(Author’s Note: Dedicated to Piplover, with thanks for her inspirational impression of Pippin at our Phoenix Hobbit-Moot in early June and to Marigold, beta-extraordinaire, for her absolute insistence that this be written. I had my doubts that it could be written, but I faithfully sat down at Marigold’s laptop and outlined the story. I should explain that this story was conceived at approximately 3:30 a.m. by several bone-tired and laughter-drunk hobbits. Whatever Comes Out is Not My Fault.)

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and settings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinemas, and their licensees. These works were produced with admiration and respect, as fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, not for sale or profit. This story and all my others may be found on my website, http://budgielover.com.   

This Too Shall Pass - A Story That Shall Go Down in the Anals of Fanfic History
                                                or
Another Take on A Hobbit Pile (During which Hobbits Go With the Flow and Do What Comes Naturally)

Chapter One

Merry came awake slowly, prodded into unwilling awareness by a hairy toe nudging the side of his leg. It was very dark and the ground was hard beneath him, the heaped blankets on which he lay providing little cushion against the cold earth and small rocks that even determined clearing could not remove. Instinctively he huddled against the warmth at his side, the breathing of his friends and kin soft and sweet in his ears.

"Merry?" hissed the source of that warmth quietly, blowing his hair against his ear. He clenched his eyes shut and ignored the voice, hoping its owner would take the hint and fall silent. He hoped in vain. "Merry?" Nudge. Nudge. "Merry? I’m hungry." A hard nudge, accompanied by a mournful sigh.

"Well, there’s nothing I can do about it. Go to sleep, Pippin." Merry kept his tone low, mindful of the other members of the Company trying to rest. They had marched hard and far that day, with only infrequent rests. The long-neglected road was growing more difficult as they left the desolate land of Hollin behind them, overgrown with grass and weeds and occasional rocky outcroppings that had to be climbed. Merry’s legs ached and he did not appreciate being called from the sweet oblivion of dreams. On the far end of their sleeping line Sam muttered something and rolled over, and Frodo pressed himself against Sam’s warm back, sighing softly in his sleep.

Instead of complying with Merry’s command, Pippin half-raised himself up on his elbows and looked about the camp. The dim moonlight cast shadows into his face and threw into ambiguous silhouette the vertical forms of the trees that encircled their hidden encampment. "Do you have any bread?" Pip whispered hopefully.

"No. Go to sleep." There was movement in the darkness, and the two hobbits could just make out the guard as a patch of dark through which no stars shone. Moonlight glimmered on the razored-edge of the dwarf’s great war-axe balanced on his shoulder as Gimli turned to check on them then swung back to his watch. Aragorn slept to one side of them, bracketed across the extinguished remains of their fire by Legolas. Boromir lay at their feet and Gandalf stretched out at their heads, his long staff laid by his side. Merry had come to accept the fact that he and the other hobbits were usually placed at the center of their camp and no longer resented it. He approved, for Frodo’s sake. On the edge of the encampment, Bill drowsed on the end of his tie-stake, his head low. The pony had enjoyed a better dinner off the long grass than they had made of the woefully inadequate rations of the Fellowship, Merry thought with a sigh.

Pippin sat up further and his eyes sought out their guard. Gimli was gnawing on a leg of pheasant, his back to them, staring out into the darkness. The faintest whiff of roasted pheasant drifted back on the breeze and Pippin sniffed wistfully. "Maybe there’s something left," the tweenager murmured. "Rabbit or just a bite of pheasant. Or some cheese. Anything."

"Just lay down and go back to sleep, Pip," his older cousin whispered. "I won’t have you waking up anyone else to look."

"Too late." Frodo sat up tiredly and rubbed his eyes. Merry winced; he had hoped to avoid disturbing their cousin. The hard walking seemed to weigh more heavily on Frodo than himself or Pip or Sam, and Merry feared to consider why. Merry fought down a surge of worry, knowing that Frodo took ill to constant queries about his health.

"What is happening?" Frodo asked, keeping his voice muted. Next to him, Sam snorted in his sleep and muttered something about "taters." They all looked at him but he did not wake, switching instead to soft, rumbling snores.

