Title: Feeding a Cousin
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac involuntarily shares Frodo's meal.

Special thanks to shirebound for her swift beta.

~*~*~

"Hundy?" the child held out a piece of rather slobbery bread, its softened crumbs already sticking to the fingers drenched in salvia.

"No, thank you," Merimac stammered gently pushing the small hand back. He watched in revulsion as Frodo's toothless mouth scrunched the crust of bread. The toddler was drooling mightily and he wondered whether the bread still tasted of anything but Frodo's spit.

"Tis dood!" The child told him, nodding vigorously.

Mac agreed half-heartedly, his face a mask of disgust. Next time Aunt Primie asked him to look after Frodo he would make sure the tot would not be eating before he agreed.

"Eat!" Merimac was astounded at the sudden command. Frodo stretched out one of his sticky hands again, his eyes huge and pleading.

Mac shuddered. Pouting lips and begging eyes or no, he could not do this.

"Pease?" The lips were trembling now and were that tears he saw glittering in the corner of Frodo's eyes?

"No, Frodo…" A loud sob stopped him mid-sentence and Mac, not wanting to struggle with a screaming boy, yielded. "All right, give me that bread."

Frodo's eyes lit up the moment the cold, drenched piece of sludge disappeared in Mac's mouth. Merimac could not believe he was actually swallowing what his cousin fed him. He was going to be sick.

"Tis dood?" Frodo asked and Mac, eyes squeezed shut and lips a tight line on his mouth to keep from heaving, nodded. Frodo laughed gleefully even while reaching for another piece.

Title:  Once Bitten Twice Shy
Rating: G
Summary: Ten years after the incident with Frodo Merimac faces a similar situation.

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for her swift beta.

~*~*~

"Take it away from him. It's revolting!"

"What?" Merimac crooked an eyebrow, smirking. "That piece of bread or," he leaned sideways, barely concealing his laughter, "the fact that one half of it is soaking your breeches."

Frodo jumped up and brushed away the spit-drenched crumbs as fast as he could. Frowning at his sticky fingers he glanced first accusingly to an eagerly munching Berilac then to his cousin. "You're his father, you should stop this nastiness."

"I remember a time when you considered a snack like this very 'dood'," Mac told him with a grin, "and you certainly had a way of sharing your food." He shuddered at the memory of little Frodo feeding him a piece of bread he had chewed on for what had tasted like hours.

"I never did such a thing," the lad told him crossly before taking a seat again, avoiding sitting too close to Berilac.

"Da!" the toddler exclaimed and waved the slobbery crust of bread in his father's direction.

"No, lad. I've had my share of this long ago," Merimac said while gently nudging his boy's nose with his forefinger. An impish smile suddenly crossed his features and, squinting at his young cousin, he said: "Perhaps Cousin Frodo wants to give it a try."

"Mac!" Frodo looked anything but pleased as Berilac held out his hands towards him. "Take him away!"

"Come on, Frodo," Merimac teased and, pouting his lips, he tried his best to imitate little Frodo's most pleading look. "Pease."

Title: Tomp Tomp
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac gets a hearty welcome from his young cousin. But said young lad has second thoughts.
Year: 1371

Special thanks to Ariel for her swift beta.

~*~*~

"Mac! Sa!" The barely three-year-old scrambled across the lawn almost tripping over his feet in the process. Every muscle in his small body seemed in motion as he made his way toward them.

"Mac!" he called again and a moment later his older cousin caught him in his arms and lifted him high into the air. Frodo squealed happily and stretched his arms into the golden evening sky, flying like a bird among the clouds.

"Hullo, scallywag," Merimac greeted tousling the brown mop of hair. "Still up at this hour, are you?"

"Yes," young Frodo nodded happily. "Da said."

"Drogo's here too? I thought he was in the Westfarthing," Saradoc wondered.

"He back," Frodo told him as if it were one word, before he focused his attention on Merimac again. "Down!" he demanded and Mac, suspecting the child's intention, winced. He definitely made a mistake when Aunt Primula had been at the Hall with her lad the other evening.

Saradoc grinned. "I told you not to show him because he would remember. Obviously I was correct. Now go gather the fruits of your foolishness."

Merimac glared at him, saying nothing. Sometimes his brother could be such a know-it-all. With an inward sigh he put the struggling child in his arms back onto the ground. Perhaps Frodo just wanted to get down? Merimac could not be so lucky.

And it seemed he wasn't. A moment later Frodo had grabbed both his arms and jumped on Mac's feet.

"Tomp, tomp," the child sang cheerfully while shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stomped on each of Merimac's feet. "Tomp, Mac!"

His cousin remained motionless weighing his options. Finding no other recourse, Merimac did as he was bid. Grabbing the young lad a little tighter he stepped through the grass with Frodo standing on his feet giggling gleefully. With every seemingly heavy step he droned "stomp, stomp" in a deep voice pretending to be very tall and heavy which, in Frodo's mind, he doubtlessly was.

Saradoc chuckled as he went ahead leaving his brother and his cousin to their play. Primula greeted him at the door shaking her head as she saw her nephew shambling along the lawn. "Merimac of all hobbits," she sighed. "He cannot even look after himself most of the time."

"Mischief finds mischief, they say," Saradoc pointed out helpfully trying not to laugh at his aunt's indignant glance. Surely she thought her child would never be as much the source of trouble as Mac.

Title: To Die For
Rating: G
Summary: A visit at Buckland's market has unexpected consequences.
Year: 1392

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for her swift beta.

Author notes:
Fastred and Lily Bolger are borrowed from my German story Schicksalsjahre eines Hobbits. Also, I am no doctor and the medical treatment described in this story might not be correct.

~*~*~

The weekly market at Bucklebury was always a huge hustle and bustle. Under the cover of selling goods, goodwives and their young and not so young daughters, and sometimes even a few of their sons, exchanged the latest gossip of all Buckland, the Marish and the eastern regions of the Shire. Young children absorbed the goings on with huge, curious eyes holding tightly to their mother's hands, while some of the older ones ran around yelling and laughing in some game of chase or battle.

Berilac Brandybuck seemed unsure about which group he belonged to. Merimac could feel his son's temptation to run with the boys and yet the child clung to his arm and urged him from one stall to the other. Exclamations like "Look at that!" and "Wouldn't this look nice in my room?" accompanied his every step.

Merimac sighed inwardly. He had hoped for a pleasant afternoon looking for new straps, reins and a new pair of pony-brushes. Besides, he kept his eyes open for a little something he could give Adamanta for his birthday in two weeks. He didn't want to give her the usual mathom, after all this would be his 50th.

"Can I have them, dad?" Berilac tugged at his sleeve. "Please."

Merimac looked at the stall his son was pointing at this time and found the object of his desire: a small, green leather bag full of marbles. "Please," the child repeated with a look that promised the stars from the sky. Mac raised an eyebrow, not exactly happy with his son's constant begging. Also, he had the slight suspicion that his lad's closeness today was only due to his wish to make up for last night.

"No, Berry, not today. Perhaps another time."

"But someone will have bought them by then!" the child protested loudly.

"I said no," Mac repeated, silencing the boy with a stern glance. "You don't exactly deserve a gift, as you know full well. And," he added, locking his blue green eyes with his son's green ones, "begging and pouting won't help."

Knowing that his son would eventually follow even though the child had angrily let go of his hand, Mac moved to a stall where saddles and reins were displayed. The seller, a stout, grey-haired tanner greeted him friendly. He and Mac had done business before. Merimac was head of the Master's pony breeding and Rorimac, though he kept a close eye on his son's doing, allowed him almost every liberty.

"It's all because of that Merry!"

Merimac closed his eyes, excused himself and turned to his son, still standing near the stall with the marbles, glaring at him furiously. "Now it is that Merry again," Mac thought though he didn't doubt Berilac would speak of his Merry once more within less than two days. Until then, however life wouldn't be easy. It never was when the cousins quarrelled. "It is not," Merimac assured him, then reconsidered his words, "though the fact that you punched him in the face certainly does draw a shadow over the entire affair."

"It's his own fault. He should not have broken it," Berilac blurted out, his face flushed with anger. The child had quite a temper at times.

"He didn't do so on purpose," Merimac patiently tried to explain, but Berilac seemed unwilling to understand. The boy folded his arms in front of his chest and glared daggers at the soil and the people treading it.

Heaving a heavy sigh Mac walked over to his son and knelt to the ground before him. One hand rested on the lad's shoulder the other he placed under the child's chin, gently forcing him to look him in the face. The green eyes glittered with unshed tears of irritation while the wind softly caressed the sandy brown curls.

"He broke it," Berilac repeated remorsefully.

Merimac pulled his son into a hug, knowing how dear presents from Frodo were to him. His youngest cousin had visited them the past summer. To the delight of the young ones who often used to be in his care while Frodo still lived in Brandy Hall he had brought a carved animal for each of them. Merry and Berry had both received ponies, being very fond of them, while Merimas had got a small rabbit. Last night, during their game little Merry stepped on his son's pony by accident causing its tail to fall off and Berilac to get rough.

Combing his fingers through his son's curls Merimac breathed a kiss on the child's head. "I'm sure Cousin Frodo will make you a new one if you ask him. You can write him a letter as soon as we get home."

"That will take ages!" Berilac protested glumly.

Merimac grinned. "I will tell him to hurry." He winked, looking into his son's face. "He listens to me, you know."

