Thanks to Shirebound for betaing this.

A Little Push Out of the Door

"Help! Help!" The cry echoed through Bag End, causing Bilbo to blot the parchment on which he was writing the translation of a very tricky Sindarin poem.

"Blast and bebother!" he muttered as he looked up in annoyance. "Frodo-lad, go see what the problem is this time."

Frodo, looking up from his studies, nodded and reluctantly set his book down. He’d been reading a fascinating account of the Fell Winter, and was loathe to interrupt it just now. A second round of screams and an irritated glare from Bilbo got him moving.

Trudging down the hall, Frodo opened the door to the guest room. His young cousin Merry, a robust fifteen-year-old who was visiting for several weeks, was standing near the wardrobe, holding the doors shut. The wardrobe was behaving in an entirely un-wardrobe-like fashion, rocking back and forth and emitting the most dreadful howls of anguish and fury imaginable.

"Merry." Frodo made no effort to disguise his exasperation. "Let him out. Now."

"But Frodo," Merry objected, "just look at this mess he made of my paints."

Frodo flicked his eyes towards the pots of paint that were lying on the floor. There were about six of them, all the same indeterminate shade of mucky brown, with traces of the original colors showing only here and there. Frodo’s eyes returned to Merry and the wardrobe, which was now shaking violently and seemed in danger of falling over.

"Let. Him. Out." Merry flinched under the glacial stare Frodo sent his way.

"Fine!" he muttered sulkily and released the doors. A thoroughly rumpled and flushed seven-year-old popped out and grinned rather cheekily at Frodo, no trace of distress showing anywhere.

"Hullo, Frodo, have you come to play with us?" Pippin asked hopefully.

Frodo just stared at the child until even Pippin’s imperturbably good humor began to wilt. "The two of you have done nothing but argue and fight all morning. I think you should go outside for a little while." Frodo amazed himself with how calmly he said this.

"It’s raining lizards and frogs out there, Frodo!" objected Merry, but Pippin was already running down the hall, heading for the back door.

Frodo watched Pippin sail past, and then turned his glare on Merry. "Bilbo’s had to start his work over three times this morning because of disruptions from this room. You will go outside, now, and you will stay outside until you are called in for lunch. Is that clear, Meriadoc?"

Merry ducked his head under the force of his usually mild cousin’s ire. "Yes, Frodo." Heaving a great sigh, he followed Pippin down the hall and out the door.

Frodo felt a moment’s guilt as he saw the warm summer rain pounding down in the garden. The guilt vanished almost immediately, however, as he watched Pippin tackle Merry, the larger cousin flying into the compost heap with a howl. He knew it was difficult for the lads to play quietly during the hours in which Frodo and Bilbo worked in the study, and promised himself that he would come up with a really good game to play with them after lunch. With a much lighter step, he returned to the study.

"I think we’ll get some peace now, Uncle. I sent them outside," he informed Bilbo as he picked up his book.

"In this weather?" Bilbo looked out the window at the downpour. "How in the world did you get Merry to agree with that? He hates the rain."

"Oh," Frodo smirked, "I just gave him a little push out of the door."