"The insatiable appetite is hungry again," Merry murmured in annoyance. Pip gave him a hurt look. Hearing the faint conversation, Gimli turned and looked at them keenly. When they made no move to summon him, he tossed the gnawed bone aside and returned his attention to the night.

Instead of being bothered, Frodo smiled at their youngest cousin sleepily. "Now, Merry. I seem to recall another young hobbit who drove Brandy Hall near to distraction during his tweenaged years." Merry rolled his eyes while Pippin snuggled gratefully into his eldest cousin’s outstretched arms. Frodo smiled into his hair, the distant stars reflecting in his eyes. "Did you know your cousin managed to polish off an entire Litheday feast by himself, Pippin? Merry was twenty-six, best I can remember, and his parents had kindly invited me for the holiday. I had been so looking forward to it -"

"All right, all right," grumbled Merry ungraciously.

Frodo yawned. "Can you wait until morning, lad? I’ll ask Sam if he couldn’t find some leftover sausages. I know he’s been saving a few." Pippin nodded. "Good. Go to sleep, both of you. We’ve a long way to go tomorrow."

"I’m sorry I woke you, Frodo," Pippin whispered.

His eyelids already drooping under the weight of his fatigue, Frodo hugged him then let go and lay back down. Pippin yawned and slid into the nest of bedrolls as Merry pulled the blankets up over them. With a martyred sigh, Pippin burrowed down, tugging his scarf up to shelter his ears from the chill air. Green-gold eyes looked into Merry’s sorrowfully. "I’ll dream about food," Pippin threatened, shifting a little to find a softer patch of ground.

"Fine," Merry returned drowsily. "Just do it quietly, please."

Some time after the hobbits’ breathing had evened out, one of the shadowed figures to their side moved. Legolas sat up and looped his long arms over his knees, watching the small, unmoving forms. Pippin’s late-night hunger had come close to ending his planned night’s work, his repayment for their little prank. The Elf did not actually know which of the little folk (or which combination of the little folk) had collected beads of tree-sap and mixed them with water and poured the sticky mixture into his hair-washing soap. But Merry and Pippin seemed the most likely choice. Legolas had his honour to uphold, and he intended to do just that.

Utterly soundless, the Elf pushed back his blankets and rose, drifting over to the sleeping hobbits. Gimli did not turn, night-bred eyes alert for threats from without. Legolas smiled to himself and knelt at the outer edge of the hobbit pile.

Merry lay with one arm curled under his head and the other thrown out, hand open and relaxed. He slept peacefully, head turned a little to the side, scrunched-up nose above a slightly open mouth. Pippin snuggled next to him on his side, his bronze head pressed into Merry’s ribs and legs curled tightly under him, posterior poking against Frodo. Frodo slept deeply, wearily, and Legolas regretted that the Ring-bearer would have his much-needed rest interrupted. Perhaps he could make it up to the halfling another time. On the far end Sam snored softly, a sound the Elf knew was both familiar and reassuring to the others.

With all the delicacy his race possessed, Legolas reached over to Merry’s outflung arm and unbuttoned the single button at the cuff of the hobbit’s long sleeve. Merry never moved. More confident now, the Elf’s slender fingers eased back the cloth, folding it carefully until it was gathered just below the hobbit’s elbow. Then he took the tiny piece of roasted bird he had saved from dinner and swiped it lightly along the hobbit’s exposed forearm.

Merry scowled in his sleep, uncurling his hand from under his head and swiping at his extended arm in annoyance. "… bugs," he muttered. Then his face grimaced in distaste and Legolas looked at him in surprise. "Nutritious," the hobbit murmured. "Ugh…" Legolas poised himself to spring away with elven speed but retreat was not necessary. Merry sniffled and turned himself over on his side towards his little cousin, his greased arm extended before him. The Elf smiled to himself. Better and better.

He spared a moment to ensure that none of the hobbits showed signs of waking, then spread his hand and balanced himself forward on the cold earth by Merry’s head. Leaning forward over the sleeping halfling, he lightly, ever so lightly, picked up Merry’s limp arm. Careful not to pull or squeeze, he moved the arm into Pippin’s grasp. Pippin obligingly hugged Merry’s arm in both of his, his cousin’s touch as familiar to him as his own.