"Are you sure?"

Merimac nodded quickly, secretly hoping a bit of persuasion would help to get the tween work quickly. Tweens could be so lazy and sluggish at times. He knew that from experience.

"Now," he said rising and stretching his back. "Why don't you play with some of the other lads while I run some errands?"

Berilac nodded and, to Mac's annoyance, rubbed his nose with his sleeve. "Dad?" the boy asked as Merimac turned to the tanner once more. "Can I have the marbles?"

Merimac shook his head and as Berry pouted he grinned and smacked the lad's bottom. "Off you go. But stay close."

An hour later Merimac had not only conversed with several traders and exchanged greetings with some of the more important families, but he had also found two new reins and the desperately needed pony-brush. The old one was hardly of use anymore. It was early evening and some of the sellers were already closing their stalls. Mac decided it was time for a little treat for himself and his son before they headed home. Purchasing two pancakes with cheese and lamb sausage he turned his attention back to looking for Berilac. He had seen him playing tag with some other lads but had somehow lost track of him in the general hubbub.

"Watch out!"

Merimac turned abruptly at the sudden outcry. Not far away the crowd was splitting in a wild tumult. Mothers grabbed their children while sellers tried to rescue some of their fragile goods. Vases shattered to the ground, apples and fruits rolled across the grass and baskets flew high into the air. The reason for all this was a pony running wild, neighing in panic. The coach it pulled clattered, its wheels flying across the soil.

Perceiving where the animal was heading to, Mac's eyes widened in sudden horror. His blood ran cold. Not too far away, Berilac was sitting in the grass in front of a cart laden with cages full of hens, rabbits and geese. He was smiling and a faraway look was in his eyes as he caressed a young rabbit sitting in his lap. Dropping everything in his hands Merimac darted across the market.

"Berry!" His outcry was choked as he bumped into an old hobbit fleeing with his pipe in hand. Not caring for the old gaffer Mac pushed him aside, ran past the opposite stall and called for his son again. This time Berilac looked up yet he did not seem to understand the severity of the situation.

"Get away!" Mac ordered harshly, stumbling past another group of hobbits, pushing his way through them. The pony was now despairingly close but Merimac, in spite of the cold claws of fear clutching at him, knew he would reach his son in time, if only, because he had to.

The clatter of hoofs moved ever closer, the rattling of the coach grew louder in his ears. Berilac had got to his feet by now, the young rabbit still in his arms. The pony neighed again, foam dropping from its widened nostrils. Merimac lunged for his son, grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to the ground just as the pony passed them by. The geese and hens were in an uproar. Fluttering and clucking wildly they pressed against the cages, causing them to jiggle.

Just at that moment the coach slammed into Merimac, knocking the breath from his lungs as his body was hurled into the rim of the animal cart. Pain shot through his every limb involuntarily bringing tears to his eyes. Cages fell to the ground and some of the animals fled in a panic, while Merimac tried in vain to catch some air.

Through a misty veil he saw Berilac kneeling on the floor, looking at him with huge, fearful eyes while his hands clutched the frightened rabbit as if it was the last thing on earth he could hold on to. Tears streamed down the child's cheeks as he reached for him with one hand yet did not dare to touch. "Father, you're…"

Feeling the knot in his chest tighten even more Mac reached for that outstretched hand but was not able to grab it. "You all right?" he pressed out between clenched teeth and while he waited for Berilac to answer darkness claimed him. He fell to the ground heavily, for a split second feeling the grass tickling his cheeks, hearing the desperate outcry of his son, then he knew no more.

~*~*~

"Here, drink that." Adamanta looked up at the young lass, Lily Bolger, daughter and apprentice of Fastred Bolger, the healer of Bucklebury and the Hall. "It's balm and a bit of valerian with honey. It will help you calm down."

Adamanta took the cup with trembling hands and nodded. Taking a careful sip she gazed to the bed where Fastred finished examining her still unconscious husband.

"He'll be all right, Mrs Adamanta," the healer told her with a slight smile. "No ribs broken. The collision took his breath away but I don't doubt he will wake up soon. He breathes evenly now, though it will cause him some pain for a while." Turning his attention to Lily he said in a low voice: "Could you prepare him some willow-bark tea, a bath of arnica to keep the bruises at a minimum and some balm ointment later on."

Lily nodded and hurried out of the room, giving Adamanta the opportunity to have a seat next to the healer and take her husband's hand into hers. Fastred noted the paleness of her face with concern but hoped the tea his daughter had made would ease her worry. He smiled again, putting his tools into his pouch. "Your husband suffered some bad bruises but the ointment Lily is preparing will help him heal quickly. The scratch on his chest isn't very deep either. I have removed the splinters and the arnica bath will disinfect as well as ease the bruising of his other injuries."

Adamanta nodded again, not taking her eyes from Merimac's pallid face. Fastred laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't you worry. I have seen Mac harmed far worse than that and he has always made it. He's a stout fellow."

She actually managed to smile at that. Fastred had known her husband for almost thirty years and had been at his side - either as apprentice or fully learned healer - after several painful accidents involving either ponies, exceptionally high trees or whatever his tweenish foolishness had got him into. Once it had been a broken leg but most of the time Mac had got away with bruises and a fright that should have made him wiser than he eventually managed to be. Sometimes she still wondered what had attracted her to him when she had first seen him showing off at the river. Perhaps it was all little Frodo's fault, admiring his cousin as he did. Whatever the reason was, falling in love with Mac had been the best thing to happen to her - and to him no less. She still remembered the first time she met the Master, the relief and joy on his face as he embraced her while exclaiming: "So you are the lass who has stolen my boy's heart and put him in his place. Welcome, and may you never leave again." And she hadn't and never would.

Low moaning from the bed made her forget the fond memories. Merimac was waking. Bleary eyes opened slowly, found hers and focused on them. "Mantha…" It was but a whisper but one that filled her heart with such joy that tears sprang to her eyes.

"Welcome back, love," she murmured in a low voice and kissed his hand. "How are you feeling?"

Mac furrowed his brow in confusion. "What…? Where…?" Then, perceiving the healer, he winced. "Fastred?"

Fastred smiled. "Not happy to see me, are you? Perhaps next time I should prepare the tea and leave you to Lily's care?" He winked but as Merimac tried to voice protest he cut him short. "You got in the way of a pony and coach and were squashed between that and another cart. Who would have thought I would ever have to patch you up again because of somebody else's thoughtlessness besides your own? Though I don't think Berilac is to blame for this either."

Mac's eyes widened. "Berry!" Gripped by sudden fear he tried to sit up. "How - ow!"

Clutching at his chest Merimac sank onto the pillows with a yelp and closed his eyes in pain, taking shallow gasping breaths.

"Still as sensitive to pain as ever," Fastred observed shaking his head good-naturedly. "One should think you would get used to it eventually. Lie still now. Lily will be back any moment and then we shall ease your hurts."

"Berry is fine," Adamanta quickly assured at her husband's fearful look. "He is with Esme and Merry at the moment."

Mac quirked an eyebrow. "Merry?"

Adamanta smiled. "They forgot their dispute as soon as Merry perceived Berilac was in need of some reassurance."

"A lot of that, I shall think," Fastred observed turning his kind, brown eyes on Merimac. "He got away without as much as a scratch but you gave him quite a fright. He should see you as soon as Lily and I are off so he can convince himself that you are all right and that he is not to blame."

Merimac nodded, not questioning the healer's remark. Since the day he had first heard of Fastred Bolger tales spread all over Buckland. The healer saw more than any other. He looked into the hearts of his patients perceiving whatever worry that lies there in secret. The healer had a way of implying comfort simply by his presence. It was rumoured that his youngest daughter possessed a similar gift.

A knock at the door announced that said daughter had finished her work. Lily entered with a tray laden with a steaming teapot, a cup, a small basin filled with water, some cloths, and a jar

Mac winced recognising one of the different smells. "Willow-bark?

Fastred nodded with a smile knowing very well that the youngest of the Master's sons had developed an early dislike against this kind of tea.

"Tormentor," Mac breathed out between clenched teeth as the healer helped him sit up.

"Merimac Brandybuck, you're worse than any child," the healer told him sternly but with a smile on his face. Being well acquainted with Mac since the latter's early tweens Fastred was on amicable terms with the Master's son and knew some friendly teasing was always welcomed. "Now, drink."

Merimac drank without complaint and even did without the usual grimacing he gifted Fastred with since he had first coaxed him to swallow willow-bark tea. The healer quickly realised that his patient's bruises were to blame. The ones on his back were already taking on an ugly shade of blue and red. This time, luck had indeed been on Merimac's side, and Fastred still wondered how he had got away without any broken ribs.

Taking the empty cup from him, Fastred gently eased Merimac onto the pillows and began bathing his patient's bruised chest with arnica. The spicy smell of the flower filled the room and before long Mac's breathing became easier. Being done Fastred turned Merimac on his stomach and washed the swelling skin. A long red, swollen line went from his right shoulder blade to the small of his back, revealing where the rim of the cart was driven into his body. Merimac flinched as Fastred dabbed the cloth over it but did not utter a single word during the entire process.

Having finished the healer reached for the wooden jar. Carefully he opened the lid, dipped his fingers into the ointment and began rubbing it onto his patient's back. The sweet fragrance of balm filled their nostrils and Merimac murmured sleepily that this wasn't so bad.

