“Surely Bilbo left you //something// of value, dear cousin,” said Merry, his face growing suddenly solemn. “Mementos of his travels? Weapons from strange lands?” Merry paused for a long moment. “Jewelry?”
Ring Around the Merry Prelude: Part 2/5
“Coming of Age”
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Sept 23, 3001, Third Age
(Frodo is 33, Merry is 19, Pippin is 11)
The afternoon after Bilbo’s Eleventy-first birthday, and consequently, also Frodo’s official coming-of-age, was a trying one for the new master of Bag End. Bilbo had slipped on his ring at the end of his farewell speech and amid a gaggle of astonished hobbit gasps, disappeared into the ether. Then he was gone. Bilbo, the bedrock of Frodo’s tween years, was gone. And Frodo missed him desperately already.
The blow had been softened by the presence of his dear cousin, Meriadoc Brandybuck, now a sturdy lad of nineteen. Merry had offered to put himself between Frodo and the hoards of callers and intruders alike who had come to claim (or demand) their parting gifts from the recently vanished Bilbo Baggins. Frodo had acquiesced gladly; his mind worn out with concocting a hundred different ways to say essentially the same thing- “Mr. Bilbo Baggins has gone away; as far as I know, for good.”
Merry flashed Frodo a winsome smile as he clapped his older cousin affectionately on the back.
“Well, dear cousin!” said Merry. “How does it feel to be the Master of Bag End?”
“Exhausting!” laughed Frodo and gave his eyes a mighty rub.
The stream of visitors had been relentless, and Frodo wanted nothing more than to retreat to his study and have a belated cup of tea in peace and quiet.
“Let your Merry stand guard for a bit then, Frodo dear!” offered Merry. “I promised to take care of you, and take care of you I shall!”
“You were six when you made that promise, Mer,” smiled Frodo, “So forgive me if I haven’t held you to it!”
“I’ve held myself to it, Frodo,” said Merry. “You may be older, but don’t assume you’re wiser. Perhaps you are just more decrepit now and need me more than ever!”
Frodo chuckled. “Irrepressible Brandybuck! You haven’t changed a bit, aside from your height. You are still a terror, just a bigger one.”
“I’ll take my compliments where I can, Cousin,” exclaimed Merry and took a deep drought of his afternoon ale. “Now let me handle those visitors for a spell while you relax.”
“Thank you, Merry.”
As Merry padded out of the room, Frodo had a sudden epiphany. Merry was now almost the same age as Frodo had been when he had bid the lad good-bye at Brandy Hall. How had the years passed so swiftly? The fussy baby had turned into a terrifying toddler, the toddler into a mischievous lad, and now here was Merry, a plucky but fully mature tween. Though Merry was fourteen years younger than Frodo, Merry had already surpassed him in height. Merry had grown not only in stature. With each of Merry’s annual visits to Bag End, he seemed more comfortable in his own skin, more confident, perhaps even more clever. Yes-the lad was smart, perhaps too smart for his own good. His practical jokes, many of which had been at Frodo’s expense, were legendary. Frodo recalled affectionately how Bilbo would sink into his chair after one of Merry’s visits, and sigh, “Well then, another year to recover from that one!”
Merry also had a trait that, although uncommon with hobbits in general, was a hallmark of the Brandybuck line; Merry was ambitious. At some point between childhood and his late teens, Merry had begun to take his future position as Master of Buckland very seriously. Perhaps it happened two years previously when Saradoc had fallen grievously ill and Merry feared that he might have to succeed to his office before the full flower of his maturity. Sara had recovered, but all in a position to see noted the change in Merry. The carefree rascal had seemingly grown up overnight. Saradoc was nothing if not pleased (perhaps a little surprised) and began giving his son greater and greater responsibilities, preparing him slowly but surely for the mantle of leadership he would one day wear. To the family’s delight, Merry completed these tasks with aplomb, and even showed uncanny promise with formerly elusive skills such as mathematics and writing – both essential skills for the Master of the Hall. Aside from the obvious stamp of common ancestry that rested upon the lad’s face, he shared his father’s deep desire that Buckland, and the Shire in which it lay, remain prosperous and protected.
As Frodo sat thinking, a cup of tea untouched between his elbows, his eyes half-closed, a rap at the door called him back to the present.
“Frodo!” called Merry’s voice. “Sorry, I could not keep them out! The Sackville-Bagginses are in the hall, with faces as sour as half-ripe lemons.”
Frodo heaved a defeated sigh.
“Well show them in!”
The Sackville-Bagginses stomped in, all sneers and snorts, and Merry noted with more than a little curiosity how Frodo seemed to finger something in his pocket at the sight of them. Merry smiled inwardly, knowing exactly what the mystery object was, and thinking to himself that he hardly blamed Frodo for wanting to use it.
The S-Bs were clearly put out, and upon being shown a copy of Bilbo’s will (offering irrefutable proof that they were not in it), they thundered out under a cloud of disgust, but not before Lobelia turned to Frodo with her final riposte.