With the hobbits arranged as he wanted, Legolas dangled the bit of meat before Pippin’s pointed nose. It twitched, and Pippin’s eyes moved under the closed lids. "…um," Pippin mumbled, "I’ll take the thigh, Merry," he murmured in indistinct dream-speak, "you … the breast…"

Gimli turned at the blurred words, soft as they were, and his dark-accustomed eyes easily picked out the shadowed form of the kneeling Elf. The dwarf’s eyes widened in astonishment. His bearded mouth opened, but Legolas waved his free hand at him with unaccustomed urgency, silencing him. Gimli stared, then a smile curved his lips. Three days ago, the dwarf had awakened to find dozens of little pink bows knotted into the carefully maintained braids of his beard. A fair amount of beard, a dwarf’s pride, had been pulled out in their removal.

The younger halflings adamantly denied the prank, Pippin clinging to Merry nervously. Unable to produce incriminating evidence, Gimli’s outrage had had to go unsatisfied. The ribbons’ source had remained a mystery, but Legolas’ sharp eyes had noted that a tiny piece of the hem of Pippin’s burgundy cloak was missing, as was the ribbon lacing on one of Merry’s shirts. It would not be so difficult to flinch a sliver of the strong lye soap Sam had brought along. Combine the three and a few minutes of soaking in hot water … and pink ribbons. Gimli stood a moment longer, then meeting the Elf’s eyes, pointedly turned his back on Legolas and resumed staring out into the night, unmoving except for occasionally shaking of his heavy shoulders.

Breathing a noiseless sigh of relief, Legolas dipped the tiny piece of leftover fowl before Pippin’s nose. Like a baby bird, Pippin’s head rose a tiny bit to follow it, then settled down back. "Yum," he mumbled, licking his lips with a soft little sigh. Legolas dipped the roasted meat again, and Pippin, sleeping still, inched forward. "Huh," he snuffled, "ummmm?" Legolas wafted the meat above Merry’s arm, deposited it carefully on the moon-washed flesh and withdrew with all the speed his kind possessed.

- Chomp, chomp, chomp -

"Auguuurraaah!" The young hobbit’s shriek was so loud that, safely ensconced in his blankets, Legolas winced. Aragorn shot to his feet, his sword drawn and at the ready before the sleep had cleared from his eyes. He spun around, his long leather coat billowing about him. Boromir rolled over onto his shield, knocking it down and setting up a great clatter. The soldier struggled up, swearing. Bill threw up his head and squealed, almost jerking his picket from the ground. Gandalf, too, was on his feet, sword drawn and staff raised, piercing eyes glaring into the darkness. In a blinding flare of light, the wizard’s staff burst into radiance. Sam had thrown himself over Frodo and was trying to keep his master down while he glared wildly about him. Gimli contributed to the general confusion by roaring inarticulately into the darkness and swinging his axe, carefully keeping his gaze away from the Elf.

Able to locate no immediate threat, Aragorn was over to Merry in a flash. "Legolas!" he shouted as he dropped his long sword and sank down at Merry’s side, "Scout the camp! Gimli, Boromir, take the perimeters! Gandalf, do you sense anything?" Solicitous hands helped the young hobbit into a sitting position. "Merry! What is it? What attacked you?" He fell silent upon seeing the two rows of shallow teeth-marks decorating Merry’s arm, from his wrist all the way to the elbow.

* TBC *

Chapter Two
(My thanks to Shirebound for permission to reference "Borgin OneHand" from her "The Master of Bag End")

The following night, the hobbit pile was pointedly constructed on the opposite end of camp from the Elf. Legolas had left no clues and Gimli did not speak, but the hobbits were suspicious. Pippin had apologized to Merry so many times that Merry had forbidden him to say it again, putting an arm around the slender shoulders and telling the mortified tweenager, "It wasn’t your fault, Pippin-lad. I’m not holding you responsible." The last was said loudly and with a piercing glare towards Legolas.

"Merry," Frodo said nervously, "let it go. Somehow I cannot see the Prince of Mirkwood enticing Pip to bite your arm in the middle of the night. It must have been a dream. Wasn’t it a dream, Pippin my lad?"