By the time Fastred had finished his work and lightly bandaged the bruised chest and back, Merimac was almost asleep. The healer quirked an eyebrow at his daughter. "Quite a strong tea, wasn't it?"

Lily shrugged, gathering everything up again. "You said Master Mac needed force to stay in bed so I added a little more."

Adamanta, who had closely followed the entire procedure in silence, stared at her in disbelief but Fastred chuckled. "Clever girl." Heaving a sigh he got to his feet and handed the jar to Adamanta. "Rub this on his bruises trice a day and he should be better soon. See to it that he stays in bed for a while and rests. I doubt he will be up for much anyway. I shall check on him again in a week."

"Thank you," Adamanta replied quietly, her face still pale but more hopeful than before. "I will take care of him."

~*~*~

With his mother leaving the bed Berilac finally got a chance to creep closer to his father. He had spent the greater part of the night in his parents' bed and was relieved to find his father's face less pale than it had been the night before. The open fire's soft, golden glow illuminated his sleeping form and Berilac gently combed his fingers through his father's dark brown curls listening sadly to the slightly laboured breathing.

At the sound of the door being shut Berilac nestled even closer, his nose almost touching his father's cheek. Even though it was a bit awkward the young hobbit stroked Merimac's curls back from his brow the way his father would were he the one being hurt. A tight knot was forming in his throat and Berilac swallowed the sobs that threatened to escape him but could not hinder several tears sliding down his cheeks and ear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into his father's warm skin. "I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want to be angry with you because of the marbles, and I didn't want…" he trailed off snivelling loudly, his breath hitching. "Please, wake up again."

Merimac was wakened by the soft tickling of breath close to his ear accompanied by a silent whimper. Frowning he turned to the source of the noise but hissed in pain at the tightness of his chest.

"Father?" Berilac's teary eyes were on him and the concern and worry in those green opals immediately forced his mind back to the events on the market. Merimac winced at the memory but held his expressions under control. With a loving smile he turned his head.

"Tears so early in the morning?" he asked gently and lifted his hand to brush away one of the wet lines on his son's cheeks. "Whatever for?"

Berilac looked at him for a very long moment, his face flushed, his lips trembling. The light of the fire was reflecting in his eyes. "Dad!" he blurted out and flinging his small arms around his neck the child buried his face in Merimac's shoulders and wept noisily. "I'm so sorry, father, so sorry."

Merimac's breath was taken away but his son's distress kept him from reminding the lad to be careful. His heart broke at the worry he had already caused little Berilac. Remembering his own fear he held the child even tighter and breathed a kiss on the tousled curls. Berilac was safe and so was he. "There's nothing to be sorry for, child. It wasn't your fault."

"But you…" Berilac wanted to protest but was silenced by his father.

"I'm going to be fine," Merimac assured and allowed the lad to rest his head on his shoulder. Gently and with some effort he caressed the child's wet cheek while relief, and love for this little one made him smile.

Berilac's tears ceased and soon father and son's breathing were the only sounds besides the silent crackling and hissing in the fireside. In spite of being stiff and sore, Merimac sighed contently, feeling a deep peace taking hold of him. He closed his eyes when unexpectedly Berilac kissed him on the cheek, something he had rarely done of late. "I'm glad you're awake again."

A knock at the door made them look up. "Yes," Merimac called while Berry sat up to see who was coming.

"You're up again! What a relief!" Menegilda hurried into the room with a bustle of skirts to shower her son's face with kisses like she had done since he was a little lad. Merimac, even had he not been in pain, wouldn't have had a chance to get away.

"Mother, I…" he peevishly tried to explain. Berilac giggled into his ear just as he became victim of one of his grandmother's kisses as well.

"Oh, you're a dunce, Merimac Brandybuck, giving us such a fright!" Gilda scolded, planting herself on the bed's edge. "I was worried sick about you seeing you all pale and bandaged."

"It was my fault, grandmother, really," Berilac piped in, hanging his head guiltily.

"Nonsense!" Merimac told him and turning to his mother he added, "It was an accident."

"I know what it was," Gilda said sternly but her features softened and turned into a fond smile. "And I'm very proud of you but that doesn't reduce my worry, as you doubtless know."

Merimac quirked an eyebrow, then with a sideways glance to Berilac, he lowered his eyes and nodded, feeling the remembrance of a cold fear hovering above him. "I do and I'm sorry."

Menegilda's fond smile didn't waver as she kissed him on the cheek and whispered so that only he could hear it: "This is the first time I am convinced you understand and I am glad."

Feeling a pang at that, Merimac said no more remembering all the times he had got himself into trouble - thoughtlessly or not - and for the first time fully comprehended the worry he had caused his parents. As Berilac nestled into the hollow of his arm again, Mac held his son close and glanced at his mother, returning her smile although he felt slightly at a loss.

Suddenly the door opened and Adamanta entered carrying a tray with tea. She had been a little beside herself when her husband had been brought home unconscious last night. Today, however, she felt a lot better, and seeing him in the bed with their son in his arms and a smile on his face, she felt even more like herself. "Good morning, love," she called joyfully and nodding at the Mistress added with a nod of her head, "Menegilda."

Gilda returned the greeting and staggered to her feet, silently cursing the moment she had decided to sit down on the bed. She wasn't as young as she used to be and getting up from a soft seat wasn't easy anymore. As she stretched her joints cracked but she did not bother and instead waved her grandchild to her side. "Come, Berry, leave your parents alone for a moment."

Berilac obediently climbed out of the bed and waved goodbye while Menegilda told her son that the Master and Saradoc would check on him later. Merimac simply nodded and smiled after her as she closed the door.

"So?" Adamanta asked, taking the Misteress' place and kissing her husband in greeting.

"Better," Merimac replied with a smirk and propped himself up with some hissing and wincing. Sniffing curiously towards the teapot he grimaced. "Instead of breakfast I get willow-bark?"

Adamanta nodded. "With best wishes from Fastred and Lily Bolger."

"Don't say they've corrupted you too?" he exclaimed.

Adamanta shrugged mischievously and loosened the bandages. The swelling had gone down a great deal but chest and back were still painted in ugly colours, especially where the rim of the cart had been driven into her husband's torso. Knowing what he had suffered this pain for she kissed him gently on the shoulder, before dipping her fingers into the balm ointment to massage it gently onto the bruised skin. As she carefully traced her finger along the dark red line Merimac flinched. Concerned she drew her hand back. "Does it hurt badly?"

"I don't mind," Mac said. He had shifted towards the bed's foot so that Adamanta could sit behind him and take care of his back. "It's a sacrifice worth bringing." Noticing that she had stopped, Merimac turned his head to find her looking at him. He smiled. "Berilac is all right and that is all that matters."

Feeling her love for this hobbit overflowing Adamanta kissed him and whispered lovingly, "It's because of you, my love." Gently she stroked his sore skin and leaned her cheek against his. "It breaks my hart to see your bruises but I am glad you did what you have done."

Suddenly glad for her closeness, the feel of her skin against his and the smell of her hair in his nostrils, Merimac closed his eyes and leaned his face against hers. Not for a single moment had he thought of her or himself. He had only seen Berilac, knowing that he would do whatever it would take him to save the boy. His child, hers, theirs. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he shook his head. "I have experienced many things in my life and I know I have been mostly careless until I got you and Berry. I have been his father for twelve years and he has had a great many illnesses and little hurts that caused me to worry. Yet, I never have felt so cold a fear as when I saw that pony racing towards him."

He leaned into her embrace, listened to her breathing at his neck and the crackling of the fire without really noticing it. "I could have lost him." His voice was shaky now and he swallowed hard to keep his emotions at bay. Turning his head he looked deeply into Adamanta's dark eyes, realised he could not bear the feeling that was showing there and instead turned to his hands which lay folded in his lap. He studied them for a while, the hands that had pushed Berilac out of harm's way. "Is that the nature of a father? To save his child from any danger no matter how high the price he pays might be?" He frowned. "Yesterday I understood that I would die for him if I had to."

Turning around he held Adamanta's loving, concerned glance once more, knowing that she understood him as much as he did his mother earlier. Shrugging off the gloomy thoughts he pulled her close and kissed her firmly on the lips. "I'm glad to have you and Berry," he breathed with a smile. "Glad to have you a little longer." And as he kissed her again, this time more thorough, he tasted the fear she had suffered, felt her worry as well as her relief. He pulled her even closer and when their kiss finally broke he held her gaze as if to reassure that everything was well again. Perceiving no more shadows, a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes and he smirked. "You might want to continue applying this ointment of Fastred's. I quite enjoy you doing that."

Adamanata smiled and shook her head. "Oaf," she whispered into his mouth but obediently began rubbing the ointment on his chest with gentle movements. A smug grin lit up Merimac's face but it immediately faded when Mantha dutifully re-bandaged his torso and with a grin of her own offered him a cup of willow-bark tea.

"Traitor," Merimac grumbled giving her a stern glance. He hesitated for a moment, took a small sip of the tea and grimaced. "One day I will avenge myself."

"I don't doubt you will," Mantha said with a smile and, after he had drunk almost half of his medicine, relieved him of the cup and helped him lie down again.

Merimac snorted at the silliness of her tucking him in. Nonetheless he sighed contently and an impish smirk lit up his face. "I might get used to this, you know."