“You’ll live to regret it, young fellow! Why didn’t you go too? You don’t belong here; you’re no Baggins – you- you’re a Brandybuck!”
“Did you hear that, Merry?” asked Frodo. “That was an insult if you like!”
Merry laughed as the sound of a slamming door shook the room.
“It was a compliment, and so, of course, not true.”
“Well,” laughed Frodo, “we two are equal parts Brandybuck, aren’t we; just you carry the name.”
Merry bowed with flourish. “At your service!”
Frodo stared wistfully at his closed door. “I wish those rumors of all the gold hidden in secret tunnels here would just die.”
Merry smiled sympathetically. “What-no secret troves here?!” he asked with fake incredulity.
“Just one aged Baggins, his Brandybuck guest, and a whole stack of dusty books,” sighed Frodo.
“Surely Bilbo left you //something// of value, dear cousin,” said Merry, his face growing suddenly solemn. “Mementos of his travels? Weapons from strange lands?” Merry paused for a long moment. “Jewelry?”
Merry made a quick study of Frodo’s face as he dropped the last word. A barely perceptible spasm of alarm passed over his cousin’s face. Merry’s suspicions had been correct. Frodo had inherited Bilbo’s magic ring, the one which rendered its wearer invisible.
Merry made as if he’d spoken in jest and had not expected a reply.
“No matter, Frodo, let foolish mouths prattle! And if you don’t mind me saying, let the rest of your visitors wait until tomorrow. You look as if you’re just about done in.”
Frodo nodded.
“Let’s shut the front door, then, Frodo love,” Merry suggested as he gave his exhausted cousin a gentle pat on the back. “Besides, I should nap a bit before popping over to see Pip. I made the ill-considered promise to give young Master Took a full report of the day’s events before supper.”
“The same promise you’d always wheedle out of me after every ‘adult’ gathering, as I recall!” Frodo replied with a knowing grin.
“What a pain that little squirrel has grown into!” but as Merry said it, there was affection in his eyes.
“Oh, yes, Pippin!” said Frodo with a grin. “The so-called little imp is almost a teen, and eventually he’ll be Thain, mind you!”
“Always dangling about my knees.” continued Merry. “And teaching the imp to read was like taming a wild pony.”
“You’ll be looking up to that ‘imp’ in more ways than one before you know it, so you’d best be careful how you treat him,” teased Frodo. “And I seem to remember a nuisance of a hobbit lad that used to dangle about my knees at that age. A hobbit who’d make each lesson a study in patience for his beleaguered older cousin. A hobbit who is now about yeah high.”
Frodo brought his hand up to rest on Merry’s head. “Yes-exactly your height!”
“I turned out alright! Merry snorted.
“As will the small rag-tag that you’re trying to mold into a proper Thain!”
Merry suppressed a snicker. “At least his folks appreciate my efforts.”
“Just as I appreciate all your help today, Merry lad,” said Frodo as he collapsed into a chair in the hall. “Well, you’re right about calling it a day. It’s time to close the shop, Merry. Lock the door, and don’t open it to anyone today, not even if they bring a battering ram.”
Frodo dragged himself up from the chair and plodded to his study. In minutes, Merry came through the door with a steaming cup of tea.
“You’ve earned this, Frodo,” said Merry. “Or shall I say, //Master// Frodo?”
Frodo groaned and shut the door.
The soft knock at the front door as Frodo sank back in his chair was soundly ignored. The second louder knock was treated in the same fashion. The rap on the window accompanied by baritone voice threatening to blow the door down, wisely, was not ignored.
Frodo rushed down the hall and opened the round door.
“Gandalf!” Frodo exclaimed, though hardly surprised.
Merry, who had been in an adjoining room ignoring the same series of knocks, could not have pressed his ear to the door any harder. Gandalf always had interesting things to say; and these things presumably got more interesting when Merry wasn’t meant to hear them. The conversation had become irresistible when the discussion landed upon Bilbo’s ring. The ring had been one of the chief objects of his curiosity even since he had spotted Bilbo using it to vanish from the S-Bs. ‘What now?’ Merry whispered to himself as Gandalf warned Frodo not to wear it. Perhaps this ring was a more serious matter than Merry had suspected. Perhaps his beloved Frodo was in some kind of peril. The side of Merry’s face that was mashed against the door grew numb, yet the inquisitive hobbit did not budge. Merry did not wish to miss a single word.
“Keep it safe, and keep it secret,” Gandalf warned Frodo inside the firelit room.
Unbeknownst to them both, they had already failed in this matter. Merry had heard everything, and his mind was swirling. If this ring had, as Gandalf had said, ‘other powers than just making you vanish when you wish to’ then what might it do to his Frodo? Did the wizard even know? And if he did not know, why did the wizard leave the thing in Frodo’s care while he disappeared ‘for a good while’? As much as Merry was in awe of the old wizard, he could not help but feel deep resentment. He did not trust Gandalf. No, Frodo needed someone of his own kind, of his own blood, to protect him. Frodo needed a friend who would have only his interests in mind. From behind the door, Merry vowed to himself that he would be that friend.
TBC