Pippin looked between his glowering elder cousin and his upset eldest cousin anxiously. "I don’t know," he stammered. "I was so hungry, Frodo, and I thought I smelled roasted pheasant. With sage. I was holding this big, juicy drumstick -"

"Why don’t we have a tale?" interjected a familiar voice hurriedly. The hobbits looked up from their huddle to see Aragorn regarding them worriedly. Seeing their eyes upon him, the Ranger offered them a strained smile.

Frodo looked at him gratefully. Merry eyed him distrustfully but Pippin was immediately enthusiastic. "A tale?" the young hobbit asked, his eyes shining with eagerness. He considered for a moment. "Do you know any ghost stories?"

"That is perhaps not the wisest choice of stories, Pippin," Gandalf remarked. From his position on watch, Boromir snorted his agreement, but would not meet the hobbits’ eyes when they looked at him. "Would you not rather hear a tale of great deeds and mighty heroes?" Gandalf continued, shifting uncomfortably on the log he was using for a seat. "Or perhaps a tale from Bilbo’s journey with me? I am certain there are many things our dear Bilbo did not tell you about our Adventure."

Pippin wavered, visibly torn between hearing a story his ancient cousin would omit, and his favourite type of story. "How about both?" he asked hopefully.

Aragorn glanced up at the stars and judged the lateness of the hour. "No, that would take too long. We must be ready to march at first light tomorrow. You must choose one or the other."

The tweenager chewed his lip and looked to his cousins. Frodo and Merry shrugged, leaving the decision up to him, though Frodo’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "Sam?" Pippin appealed.

"Up ‘ta you, Master Pippin," Sam said equitably.

"The ghost story," Pippin decided.

Aragorn gestured grandly for the hobbits to take their places around the campfire. Sam hurried to finish packing up his pans, pointed ears pricked. One by one, the larger members of the Company joined the smaller, the promise of entertainment distracting them from Merry’s suspicions.

* * * * *
"The hand - no one ever found it. It just disappeared. Maybe it fell through a crack in the wall, or in the floor, or just got overlooked somehow. Soon after that, the Dwarves started avoiding this room, and it was eventually filled in, but never forgotten. Folks reported hearing strange sounds in the earth, and feeling a cold chill come over them."

Aragorn paused and exhaled dramatically. The hobbits, he was pleased to note, seemed entranced. Frodo was leaning forward, his chin cupped in his hands and elbows balanced on knees, obviously thinking about the tale. Sitting beside his master on the log, Sam’s grey eyes sparkled with delight in the firelight. Merry sat next to Sam, frowning. Pippin was sprawled on the ground before Merry, and had pushed himself back against his cousin with his hands on Merry’s knees, wide-eyed and apprehensive. The Ranger smiled wryly at them to let them know the tale was done.

Gimli chucked. "Good story, that. Best you watch where you lay down to sleep, my friends. Who knows what crawls around in the dark, out here in the Wild?" The dwarf did not look at the Elf as he said this, but both of them smiled at nothing. Gandalf stared at them, bushy brows raised.

Sam and Frodo exchanged an amused glance at Pippin’s concentration. Frodo met the Ranger’s eyes and grimaced, letting him know without words that the blatant attempt at distraction had succeeded. Then he yawned, belatedly raising a hand to cover his mouth. "It’s late, lads. Time for bed, I think."

With many yawns, the Fellowship rolled out their bedrolls and prepared for sleep. "Pippin," asked Frodo quietly when they had settled, "will you be all right?"

Pippin flushed. "I’m not a baby, Cousin," he whispered back huffily. "I’m not going to have nightmares just because I heard a ghost story before bed."

"All right, all right," Frodo responded in conciliatory tones. "But if you come awake in the night, Pip, I don’t mind if you wake me. I like to watch the stars wheel across the sky." Pippin smiled then, no longer insulted.

Legolas waited until he was quite certain his intended victims slept deeply before rising as soundlessly as wind in the grass and drifting over to Sam. Last night’s work had been partial repayment, but there was still a balance owing. It had taken him a half-hour’s immersion in a freezing stream to get that sap out of his hair. This eve, Samwise had taken the spot on the end closest to Legolas, forcing Merry to accept the far position or allow Pip to be on the outside of their protective line. Merry was well aware of Sam’s manoeuvrings but had no option but to accept them. Legolas laughed to himself; the little gardener’s efforts at keeping the peace would be for naught.