"I fear so," she said sitting down on the edge of the bed and stealing the grin from his lips. "Unfortunately I cannot offer you such service every day."

"Then, I will savour it as long as I can," Merimac said and grinned at the sideways glance Adamanta was giving him. The firelight played with her gentle features illuminating only one half of her face and casting a soft glow on her sandy hair. Gently he laid his hand on hers feeling only contentment and boundless love, as she smiled down at him and brushed a stray curl from his brow.

"Rest a while, love," Adamanta said with a fond smile. "I will get you some breakfast later."

"Breakfast?" Merimac hadn't realised he had closed his eyes until they snapped open. "I think I'm quite ready for that," he declared and tried to get up again, but his wife stopped him with a gentle push on the shoulders.

"You rest," she told him shaking her head, "and I shall see what I can bring you."

With that and a last, swift kiss, Mantha hurried out of the room leaving him alone with the smell of willow-bark, balm, apple wood and a lingering fragrance that was hers. Despite himself Merimac sighed heavily and closed his eyes again. If Berilac was worth dying for, these were the moments worth living.

~THE END~

Title: Punishment
Rating: G
Summary: Frodo has to serve a sentence. At the hands of his elder cousin Merimac, punishment however turns into an enlightening experience.
Year: 1386

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish and Ariel for looking this story over and encouraging me.

~*~*~

"Frodo!"

The voice echoed across the barn and Frodo looked up from where he was cleaning the reins. Merimac was beckoning him to the last stall in the stables. A smile threatened to light his face and Frodo swiftly suppressed it. This job was supposed to be punishment for being caught in Mr. Greenhill's blackberry bush, helping himself to the sweetest berries, and neither Saradoc nor Uncle Rory could find out he was actually enjoying the work.

"No, Toby, you've done enough for today. Bring those two out to the others and then you may head down to the river. Have a wash and enjoy yourself," Merimac addressed one of the stable-lads as Frodo approached him.

The young lad nodded his thanks and Frodo looked after him as he hurried to fetch the last two ponies and led them into the open. Toby had come to the Hall only three weeks ago. He was twenty-two and Uncle Rory (or had it been Merimac?) had agreed to take him in and pay him some coins for his work.

"There you are." Mac turned to Frodo with a grin. "This stable needs mucking," he said and handed him a shovel, nodding to a wheelbarrow at the far end of the barn. "You know what to do."

"Yes, sir," Frodo answered quickly and darted to fetch the tool from its dark and dusty corner.

Specks of dust danced in the dim light streaming through holes in the wall as Frodo manoeuvred the barrow. The smell of hay and ponies wafted through the air as well as that of leather and oats. It was hot and sultry and Frodo began to feel quite warm though it was only a few hours after dawn.

Hurrying back to the stall, Frodo realised his cousin was still standing there, his arms folded, his back leaning against the wall. Confused, Frodo frowned but as Merimac did not reveal his intent, the boy went on with his work.

He nearly had the stall cleaned when Merimac leaned over to him with a smirk. "You're quite enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes," Frodo replied happily, then, realising his mistake he quickly corrected himself. "No." He paused for a second, not pleased with his cousin's smug grin. "I mean…" Glaring at the shovel he let out a puff of air and groaned in frustration, hoping to sound convincing.

"I see," Merimac said, sounding unimpressed. Frodo realised he had not been successful in his ploy. Mac quirked an eyebrow at his charge, but his smile did not falter.

Frodo lowered his head. "Don't tell Sara. He will send me to the kitchens to do the dishes, or have me spend the day alone in my room."

"What? I should tattle and lose a willing hand?" Mac sounded offended. "Don't worry, scallywag, you will spend the next few days under my wing. I know Sara's methods, or rather I know who he learned them from."

Merimac grimaced as if in memory and shook his head. Frodo felt the knot in his chest loosen and his older cousin smiled at him. "How many times have you been caught there?"

Frodo blushed to the tip of his ears, hesitating before he mumbled, "Three times."

"And that didn't teach you?"

The blush deepened and his voice dropped to an embarrassed mumble.

Merimac's tone turned serious. "Don't take the chance again," he said. "Mr. Greenhill's blackberries are a temptation, but he's lost his patience with you. If he finds you a fourth time, the punishment will be more drastic than a few days in the stables." He shook his head. "Three times? You need to be more secretive, Frodo. Don't you know anything about stealth?"

Frodo looked up, stunned. He had heard rumours about his cousin. The tweens especially seemed to look up to Merimac as some kind of hero and master of the arts of mischief. Yet such provoking talk was the last thing he had expected from his cousin.

"Never mind." Mac must have seen his confusion and was now waving the topic aside. "Finish here and then I shall help you with that shirt of yours."

Even more confused Frodo looked down at his shirt where a huge spot of blackberry juice gave evidence to his latest misstep. He felt his cheeks flush again.

Merimac nudged his chin good-naturedly. "Let me guess. Esme said you had to wash it yourself until the stain was gone."

Frodo nodded then sighed angrily. "It won't come off. I've tried washing it several times now."

"Have you tried vinegar?"

"Vinegar?" Frodo looked doubtful.

"It helps," Mac said with a smile then shook his head. "Lad, you really have to learn who in this Hall you can trust. Ask one of the washerwomen, or better, one of the lasses. Use those eyes of yours to your advantage and you will get all the help you need."

"Mac!" Frodo's blush deepened to crimson.

Merimac chuckled. "Believe me, one day you will be thankful you have me to advise you. Now, off to work. I don't want anybody to say I don't keep you occupied. Afterwards you may as well tell me how often you've really been to Mr. Greenhill's."

Frodo watched open-mouthed as his cousin wheeled another barrow outside to the muck pile. Sometimes he wasn't sure if Mac and Saradoc worked together or apart. Either way, he was glad to have Merimac on his side. Punishment suddenly didn't seem to be such a bad thing. He grinned and heaved another shovelful into the cart. No, it wasn't bad at all.

~THE END~

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~

Title: Looking After
Rating: G
Summary: A birthday party leaves Merimac to prove his competence in looking after 4-year-old Frodo - with unexpected consequences.
Year: 1372

Special thanks to Ariel for betaing.

Author notes: Fastred Bolger and his family are, again, borrowed from my German story Schicksalsjahre eines Hobbits.

~*~*~

"You brought Merimac?" The words, pressed through tightly closed lips, sounded almost like a hiss. She scolded him through her bluish green eyes. "I told you to bring a responsible girl, not Mac."

"You said I should bring a tween," her husband corrected with a slight smile.

"A responsible one," she pointed out coldly before glancing through the slit of the slightly open door to the dark haired tween sitting in her husband's huge armchair with his legs apart, tapping his fingers lackadaisically. Frowning she shook her head.

"Merimac is perfect," her husband assured, following her gaze. "He has time, he wants some extra coin, and he has agreed. Besides, Frodo adores him."

"That's the problem." Primula sighed helplessly looking at her husband. "Much as I love Merimac, he is a bad influence, and we won't be home until after nightfall. I'm not sure if I can trust him with Frodo."

Drogo put a reassuring arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "He might be a trouble maker, but I'm sure he will be careful. Give him a chance."

Primula did not answer. In her tween years, she had been the one who had looked after her brother's sons most of the time and she had been at the receiving end of young Merimac's pranks more than once. Tomfooleries could be forgiven, but young Mac had a way of finding trouble. Or perhaps it was trouble that found him. His thoughtlessness had got him into danger repeatedly and even now that he was nearing his coming of age, there was no sign of him settling down and becoming a little mature - at least none she knew of.

Giving her husband a last glance, Primula swung the door open and bustled into the parlour. Merimac instantly leapt to his feet and smiled at her, though his eyes searched Drogo's, a fact Primula didn't miss. She dearly hoped her husband's judgement was better than her experience. "I entrust my son to you, Merimac, and I hope you know I will hunt you down should anything happen to him." She made her point quite clear with a threatening stare. Then she placed a hand on her nephew's shoulder, her face almost pleading. "Please, for once, look after yourself and take special care of my lad."

Merimac grinned from one ear to the other. "Yes, Auntie. He is in good hands."

Nodding doubtfully, Primula examined her nephew. He was by far taller than she was, topped even Drogo in height and stature. "Well then," she concluded finally. She was still doubtful about the afternoon, but had decided to give it a try. "Wake him up if he sleeps past two o'clock. Afterwards, keep him occupied however you like. I would prefer it if you took him outside for a while, but," here her eyes turned stern again, "don't take him to river. It's too dangerous this time of year, and besides, I don't know who else might be walking there. You might be distracted."

Mac bit his lip to keep from smiling, but Primula's look was unrelenting. "You won't use him to your advantage again, do you hear me? There will be no flirting this afternoon and you won't attract any lass' attention by showing off your young cousin."

Merimac lowered his eyes slightly, trying hard not to chuckle while remembering a day last summer when he had also looked after Frodo. Violet Grubb had adored his little cousin and inevitably came to adore him as well. It had been quite a pleasant afternoon, until Aunt Primie found out, of course.

"You'll find dinner in the pantry," his aunt went on. "Bedtime is at around eight. If he doesn't sleep at once you may tell him a story or sing him a song, but none of your tweener songs, mind you."

"Yes, Auntie," Merimac repeated dutifully. "I've looked after him before, you know."

Primula nodded. "You have, yes, for an hour or two, never for half a day. Believe me, it's quite different."

