Chapter Text
Merry whirled, caught up a spear from the ground, and raised it.
Pippin screamed, loud and shrill, as the orange missile hit its target with a wet THUNK. The Pumpkin balanced for an instant on the spear, then crashed to the ground, rolled a few feet, and stopped.
“Merry!” Pippin shrieked, dashing forward to where his cousin lay crumpled on the grass.
“I’m fine,” Merry gasped, slowly picking himself up. “I rolled out of the way before it landed.”
Pippin skidded to a stop, eyes fixed on the Chief Pumpkin. “Merry, is it dead? It’s not moving. I think you got it through the heart!”
“Ow, ow, never mind,” Merry muttered. “I’m not fine, I landed on a nettle. Ow…”
“Merry,” Pippin laughed as men and lads ran toward them, “You speared the Chief Pumpkin!”
“I landed on an entire bush ,” Merry complained, brushing hastily at his left arm. “Ow!”
“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Uncle Saradoc bellowed, “What in tarnation are you doing here? You knew better! I told you to stay home! You almost got yourself crushed by the Chief Pumpkin!”
“But I didn’t,” Merry pointed out.
“He killed it!” someone shouted as the Hobbits gathered around.
“Is that the Chief Pumpkin?”
“Merry took down the Chief Pumpkin!”
“Three cheers for Meriadoc, legend of the Hunt!”
Merry’s lips twitched as the group of hunters erupted in applause, but he pushed back his smile. Pippin didn’t bother. “Hurrah for Merry!” he shouted.
Uncle Saradoc glared at Merry with stormy eyes. “You knew better, son! What were you thinking? Where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I rolled out of the way in time. All I’ve got to show for it is a nettle sting.”
“Serves you right!” Uncle Saradoc snapped, turning his arm over firmly for a look.
“Maybe several dozen nettle stings,” Merry amended, wincing at the movement.
“You could have been killed!” his father fumed, turning him in a circle to check for further injuries. “What in the Four Farthings, and Buckland—and all Wilderland—possessed you to charge the Chief Pumpkin?”
“I—” Pippin began, but Merry cut him off.
“Dad, I’m eighteen. We always start hunting at eighteen. I never meant to go for the Chief. I was trying to prove myself to you by catching several smaller ones, but I must have angered the Chief, because he came for me.”
“And you brought Pippin out here?” Uncle Saradoc exploded. The crowd had fallen silent.
“Actually, he came for Pippin,” Merry said quietly. “The scarlet seemed to attract him. So I took the cloth to keep Pippin safe, and he’s fine. See?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Uncle Sar—”
“Meriadoc Brandybuck, tell me right now why you brought Pippin out here.”
Merry hung his head and dropped the hand he had been rubbing on his left arm. “Well, I couldn’t keep him from following, now could I? I took him so I could make him promise to obey and not ask questions and not spear anything.”
“Then why is he holding a spear?”
Merry looked up into his father’s eyes. “He wanted to rescue me, but I rolled away in time. Dad, I promise he never tried to spear a pumpkin. I was looking out for him.”
“I can look out for myself,” Pippin protested. “I never got hit when I was herding!”
“You let Pippin herd pumpkins?!”
“I split off our section of the herd,” Merry said hastily. “I didn’t make him do that. And he was safer than me, Dad—”
“Than you, certainly!” Uncle Saradoc scoffed.
“The rest of the pumpkins were scared of the cloth. They charged away from him.”
“They better have! Come here, Peregrin Took.”
Pippin approached timidly, and Uncle Saradoc turned him around, checking for injuries.
“Lucky you didn’t die, you little fool. Your father would have killed me before he died of grief. I doubt you’ll be allowed back to Buckland in autumn for years! If either of you ever bring a child into the Hunt again, I will—I will horsewhip you or lock you underground for months or—” His fingers tightened on Pippin’s shoulders. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Merry.
“You too, Pippin. No more pumpkin hunting until your father gives the word.”
Pippin cringed and nodded. When Uncle Saradoc finally let go, he darted behind his cousin.
“And you, Merry: you said you were aiming for small pumpkins. Where are they?”
“They were faster than I thought. I need you to teach me, Dad.”
“Teach you to run straight into danger!”
“No, Dad, to fight off danger. I promise I’ll obey you and stay with the other lads till I’m ready, if you’ll only let me into the Hunts.”
“In other words, you only caught a pumpkin because it attacked you.”
Merry, beginning to look exasperated, pointed to the mountain of orange shell. “In other words, the Chief Pumpkin tried to flatten me and I came out of it with a nettled arm and my first kill! I don’t know much yet, but I can keep my head in an emergency. I’ll learn, Dad, and I’ll learn slow and proper if you let me.”
Uncle Saradoc ran a hand through his grey-flecked hair and sighed, looking for the first time at the Chief Pumpkin.
Merry stepped forward and slipped his arms around him. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Dad,” he whispered, “But I can’t just stay back all the time. Please? I’ll be good, I promise, and you can punish me all you like for today, but—”
“Hush, son, let me think.” Uncle Saradoc shut his eyes, pressing Merry close. Merry tightened his grip.
Pippin glanced away to see the main bulk of the herd rolling away southeast. “We didn’t interrupt the Hunt, did we?” he asked anxiously.
“Sure, little master,” said old Hob Hayward, “But we got enough. ‘Specially with your friend’s catch there. We only cull ‘em each year; don’t take out near the whole herd.”
“Oh, good,” said Pippin, returning his attention to the fateful hug.
“The world is conspiring against me,” Uncle Saradoc muttered at last. “First your grandfather, then you mother, now this whole crowd. You may join the next Hunt, but you must obey me.”
Pippin leapt into the air with a whoop.
“I will Dad, I promise,” Merry said into his father’s chest. “Thank you.”
“And I still say those nettles served you right. I certainly hope your mother hasn’t missed you yet, or she’ll be having half the heart attack I had when I saw that pumpkin bearing down on you!”
“Me too!” said Merry, drawing a reluctant laugh from his father.
Uncle Saradoc finally drew back, still holding Merry by the shoulders. He looked at the Chief Pumpkin, then down at Merry.
“Friends,” he said, raising his voice, “My son has killed his first pumpkin. Is it not magnificent? Truly worthy of a Master of Buckland. Meriadoc, draw out your spear.”
Merry knelt by the pumpkin and carefully tugged his spear out of the broken shell.
Uncle Saradoc laid a hand on his shoulder, and raised the other. “My friends, I give you Meriadoc Brandybuck, fully pumpkined. Use your freedom well, son.”
“I will,” said Merry, but he was drowned out by the cheers of his friends.
“Hurrah for Merry!”
“Merry the Chief Pumpkin slayer!”
“Meriadoc the Magnificent!” someone shouted, and soon the others caught on.
“Three cheers for Meriadoc the Magnificent!”