Peregrin, the Elf noted, slept restlessly, his sharp face mobile in slumber. He was sorry to frighten the young one, as he felt Merry was both the originator and the implementer of the prank played upon him. Frodo curled next to Pippin, facing him, his head cradled on his hands as he lay quietly on his side. None of the halflings showed any evidence of waking.

It had been difficult to secrete the polished leg bone from the small deer he had shot for their dinner, as Merry had kept a close eye on him all evening. Nevertheless, he had managed it. Now the Elf stepped past the other halflings to kneel at Merry’s head. He reached back over his shoulder and slid his hand under the cloth of his jerkin, rolling his shoulders to position the slender bone to where his fingers could close upon it. He withdrew the gleaming white bone from its hiding place and spared a quick glance for the guard. Boromir stared out into the night, watchful and alert, veteran of a thousand watches. But his mortal ears were not sharp enough to track the Elf’s movements. Legolas’ starry eyes crinkled in amusement. If Aragorn or Gandalf held the watch, he would not have dared this. Or another of the hobbits, for their ears too were keen. It had only been by luck that Gimli had discovered him last night. The Elf did not fear discovery by Boromir unless by accident. With a smile, Legolas returned his attention to the task at hand.

The halflings slept more closely together this night. Legolas wondered if it was the result of the cold or Aragorn’s silly tale? Pippin slept half-draped over Merry, his arm thrown across his cousin and his chin tucked into Merry’s chest. Both of the little ones would need to move if Legolas’ plan was to succeed. Using a feather saved from last night’s dinner, Legolas carefully tickled the palm of Merry’s outstretched hand. Merry grumbled, his eyebrows contracting. His hand twitched. Legolas repeated the action, a little harder this time. Merry dragged his arm back and draped it over his chest. Pippin snuffled in his sleep then inched his head up slightly, resting his cheek on Merry’s hand, taking advantage of the extra pillow.

The wafting of a piece of broiled deer before Pippin’s nose brought the curly head up again. The stars favoured his efforts, Legolas thought. He had been uncertain whether the same trick would work twice, but it seemed a hobbit’s attraction to food could be counted upon. Quickly the Elf pulled a fold of blanket over Merry’s hand, concealing it completely. Pippin’s head settled back. "Deer," he muttered in sleep-talk, snuggling closer. Or perhaps it was, "dear."

Legolas judged his angle carefully then slid the end of the white bone underneath Merry’s blanket, careful not to let the bone touch either hobbit. He stood and regarded his handiwork. At first glance or even second, a sleep-mazed mind would see shining bone extending from the hobbit’s sleeve. A corner of Legolas’ mouth curled up as he remembered the tale Aragorn had given them that night. The Elf returned to his bedroll and slid himself into his blankets soundlessly, then picked up a small pebble and arced it cleanly into Merry’s side.

* * * * *
The resulting screams and alarms had been most satisfying, Legolas reflected. Regrettably, there had been one minor side-incident. Pippin had woken in a panic, shrieking and thrashing wildly about, and had inadvertently torn off and swallowed a button from Merry’s bright yellow waistcoat. Aragorn had assured everyone that ingesting a small button would not harm the tweenager, but Merry’s reaction had surprised them all.

"This wouldn’t be the first button, or other non-edible thing Pip has eaten," Merry declared. "I don’t have any replacements and I want it back."

"Merry," Aragorn said with a startled look, "you cannot have the button back. Pippin ate it."

Merry’s features had turned mulish. Pippin grinning at him had probably not helped. "It’s my button and I want it. Give Pippin a herb or something to make him bring it back up."

Pippin’s grin had abruptly disappeared. "Now hold on a moment -" Frodo had began, but Aragorn was already shaking his head.

"I will not make Pippin drink anything to make him sick, Merry. If you want your button, you can have it in … three or four days, I would guess."

