding. Merimac shook his head and turned his attention back to his dinner.

"You're a git, Mac."

At that Merimac looked up again. "That may be so, but if ever you decide to punch this 'git' again, would you be so kind as to inform him before knocking him down? Your right is quite painful, you know." He rubbed his left cheek.

"Consider the dinner my apology." Mac's face lit up as he answered Saradoc's smile with a grin. "But I cannot promise never to hit you. You might need it again."

"I shan't," Merimac snorted. "Leastways, you won't be the one doing it. I don't think father would take too kindly to his 'heir' securing his people's 'good will' that way. Bad business." He creased his brow in mock concentration, a smile threatening his lips. "Or better yet, I'll tell mother. She hates you beating up anyone, most especially me."

Saradoc scoffed. "I think I can handle mother. And father," he considered the prospect for a moment. "He might just congratulate me on a job well done."

"Ho-ho!" Merimac exclaimed shaking his finger. "Beware, heir. I'll be head of your stables one day and if you don't behave, I shall set the ponies loose on you."

"You will, will you?" Saradoc snorted, "Very well, but now eat. The stew's getting cold."

Merimac took this piece of advice to heart and turned back to his dinner. Saradoc shook his head. His brother might have been more a fool than was good for him at times, but Saradoc loved him dearly and missed the days when they had roamed the length and breadth of Buckland. Perhaps his father would consider lessening his training to six hours a day? Mac needed someone to look after him and Saradoc was just the hobbit for that. Besides, he needed to enjoy what he had sworn to manage and protect. It would do them both a world of good.

~The End~