With that Primula left for her sleeping son's room, doubtlessly intending to have a last look at him before they departed to the Tunnelly's. Uncle Drogo came to his side, put an arm around his shoulders and smiled contently, his eyes following Primula.

"She worries too much," his uncle observed. "I could barely talk her into going to the Tunnelly's alone. She wouldn't have enjoyed old Ferdy's birthday party if Frodo were hanging onto her skirts all the time."

Merimac nodded as if he knew exactly what his uncle was speaking about.

Drogo clapped his back as he heard the door to Frodo's room close. "Make yourself comfortable tonight, lad. I expect we shall be late." Winking his uncle went into the corridor catching his aunt before she could come up to him with another flow of well-meaning advice. Merimac waved his goodbye feeling quite pleased with the day's prospects. Smiling smugly, he sank into Drogo's chair once again and fumbled for his pipe. This was going to be a comfortable afternoon.

~*~*~

Merimac shivered as his foot crushed a frozen puddle and sank into icy cold water. Last week it had seemed as if spring would finally arrive but now winter had obviously reclaimed its reign. The afternoon was as dark and grey as the boulders bordering the lane every few steps. The grass to both sides was covered with ice crystals and a cold wind was blowing. If it had been Merimac's decision he would not have left the warm smial, but since his aunt had insisted on Frodo's getting some fresh air, he had wrapped the child in several layers of thick clothing - much to the lad's annoyance - and taken him onto a short walk up the lane to Bucklebury and back again. It would not take more than an hour. Thirty minutes if Frodo decided to keep riding on his shoulders rather than walk by himself.

The lad was in quite a mood today. Primula had informed her son that someone from the Hall would be here to look after him this afternoon - Frodo himself had relayed that - and the child had been beside himself when Mac had wakened him instead of one of the 'boring lasses' he had expected. To show his joy he had greeted him with so many loud calls and forced him to play various noisy games until Mac's ears rang.

It had taken Merimac quite a while to calm his cousin and convince him that the two of them would have just as much fun as Frodo would have with his parents.

"Ow, Frodo!" Merimac looked upwards as a small hand in mittens struck his nose. "What are you doing up there, scallywag?"

"Catch breath," the child declared gleefully. A moment later the boy hit Mac's brow, looked at his empty hands and grumbled in annoyance. "It's too quick."

"You won't catch any breath, lad, especially if you keep punching your cousin."

A giggle from just above his head, then, as another white cloud of air danced before Merimac's eyes, the small hand hit him again. Mac grabbed it by the wrist. "Stop it, Frodo."

The child seemed to ponder that for a moment before asking in a high voice. "Why?"

"Because it hurts," Mac told him grumpily.

"Why?"

"Because it's cold and," Merimac paused, reconsidering his answer. "You shouldn't hit others."

"Why?"

"It's bad manners."

"Why?"

"Frodo!" Merimac grew increasingly irritated by the child's questions especially since the boy's tone of voice told him that Frodo knew exactly what he was doing.

"Why?" the faunt insisted bouncing up and down on Merimac's shoulders.

That was enough for Merimac. In one fell swoop, he lifted the child and placed him on the ground. With a stern look at the lad, he declared that Frodo could walk by himself if he didn't mind his manners. Frodo glared at him angrily, pouting and crossing his arms in front of his chest, which looked rather ridiculous considering that the child was wrapped in a thick, dark blue jacket that hardly allowed any movement. His scarlet cap reached down to his eyebrows making it almost impossible for him to keep his eyes open.

Merimac waited for a second, then, as the child made no sign of cooperating, he continued to walk up the lane. That got Frodo's attention. The child grumpily declared that he was cold though Mac could hardly believe that. Mac rolled his eyes as he turned back. Frodo kept looking at him sulkily avoiding staying on either foot for very long to make his point clear.

Merimac sighed heavily. This afternoon certainly had not proceeded as he had hoped. He could not remember his cousin ever being this exhausting. Energetic, yes, but not tiring. He shivered as a gush of wind blew his hair into his face. Unlike Frodo, he had neither hat nor scarf with him, but he was quite glad that he covered Frodo with so much surplus clothing, even if it made him look more like a garden gnome than a hobbit child. Bending in front of the boy, he adjusted the child's cap and grinned hoping to lift his cousin's spirits a little. "There now, you look like a little dwarf."

To his surprise the young face lit up immediately. "Like in Uncle Bilbo's story?"

Merimac furrowed his brow in confusion. It had been a long time since he had heard old Bilbo's tale. And he had never quite liked it. The idea of a dragon and a mountain full of gold struck him as highly dubious. Yet, seeing that his cousin obviously found delight in it, he played along. "Quite like that, yes." With a mischievous grin, he rose to his feet and droned in a menacing voice. "And I am the terrible dragon who likes to have little dwarves for breakfast."

Frodo squeaked in surprise, turned round and, in one swift movement, dashed up the path. Merimac chuckled to himself at the child's awkward movement. Poor thickly wrapped Frodo would roll all the way home if he should fall during his run. For a moment he wondered whether he had dressed him in too many layers, then he took up pursuit.

Frodo had run onto the meadow, half jumping over the frozen blades of grass. Mac was still on the lane but he picked up his pace as the distance between him and the lad grew wider. He had taken no more than three steps, when he suddenly slipped on a patch of ice, and fell face-first onto the ground. His teeth clattered, pain shot through his head and several instants later stars danced in front of his darkening eyes. Dazed, Merimac moaned at the pounding in his jaw, a throbbing that seemed to creep upwards to his ears, then to his temples, to finally come to rest behind his eyes.

"Frodo," he whispered weakly, wincing at the pain speaking caused. A wave of nausea accompanied by an even stronger one of dizziness overwhelmed him as he struggled to get up.

"Frodo!" he called again. Auntie Primie would kill him if he lost the lad. Warm liquid trickled down his neck soaking the collar of his jacket. Merimac blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on one of the rocks near his head. It was covered with dark blood which glistened in the sunlight.

"Ow." Little Frodo expressed Mac's thought quite accurately. The child stood before him, his voice and face as distressed and pained as if it were his hurt.

"I'm all right," Merimac assured in a light voice, wincing again as the throbs grew stronger. Despite his being glad that his cousin had listened to him calling, the child's expression did not encourage him in the least. Carefully he touched his neck, following the line of blood upwards until his fingers touched a deep cut on his chin. He hissed with pain.

Frodo flinched as is sharing it, the child's face a mask of rebellion, wonder and worry. Mac sat up carefully, allowed his young cousin to kneel down beside him.

"Shall I blow?" the lad asked hopefully.

Merimac almost laughed at that, though he was busily considering what to do as well. He could go home and care for himself somehow. Or he could follow the lane down to Bucklebury to Fastred Bolger's house, hoping the healer would be home. Seeing that Frodo looked at him as helplessly as he felt, it didn't take much thought to decide on the latter, especially since he felt still more blood running down his neck.

It took him some effort to struggle to his feet, but once that first barrier was managed he held out his clean hand to Frodo and led the way to Bucklebury. As they neared the town, old Willy Brownlock and his wife came hurrying towards them, both distraught by the look of Merimac. Mrs. Brownlock immediately took charge of Frodo, much to the child's displeasure, while Willy supported Merimac giving him assistance he did not need but which he accepted without protest.

Fastred himself welcomed them into his small house and while his wife Calendula bid the Brownlocks farewell, eighteen-year-old Marigold, the healer's oldest daughter, was ordered to take care of Frodo. Merimac was made to lie down on a sofa in the parlour and moments later the healer sat beside him, a bottle of liquid and a cloth in hand.

"What have you got yourself into this time, lad?" the healer wanted to know, carefully washing the blood away.

"Not into anything," Mac told him numbly. "Onto a rock it was. On the way to the Baggins-smial. I slipped - ow!"

"It's still bleeding," the healer observed thoughtfully, wetting the cloth with the liquid from the bottle and cleaning the wound with even more care than before. "This might hurt a bit."

Merimac hissed as the healer disinfected the wound.

"It will need stitches, I fear."

"Stitches?" Mac's eyes widened. "What for?"

"It's still bleeding," the healer repeated. "Quite an impressive hole you've got yourself there."

"Hole?" Merimac breathed, almost fearful now.

"Indeed," Fastred winked then patted the tween's chest good-naturedly. "Couldn't stop your fall with something else besides your face, eh?"

"I--" Whatever words he had wanted to say remained stuck in his throat as his eyes were drawn to the needle the healer produced from his satchel. Knowing that he had no chance of avoiding whatever procedure might follow, he leaned back only to look up into a pair of blue eyes. "Hullo," he greeted miserably.

Frodo grinned down at him, a line of milk froth coating his upper-lip. "Better?" he asked and without waiting for an answer went on babbling. "Mrs. Healer made me milk and honey. You get some too, after you're done. Mrs. Healer's very nice. The girls are not. They don't let me play."

Merimac allowed himself to be carried away by his cousin's words. He felt a tingling in his chin and inevitably shuddered, desperate to focus his attention on Frodo's face which, to his dismay, bore an absolutely fascinated and curious expression which did not help to lessen his discomfort in the least. Closing his eyes helplessly, Merimac concentrated on the sounds surrounding him. He could hear Frodo's breathing just above his head. At times he could even feel the child's warm breath tickling his cheeks. There was the crackling of fire and he tried unsuccessfully to remember whether he had seen a hearth on entering the room. He could hear girls' laughter, probably the healer's daughters, playing in one of the other rooms. He heard the clutter of dishes and a voice humming of a soft, familiar tune he could not quite place. The smell of cake wafted past his nose and made his stomach grumble.