"Of course it might be earlier, Merry," Pippin had added, all big eyes and innocent expression. "Shall I let you know? It’s mornings, usually, but sometimes evenings. Good thing it was a small button, wasn’t it? It should pass through quickly enough. You should be able to find it fairly easily -"

"Peregrin, stop teasing Merry," Frodo commanded. Merry flushed and mumbled two words under his breath. "And you, sir," their elder cousin continued, "will not use that sort of language. Nor call your cousin that … no matter how factually correct the term is in this circumstance." He paused and looked narrowly at the two younger hobbits. "Are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Cousin Frodo," Pippin agreed airily, to be echoed a moment later less willingly by Merry.

When they settled that night, Aragorn discreetly pulled Legolas aside after they had eaten. "Would you please leave the hobbits alone?" the Ranger requested.

The Elf was perfectly still for a moment, then his elegant head tilted. "I assume you read the earth this morning?"

Aragorn nodded. "As soon as it was light. Elves are difficult to track, but you did leave some trail." The Ranger sighed and slid a long-suffering hand over his eyes. "Do you consider your honour satisfied?"

Legolas nodded graciously. "I consider the young ones’ debt repaid. I will not seek further amends. Unless they start it."

Aragorn’s gaze narrowed. "Legolas, you are over two thousand years old. The hobbits haven’t seen a century yet. Surely you can rise above a little prank-playing?"

"As I recall," Legolas replied, "a certain Ranger was complaining to me of … let me think…" (he paused, irritating his friend as both knew an Elf’s perfect memory never failed him) "…sticky dough in your pockets from the kitchens in Rivendell, liquor-laden taffy sweets that made you ill, frogs in your boots, chilli pepper sprinkled in your pipe-weed, a half-score of rabbit eyeballs in your soup, minnows in your water-skin, a live crayfish slipped into the cooked ones on your plate – does your tongue still pain you? Then the -"

Aragorn was glowering by now. "You have made your point." He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes for a moment. "All right, I acknowledge that a little payback would be sweet. But no more pranks in the middle of the night."

Legolas nodded serenely. "Unless they start it."

* TBC *

Chapter Three

"Hissst!" Sam looked about him in bewilderment, his skinning knife lax in his hand as he surveyed the small clearing next to a stream that the Fellowship had chosen for that night’s camp. He was certain something had just hissed at him. He gave the coney he was working on a suspicious look.

"Sam! HissssSSST!"

A shrubbery quivered and Merry’s anxious face peeked out at him. Mystified, Sam started to ask, "Mr. Merry, what are you about?" but got not farther than "Mister -" before Merry hushed him frantically, finger held up to his lips.

With a quick glance around the camp, Merry emerged from the bushes for a better look. Pippin was helping Boromir curry the pony, holding the brushes and combs and handing them to the soldier as called for. The two were evidently discussing something they found humorous – Pippin smirked while the Man threw back his head and laughed. Frodo was bent over the packs, searching for various items Sam had asked for to prepare dinner. Frodo’s light voice asked some question and upon receiving Pippin’s reply, joined them in laughter.

Aragorn drifted over from his post on watch and had a quiet word with them, and the three subsided. Smiling at whatever Boromir had told him, the Ranger resumed his place. Gimli and Legolas were slightly beyond the edges of camp, skinning and quartering the rest of the rabbits. Gandalf sat smoking not far from them, eyes closed, either resting or engaging in some wizardly communication with who-knew-what. Reassured that they would not be overheard, Merry edged closer to Sam and held out his cupped hands.

"Look, Sam. I’ve found a special treat for Pippin." Blue-black berries, freshly washed, gleamed in Merry’s hands. A few glossy bright green leaves were mixed among them. "A little apology for my bad temper, you know. Could I have a little of the sugar and some nutmeg? I’m afraid there aren’t enough for everyone, but Pippin loves bilberries –"

"Shame on you, Mr. Merry," Sam growled. "Bilberries! Oh, they look close enough, they do. Them’s whinberries, or bog blueberries, as you well know, what with studying herb-lore and all. You want that button back mighty fast, then?"

Merry flushed. "Pippin won’t know the difference, Sam! And they won’t hurt him, truly."

"Just clean him out quick as a whistle," Sam replied grimly. "I’ll not be giving you nutmeg nor anything else, Mr. Merry. You can just take them whinberries and -"

"Are those bilberries, Merry?" came an eager voice in Merry’s ear. Merry blanched and Sam jumped. Frodo peered eagerly over Merry’s shoulder at the enticing fruits. "Here’s the salt, Sam. May I have a few of those, Cousin?"

"No!" shouted Merry and Sam both. Frodo looked surprised. Everyone else in camp turned to stare at them. Aragorn swung around, frowning, and Merry cupped his hands close to his chest in panic, hiding the berries from the Ranger’s eyes.

"Why not?" Frodo asked, looking injured. "I don’t want all of them, you greedy hobbit."

"They’re mine!" Merry yelped, backing away from his cousin. "Mine!"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck - " Frodo began but Merry forestalled him. He had no other choice, Merry told himself. He could not allow the berries to be examined. He certainly could not permit Frodo or anyone else to try them. His face contorting, he raised the double handful of potent laxatives to his mouth and crammed them in.

Frodo’s and Sam’s jaws dropped in horror, for entirely different reasons. Merry chomped down and forced the half-chewed mass down his throat. The two he dropped he ground into the dirt with a toe, squishing them to unidentifiable pulp. Purplish juice squirted out of his overfull mouth and ran down his chin to stain his white shirt.

Frodo closed his mouth with an effort. Sam was still staring, his eyes perfectly round. "Well, I never -" Frodo began. "What has gotten into you, lad?"

"Reckon it’ll soon be out of him," Sam said with a grin. Merry glared at him miserably, the first internal rumblings already making themselves felt. He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, then meekly accepted the one Frodo held out to him, wiping the juice from his face. He offered it silently back to his cousin and Frodo shook his head.

Merry’s face paled and sweat bloomed on his brow. He crossed his arms over his stomach and pressed hard, hoping to still the churning. "Merry," Frodo asked, "are you all right?" The young hobbit gave his friends a sickly grin. "Here, sit down, lad," Frodo urged, guiding his younger cousin to one of the logs they had pulled up for a bench. He had just settled Merry down when the young hobbit shot to his feet.

"Excuse me," Merry said shakily, "I’ve… I’ve got to … attend to … something."  Before Frodo or Sam could react, he was fleeing from the clearing. Frodo and Sam stared after him.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Frodo asked, baffled.

Sam grinned. "Don’t worry, sir. No doubt it will come out all right in the end."

* * * * *
Merry was in a foul humour when he finally returned to camp, late into the chilly night. Boromir had gone to check on him and returned grimacing in sympathy, informing the others that Meriadoc would most likely appreciate some privacy. Pippin had waited until he could stay awake no longer, then gave into Frodo’s urgings that he sleep. Sam was standing the watch and greeted Merry’s arrival with a soft, "All right there, sir?"

Merry had groaned then whimpered, sliding down into his blankets and turning his back on their friend. Which left him facing Frodo over Pippin’s blanket-shrouded body. Frodo’s eyes gleamed at him in the darkness. "I got the story out of Sam," Frodo whispered without preamble.

Merry winced. "I’m sorry, Frodo. Truly."

"Yes, I imagine you are," Frodo murmured back. "Are you over it now?"

Merry nodded miserably. Pippin snuffled and turned over in his sleep, burrowing his head into Merry’s chest. Merry looped his arms over the small back automatically, and saw Frodo’s face soften in the starlight. "Pippin has been worried sick. I wouldn’t let him look for you, telling him you needed some thinking-time."

Merry nodded again, too spent to reply.

"Let that be a lesson to you, my lad," Frodo continued quietly. "Ill intent rebounds on the ill-wisher. You only got what you deserved."

"I know," Merry whispered back, hugging Pippin tighter.

With a sigh, Frodo reached an arm over Pippin and stroked Merry’s face. Merry leaned into the gentle caress gratefully. "Get some sleep, Merry-lad," Frodo whispered. "I think you paid for your mistake. We’ll speak no more of it."

After he was certain his elder cousins were asleep, Pippin opened his eyes and eased away from Merry. So that’s how the wind blew, was it? And here he had been so concerned over Merry’s being ill! Pippin chewed the inside of his cheek and stared at the soft planes of his sleeping cousin’s cheek.

He did feel just a little sorry for Merry, mixed with no small amount of amusement. Younger and smaller than Merry, it was rare that Pippin got the upper hand over his cousin… even unknowingly. Pippin’s superior smile faded. Merry really was upset about the ridiculous button, then. Pippin would have to do something about that.