The healer laughed hearing it and then announced that he was done. Merimac suddenly realised that he was desperately clutching the sofa's cushions with muscles as tense as bowstrings. His eyes, which he thought he had only lightly closed, were squeezed shut. He hastened to open them again, not willing to let Fastred know just how unnerved the procedure had made him.

"Quite an ordeal, wasn't it?" Fastred teased, patting Merimac's chest once more and winking at Frodo who looked on, utterly spellbound. "I might need to show you the needle more often, if only to keep you still."

Merimac sat up, giving him a challenging glare while inwardly shuddering at the thought. "Don't even consider it."

Fastred simply grinned and kept him from feeling his chin. Just then, Calendula peeked into the room and announced that tea was ready. The healer's face lit up even brighter. "I think that was an invitation."

~*~*~

Merimac was glad when he could finally tuck the blanket around his cousin. The afternoon had been a lot more exciting than he had expected. To his relief, there had been no more difficulties after a lovely tea at the healer's house. He even managed to warm the dinner properly without Frodo getting his fingers burnt. The lad was constantly after him wanting to help in one way or another. In the end, Merimac had allowed him to stir the soup which had not been the best idea he had had that day, but hadn't been the worst either.

His chin was swollen and still aching, but at least the throbbing had eased. His mother would be 'delighted' to learn that he had had to pay Fastred yet another visit, but would be beside herself when she saw his jacket. It was ruined, covered with blood as it was. Not even Lila, head of the washerwomen, would get it clean again.

"Mac?" Frodo's face was partly illuminated by a candle, his dark blue eyes glancing pleadingly up at him. He could barley keep them open; Merimac had put him to bed a little later than his aunt had told him to.

"What is it, scallywag?" he asked plopping down on the edge of the bed.

"Stay," the child begged.

"I'll stay right outside in the parlour," Merimac told him looking forward to a quiet evening.

Frodo shook his head and patted the mattress. "Stay here."

"No, Frodo."

"Please." A huge yawn claimed the chubby face and Merimac, feeling himself respond to it with a yawn of his own decided to give in. The child was so tired he would fall asleep quickly and Merimac would still have enough time to clean up and rest before his aunt and uncle returned home.

He had put Frodo very close to the wall to insure that he wouldn't fall out over the course of the evening so there was enough room left for him to slip under the covers as well. Frodo snuggled close immediately, leaving Merimac slightly uncomfortable, he not being accustomed to such open affection. It didn't take long to get used to though, especially when Frodo's breathing slowed, becoming deep and even in a matter of moments. Merimac, leaning on his elbow, watched the peaceful face drowsily and allowed himself to stroke back a stray curl from Frodo's brow. It was an odd gesture and though he wondered why he had done it, it felt strangely fulfilling. He smiled a little, partly at the child before him, partly at his own peculiar behaviour, and yet he still found himself unwilling to leave. He laid his head onto the pillow and kept watching his cousin. The dishes and Frodo's toys could wait another minute.

~*~*~

It was shortly after midnight when the front-door of the small smial opened and Primula and Drogo Baggins stepped into the dimly lit entrance hall. Her husband blew out the lantern while Primula rubbed her hands together and slipped out of her cloak. They had enjoyed the feast at the Tunnely's and soon even she had forgotten her doubts about Merimac though she was quite curious to learn how the afternoon had gone for her nephew. Knowing her son, he had probably been quite a handful to manage and being welcomed by such a quiet smial only confirmed her belief that Merimac would have fallen asleep from exhaustion after getting Frodo to bed.

On her way to Frodo's room, which was always her first destination when she returned late at night after her lad had been in someone else's care, Primula noted with some disappointment that Merimac hadn't managed to clear away Frodo's play things that evening. They were scattered all over the parlour. Shaking her head, she peeked into the darkness of her child's chamber.

The hall's golden light illuminated a sight Primula could at first hardly believe. Not only was her son curled up in his bed but so was her nephew. Seemingly sound asleep, Merimac lay on his right side, one arm lovingly laid across Frodo's chest. Her heart warmed at the sight and a fond smile lit her face as she silently approached the bed. Merimac did indeed look spent but there was something else that shocked her. A red and blue bulge blemished her nephew's chin. Obviously the afternoon had not been without any inauspicious incidents. Sighing heavily, she touched the tween's shoulder gently and shook him awake.

"Aunt Primie?" The lad frowned trying to blink sleep away. "What time is it?"

"About midnight," she whispered. "Come outside with me."

Merimac looked at her somnolently before casting a surprised glance at Frodo, cognizance brightening his face but very slowly. He slipped out of bed carefully and followed her as she led him into the parlour where Drogo was placing the last of Frodo's toys in a huge wooden box.

"So?" Primula asked her nephew after greetings were exchanged and everyone had taken a seat.

"Frodo is all right," Merimac quickly assured looking at least somewhat awake.

Primula smiled. "Yes, that I saw. But didn't I suggest you should look after yourself as well."

"That's quite a nice bump. Where did you get it from?" Drogo asked.

Merimac shrugged and shook his head. "I had a little accident. Nothing worth telling." With a smile he turned to Primula. "I think, Auntie, that your boy kept me so busy, I didn't have time to look after myself as well."

"I told you as much," Primula answered with a smile of her own. It didn't seem Merimac was going to tell her what had happened, but his smile did not falter. She would not press him. In the morning, Frodo would tell her everything anyhow. Over all, Primula was quite impressed with her nephew. The wound had been stitched and though Merimac still hadn't managed to keep out of trouble, he had at least proved that he could handle the consequences. Perhaps there was a little hope he would grow up after all.

"I'll ready the guest room for you," she announced feeling a pleasant weariness creep into her bones. "It's too late to send you home."

Merimac nodded his thanks and as Primula left the room she caught sight of her nephew and her husband exchanging meaningful glances. Indeed, perhaps she had misjudged Merimac. She was glad that the tween had proven her wrong. Mac was a fine young hobbit, though he knew how to hide it. Frodo might find better examples but in Merimac he had a friend and a protector. Yes, perhaps she would be able to entrust her son to him again, at least as long as he kept on the course he seemed to finally have set upon.

~THE END~

Title: A Pony Too Little
Rating: G
Summary: It’s Saradoc’s birthday but it is Merimac who gets his hands on his brother’s present.
Year: 1345 (Saradoc turns 5, Merimac is 28 months old)

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing.

~*~*~

"Mine!"

Merimac sat on the floor, chubby hands clutching a small, wooden pony to his chest. Blue-green eyes glowered up at Menegilda while at the same time observing every movement in the family's living-room. It was the morning of his brother's birthday and in honour of that his grandparents, the Master and Mistress, had given him a carving. Unfortunately Merimac had got hold of it when it was unwatched and had thus started a vociferous quarrel with his brother.

"No, Merimac, that's Saradoc's present," she said softly but with a resolute tone to her voice as she kneeled down in front of her youngest. "Give it back to him."

The child shook his head vigorously, sending a threatening glance in his brother's direction lest he should come closer. "Mine!" he repeated again, fingers tight around the pony.

"Look, dear," Menegilda tried again pointing at Saradoc. "You're brother is very sad because of your behaviour."

To her misfortune Saradoc looked more like a kettle close to boiling than a picture of misery.

"He'll never give it back!" the older one yelled, tears of anger burning in his eyes. "He'll ruin it! He's ruining everything! Why do I have to have a brother? I never wanted one!"

"Hush, boy," Rorimac admonished putting a hand on his son's mouth.

Merimac kept glaring at his brother but there was a hint of a challenge in his voice when he repeated that the pony was his.

That did it for Saradoc. The boy leaped forward and Menegilda could barely stop him from lashing out at his brother. Merimac screamed, Menegilda called Saradoc's name and a moment later the boy struggled in her lap while the tot fled on all fours.

"I want the pony!" Saradoc cried and Menegilda rolled her eyes. Why had she so hoped to have boys? Girls, surely, must be easier to handle. Beseechingly she looked at her husband. Rory sighed but got up nonetheless while she returned to sit with her parents-in-law. Saradoc immediately climbed into his grandfather's lap to whine about his cruel fate in having a younger brother and repeated that he had never wanted one but that another carved pony would be great.

Rorimac meanwhile knelt down in front of the small table in the far corner of the room under which Merimac sought shelter. At first he used the same method of persuasion Menegilda had tried but soon his voice turned stern. Merimac's reply became a shy whisper which resulted in pained sobs as his father loosened each of the ten small fingers separately to retrieve the captured pony.

At Rory's return Saradoc broke into delighted squeals. Glances of triumph were sent to an utterly miserable Merimac while the pony was made to gallop over Gorbadoc's shoulder and arm. Menegilda almost pitied her youngest as he sat sulking under that dark polished table, small arms crossed in front of his chest, lips pouting and cheeks flushed from tears.

"Quite a handful, aren't they?" her mother-in-law chuckled as she sipped her tea.

Menegilda turned with a sigh. "They can be better as you well know. At the moment it's just that Merimac thinks everything he gets his fingers on is his and Saradoc needs to work on that bit of a temper he has."