The obvious answer made him wince. Surely there was another route he could take? Another route … another… Of their own accord, Pippin’s eyes moved to his cousin’s treasured waistcoat, gleaming a pale gold in the moonlight. One button looked exactly like another, didn’t it?

Pippin raised himself up on his elbows and peered into his cousin’s face. Then very carefully, he blew on the side of Merry’s temple. Merry’s brows drew down and he muttered something in his sleep. Another gentle puff of air drew a swat. A third and Merry grumbled and turned over in his sleep, his back to Pippin. The tweenager sat back with a grin. Perfect.

It was difficult to ease his hands under the back of Merry’s jacket without waking his cousin but Pippin managed it. Merry giggled slightly as Pippin’s fingers trailed over that ticklish spot at the base of his spine and Pip hastily pulled back. With a snore, Merry settled. Pippin waited a moment longer just to be sure, then small, nimble fingers sought for and found the single button that anchored the tie at the back of Merry’s waistcoat.

Twist and pull, twist and pull. Pippin began to curse Merry’s tailor. His buttons never seemed so securely fastened. At last the button popped free and Pippin withdrew his hand, the little piece of carved horn safe in his grasp.

* * * * *
"Merry?" asked Pippin hesitantly the next morning.

Merry finished rolling his blankets and straightened with a groan, his hand pressing against his stomach like it hurt. Pippin looked at him worriedly. He sidled up to his beloved elder cousin and caught the hand, spreading Merry’s palm. Then he put his over it and dropped in the button.

Merry stared at it in shock. "Pip! How did you -?" Abruptly his face reddened as he realized the (seemingly) only possible answer.

"I washed it and boiled it and everything," Pippin assured his cousin.

Then he was swept into Merry’s arms and thoroughly hugged. Pippin revelled in the embrace and hugged Merry back just as hard. "It hardly hurt at all, Merry," he murmured into Merry’s neck. "Truly."

"Oh, Pip," murmured Merry, tears in his eyes. "My dear Pip."

This tender scene had not gone unnoticed by Aragorn. Nor had the tattered threads at the back of the young hobbit’s waistcoat, revealed when Merry had taken off his jacket to kneel at the stream for his morning wash. The Ranger paused in accepting a bundle from Sam and tying on the pony. A jerk of his chin drew the others’ attention to the young hobbits. Frodo sighed in relief and Gandalf patted his shoulder before joining Boromir at the edge of the clearing, discussing their day’s march in soft voices. "Well, that’s finished with," Aragorn muttered in relief. "Until Meriadoc sees the back of his waistcoat, at least."

"Hobbits are devious creatures," Legolas returned contemplatively. "They seem adept at misdirection."

"Also mischief, misbehaviour and misconduct," Aragorn added heavily. "Really, Legolas, you have no idea."

Frodo joined them, grinning cheekily. "We may be small compared to Big Folk," he said, "but it is a mistake to underestimate us." Aragorn rolled his eyes at the hobbit’s wordplay but Legolas only smiled with amusement. Frodo narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the Elf’s patronizing attitude. "That just might earn you more sap in your soap, Legolas."

For the first time in Aragorn’s memory, Legolas seemed at a loss for words. "You…" the Elf tried. "You… You?"

"Oh, it wasn’t that difficult," Frodo said breezily. "It was much harder to tie all those ribbons in Gimli’s beard as he slept -"

"What?" a gruff voice roared behind them.

Frodo leaped into the air and came down in a half-crouch. Intent on the discussion before him, he had missed Gimli’s heavy tread as the dwarf came up behind him. Frodo’s eyes widened as he realized he had given himself away. He held up his hands in a placating gesture as he fell back a step. Aragorn and Legolas advanced on him, their expressions grim. Gimli cut off his escape to the rear. "Wait," the Ring-bearer pleaded. "I can explain. Things were so dull -" he leaped sideways and crashed into Merry, Pippin beside him, who were blocking his retreat. "Eeeeep!"

Gandalf sighed and leaned on his staff to wait it out. "Hobbits," he muttered resignedly. Sam looked away, grinning, and continued to load the pony.

The End