Mirabella smiled. "If he is like his father or Primie it will never quite disappear

Menegilda nodded, knowing well her husband's obstinacy. It had softened ever since he had become a father, but in Rory's youngest sister, Primula, she could still see that same spirit. Primula was a fine young girl and regularly helped her out with the lads but she had her own mind and could be quite stubborn about her ways.

"Mummy?" Merimac tugged at her skirts and reached up his hands.

Menegilda easily picked him up and brushed a thumb across the damp cheeks. "Calmed down again?"

Merimac sniffed and flung his arms around her neck, eyes resting sullenly on a contently playing Saradoc. "Po Mac, pease."

"No lad," Menegilda replied. "This one is for Saradoc but I'm sure he will let you play with it eventually."

"Now?" Mac asked hopefully but Saradoc shook his head and glared at him, the pony protectively pressed to his chest.

Menegilda respected her older son's wish and tried to draw Merimac's attention to some of his other toys but the tot was too grumpy to be distracted. It was only when Mirabella suggested playing a clapping game with him that he cheered up and Menegilda thankfully handed him to his grandmother.

Her two lads were indeed a handful but she would not want to give them away for all the silence and repose on this earth. She loved being needed even if it meant settling two boys' recurring dispute for she knew that her children in truth loved one another. They only needed to learn how to share and play together now that Merimac was old enough to follow his brother.

~THE END~

Title: Sleep
Rating: G
Summary: On one of their first nights together, Adamanta watches her husband.
Year: 1378

Special thanks to Dreamflower for betaing.

~*~*~

Leaning on her right elbow, Adamanta tilted her head and studied her husband's sleeping form. His bare chest rose with deep, regular breaths. Only one half of his face was illuminated with golden firelight, his dark lashes painting even darker shadows on the flushed cheek. Brown curls were spread about his head, some strands hanging loosely into his eyes.

She would never tire of watching him - the way his lids moved when he was dreaming or how his lips twitched when she trailed a finger along his breastbone. Neither would she ever weary of the feel of his body beside her. His warmth and love made her feel comfortable even in as big a home as Brandy Hall.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she suddenly felt herself craving for his nearness. Carefully she laid her head into the crook of his arm and nestled close. She could hear his heartbeat, feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Barely suppressing a contented sigh she closed her eyes. He smelled of hay, weed, sweat and ponies, of summer and something which slowly but without any doubt became home for her.

"Mantha?" He stirred but his voice was so thick with sleep that she doubted he would fully wake.

"I'm here," she murmured and breathed a kiss onto his shoulder. He did not reply, but the muscles of his arm tightened and after another moment's silence, he mumbled some unintelligible words. Adamanta frowned but before she could pull herself up again he put his arm about her and pulled her even closer.

A smile played at the corner of her lips. She would soon get used to being Mrs. Merimac Brandybuck. Merimac would help her by day as much as by night. Placing another kiss on his shoulder, she put her arm about his chest and surrendered to his peace.

~THE END~

Title: Easing Troubles
Rating: G
Summary: When Merimac looks in on his son one night he finds the lad in tears.
Year: 1387

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing.

~*~*~

Merimac yawned sleepily and rubbed his neck. It had been a long night in the stables but now he owned a gorgeous chestnut filly. A beauty - perfect for breeding and worth the many hours of waiting.

On his way from the bathing chambers a candle flickered and went out, plunging him into momentary darkness. Merimac sighed but shuffled on. After all he could barely keep his eyes open anyhow. Either way, before he went to bed he wanted to look in on Berilac. The boy had seemed a little distressed this evening and had been utterly disappointed when Mac had told him that he could not come along.

As he turned the knob a stifled sob met his ear and Merimac frowned. "Berry?" he whispered into the darkness and carefully ventured in. "Berilac?"

The form on the bed stirred, then went absolutely still - too still. The room was utterly dark except for the light of a small lamp Berilac liked to have lit. Said light now played with sandy brown curls and Merimac could not resist the urge to comb his fingers through them. Berilac quivered and a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob escaped his lips. Merimac felt a sting in his heart. "What is the matter, boy? What troubles you so - and at this hour?"

Berilac made no reply but curled up tighter. Merimac waited and soon curiosity got the better of his son. "How did it go?"

Merimac smiled a little. "We've got a new filly. If you want, you and Merry can see her tomorrow." Berilac nodded but Mac all but heard him swallow hard. "Berry?" he asked concerned. "Did you quarrel with Merry?"

The child shook his head but finally turned to nestle close to him. "It's Frodo," he mumbled. "He's angry with me. He yelled at me this morning and when I yelled right back he grabbed my arm and shoved me out his room. And Merry," he sniffed. "Merry was with him, watching, and he seemed sorry but he didn't say a word. In the afternoon Merimas and I saw Frodo again and I told him that he was stupid and that you'll beat him up if he pushed me out his room once more. But he merely glared at me and told me to shove off and leave him alone or he'll beat me up. And then he ran down to the river and I haven't seen him since."

In spite of the irritating news Merimac had to smile a little. Berilac entrusted to him his all and everything, lifted him further up than he probably deserved and yet always brought him down again. He loved his child more than he had ever thought possible and though he wanted nothing more than to put Frodo in his place there was something disturbing about this piece of information. Frodo might lash out at Saradoc and others from time to time but with the little ones he was always gentle and understanding. It wasn't surprising that the described behaviour had frightened and confused Berilac. Merimac already pondered going to Frodo right away for - being the bookworm he was - he would surely still be up and reading. But then a thought struck him. Today it was exactly seven years since the death of the boy's parents. Frodo had always been more distressed and touchy on the anniversary. No one could reach him then and no matter how good their intentions were Frodo would scorn at them. Only Merry possessed this odd gift of understanding him and only he could comfort Frodo although his young nephew surely did not fully understand what was going on.

"Da?" Berilac had turned to look at him, his face questioning. "Will you beat Frodo up?"

Merimac shook his head. "Punching someone is never a solution, son. This has been a difficult day for Frodo and I'm sure he already feels sorry for being harsh."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then I shall talk to him tomorrow," Merimac assured. "Go to sleep now, lad, it's late."

Berilac protested but when a huge yawn claimed him he snuggled into the pillows willingly enough. Merimac tucked him in and kissed his brow. "Good night."

Merimac turned to leave when his son called once more for him. "Da? If he apologises do you believe I should tell him that I didn't think him stupid?"

"You should," Merimac answered with a fond smile. "I'm sure Frodo will be glad to hear that."

"What makes you so sure that he will apologise?" Berilac asked further.

"He loves you, boy, and he probably didn't know how much he hurt you."

"Why?" the child inquired and Merimac had to smile despite his weariness.

"Sometimes we do things without thinking or without knowing that we hurt someone we care about. And believe me: Frodo would rather beat up anybody else for you than punch you or Merry."

"Are you sure?"

Merimac nodded.

"Then why didn't he allow me into his room?"

"Ask him," Merimac suggested, "but don't be angry if he doesn't reply. And now, my boy, it's high time for you to sleep."

Berilac grinned. "Da?"

"No 'da'," Merimac told him and waggled a finger. "Da is almost asleep himself and will be glad when he gets into his own bed."

"Good night, da," Berilac replied, his smirk showing in his voice.

"Good night."

~THE END~

Title: Bedtime Hour
Rating: G
Summary: It's Merimac's first night in the room he shares with his brother.

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing.

~*~*~

"It's quite a big room, isn't it?"

Saradoc blinked into the darkness of his bedroom - no, theirs - but made no reply.

"I mean, it's really big."

"It's average, Mac," he mumbled and snuggled deeper into his blanket with a contented, sleepy sigh.

"Don't you think it's huge?" his brother continued, oblivious. "And so quiet. You can't hear a thing from the common rooms."

"That's because we're in the upper level and the common rooms are not."

"Yes," Merimac confirmed. "But it's still quiet. And dark."

"Mac," Saradoc grumbled and pulled the blanket over his head. "It's dark because you're supposed to sleep and you won't know it's dark anyhow." If his brother was going to talk all night he would have to discuss this with their father again in the morning. Life had been so nice in a room of his own.

"But what if I wake up," Merimac inquired. The bed creaked as the younger shifted his weight. "I cannot see a thing."

"You're not supposed to see because you should be sleeping."

"Did you always sleep when you first came here?"

Saradoc ignored him. It was his brother's first night in their shared room and they had been up even after their father had checked on them for the third time to tell them to go to bed. He was tired and why Merimac wasn't was a mystery to him.

"Sara?" The voice quivered just a bit and once again the bed creaked. "Are you asleep? Why did you have to blow out the candle?"

Silence, more movement in the other bed, then: "Saradoc!" There was just enough desperation in his brother's voice that Saradoc opened one eye. "What shall I do when I need light?"

"There is another candle on your nightstand," he mumbled in irritation.

"You're awake!" The obvious sigh of relief in Mac's tone could not be denied.

"Of course, I am," Saradoc grumbled. "How anybody is supposed to sleep with you in the same room is beyond me. I don't know what Ma and Da were thinking when they came up with the idea."

"I'm sorry but this really is a huge room." Mac's voice was almost apologetic but then took on a whiny note. "And the bed is huge also. I'm sure I would fit in it four times at least. And the blanket is so heavy it almost squashes me."

"I shall squash you if you don't shut up now!" Saradoc snarled into the darkness and was pleased with the silence that followed. He heard Merimac letting out a breath of frustration. The bed creaked as his brother shifted his weight once more. Saradoc nestled a little more comfortably into his pillow as well.

However, it was not long until his brother's voice entreated him once more. "Sara? What shall I do if I cannot find the matches to light my candle?"

"Merimac!" Saradoc growled the name through gritted teeth. He did get along with his brother well enough, but this certainly didn't encourage him to like him more.

"And what if I struck a light and it slips from my fingers?" Merimac swiftly went on sensing his agitation and probably believing that dwelling on a certain question would lead to more trouble than asking many.

"Then the smial will go up in flame and it will all be your fault!" Saradoc shouted and pointedly turned his back on him.

Merimac was silent just long enough for Saradoc to relax. When he spoke again his voice was uneasy. "I don't want the smial to burn down."

Saradoc sat up to glance at the opposite side of the room. He could not see his brother but sensed his eyes upon him. "Is there anything I can do to shut you up aside from shoving you out of the room and letting you sleep out there?" he called out heatedly pointing to the door.

He heard more than he saw how Merimac threw back his blanket and padded over to him. A moment later his brother was snuggled comfortably in his bed. Saradoc glowered at him. "Wasn't it enough that I gave up my room for you? Does it have to be my bed as well?!"

Merimac looked up at him and this time Saradoc could discern his face and the hopeful look in his eyes. "We can share my bed if you would like that better."

"Very funny, Mac," Saradoc told him sarcastically but Merimac didn't seem troubled in the least. He nestled into the pillow as if it were his and gave a content sigh. Saradoc watched him for a long moment pondering whether he should send him into his bed again or just leave him where he was. At length he decided on the latter, lay back down and after another moment's hesitation saw to it that Mac lay close to him. After all he was the older brother and had to look after the younger. And as he saw him now and felt the trust his brother showed him Saradoc had to smile. Merimac might be a nuisance most of the time but he could not help loving him anyhow - though he would never tell him that. At last he closed his eyes and bid his brother good night. Merimac barely managed a reply, already drifting off to sleep.

~THE END~

Title: Milk and Honey
Rating: G
Summary: When young hobbits are ill milk mixed with a little honey is the best remedy.

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing.

~*~*~

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Nonsense!"

"But I'm feeling so weak and my head is heavy. The room is spinning too. Surely I must die. I will dehydrate and die from," the child thought hard for a moment, "prostration."

Menegilda frowned in confusion as she tucked yet another blanket around her lad. "Who told you that?"

"Pal said so," Merimac told her, clearly admiring his older cousin's superior knowledge. "He said I will dehydrate from the fever. It was so with his aunt. She could only wheeze in the end, before she died from," the lad made another thoughtful pause before carefully pronouncing his next word, "prostration. What does that mean, Ma?"

"It means that your cousin is pulling your leg," Menegilda told him earnestly. She shook her head. It really did not do that Paladin should frighten her son with all those tales, true as they might be. Merimac believed too much of what his cousin said and she really did not like him thinking about dehydration and death. "You should not believe everything Paladin tells you, love. His head is full of mischief."

Merimac grinned. "So is mine, isn't it, Ma?"

"I'm afraid so," Menegilda nodded with a smile and went to the fireside to put another log into the flames. Merimac had come down with a bit of a cold the last night and she thought it best to keep him in bed for a day, which did not prove to be an easy task. The Great Smials, where she and her family stayed while Rorimac discussed some business with the Thain, was an even more interesting place for her boy to explore than Brandy Hall and its immediate surroundings. Especially since his cousin Paladin and his family were visiting as well. Twice this morning she had had to bring him back to bed because he had 'felt up to going for a tramp' with Paladin and Saradoc. Never mind that he had been on wobbly feet or that he was now going to die - again. Merimac tended to be overdramatic when ill, especially when she kept him in bed.

A rather unhealthy sounding cough caused Menegilda to glance worriedly at her son. During this visit it seemed that bad luck was always at Merimac's heels. On the first day he fell from a tree. Thankfully no harm came from it except for a fright which had not sufficed to teach him a lesson. The next day he had been happily sitting in that same tree with Paladin close at his side. Soon after that the lads had gone mud-digging in one of the smaller streams close to the farm. Unfortunately Merimac had been the one to discover stones instead of mud and cut his foot on one of them. And now, after getting drenched yesterday night, he lay listlessly in his bed, looking at her glumly.

"I really don't think it's fair," Merimac whined. "Why can't Sara be the one who's ill? He always gets to have all the fun."

"Don't wish for such things," Menegilda gently rebuked him. She tilted her head and studied her son. "Besides, I don't think you've missed all that much fun."

"And what about that other time?" Merimac insisted, clearly upset. Menegilda walked over to the bed awaiting further information but after a long silence her lad finally concluded with, "It just isn't fair!"

Menegilda kissed his too warm brow and gently brushed some curls back. She knew her son too well not to mistake his anger for the sadness it truly was. Merimac's cheerless eyes were fixed on her, his lips trembling a little. "Can't you make them stay inside - with me?"

She shook her head while continuing to stroke his cheeks. Being her second born Merimac took rather badly to being alone. He had always been one to enjoy company more than solitude. All his life he had scrambled along after Saradoc, and usually both children happened to fall ill at about the same time - or had one of their distant relatives to share a sickroom with. Here at the Great Smials Mac had neither and was struggling to face his fate alone.

"I don't want to stay here, Mammy," Merimac sniffed, his voice growing ever scratchier. "I don't want to be sick."

Menegilda could feel him fighting his tears and it tore at her heart to see her son so miserable. Thankfully she knew just the remedy for that, even though she could not keep Paladin and Saradoc inside to entertain him. "What do you say to a nice hot cup of milk and honey to stem that dehydration Paladin spoke of?" The child looked up at her in confusion. "And then a good long story to fight prostration from tears?"

"I didn't cry!" the lad protested but then his face lit up. "A story would be great. You can begin with prostration and how it can be fought. Do you think I could give it to Cousin Pal for pulling my leg? I'm sure a bit of prostration wouldn't do him any harm."

Menegilda chuckled, happy to see a smile brighten her son's face again. "I'm sure it wouldn't. But for the moment I'm glad you're the one needing a little rest," she grinned, her eyes twinkling. "This way I have you all to myself to hug and kiss and snuggle."

She punctuated her words by nuzzling his cheek and pulling him close. Merimac gasped a protest that swiftly turned into a giggle, then a squeal as he tried to push her away and voice an indignant "Ma-ma!" Menegilda only laughed at that, ruffled his curls and hurried out of the room to put her plan into action.

~*~*~

The light in the nursery was low. The air was just a little too hot to be comfortable. It smelled of sickness. Merimac wrinkled his nose as he entered the room to check on the lads. He was welcomed by the noisy but peaceful breathing of little Meriadoc. Merimac heaved a sigh of relief. At least one had stopped complaining.

"It's not fair!" Berilac cried out instead of a greeting and broke into a coughing fit the moment the words were out. Merimac nodded placidly. The other, obviously, had not. "It's all his fault! He started that sneezing!"

He, of course, was Frodo who lay in the furthest of the three beds. Said tween turned his back on them and croaked something between a curse and a plea.

Merimac chuckled. "Nice first visit, isn't it?"

"I wish he hadn't come," Berilac grumbled, glaring at his cousin though a stern glance from Merimac sufficed to silence further accusation. His lad was very much like he himself used to be. Very crotchety when ill and annoyed with everyone who wasn't - or the one who had started the nasty business. He remembered many an argument in the sickroom that had left him and Saradoc more exhausted than their respective illnesses.

"For once I'm of the same opinion," Frodo said hoarsely. "I was in perfect health at Bag End." His voice faded into an unhealthy sounding cough as if to prove the opposite.

"But you missed us," Merimac smiled. "You just don't want to acknowledge it."

Frodo made no reply but snuggled deeper into his blankets and snuffled. The poor lad had caught the illness only a few days after his arrival in Buckland. It was his first visit since he had left for Bag End and everyone had been delighted to welcome him and the old Baggins, especially the children which proved to be their downfall. Frodo had suffered the worst of all. His fever had been up and down no matter how many mugs of chamomile tea they fed him. Fastred, however, had assured that there was nothing to be concerned about and that hopefully the illness would pass in a couple of days.

"And you really should admit that you're glad he's come," Merimac told his son, placing a hand on his forehead to check for fever. To his relief it was cooler than it had been in the morning. Berilac leaned into the touch and crawled closer, resting his head in his father's lap when Mac sat down on the bed's edge.

"Can I have some milk and honey?" the child asked hopefully.

Merimac smiled, combing his fingers through his son's soft curls. "Mama is getting us some this very moment." That said he pushed the boy a little to one side, flung his legs over the edge and made himself quite comfortable in the bed. "I think I shall be ill today as well. 'Tis quite comfy here."

Berilac giggled and immediately hugged him close, when all of a sudden a pillow hit Merimac on the head. When he looked up in confusion he discovered Frodo leaning on his elbow and shaking his head at him. "You're a git, Mac."

Merimac smiled impishly. "Thank you." He threw the pillow back. "And I do love you too, lad."

~THE END~

Title: Hero
Rating: G
Summary: Four tiny ficlets in which Merimac either acts as hero or is in need of one.

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing.

~*~*~

Year: 1349

"Goodness, Merimac!" Menegilda exclaimed as the door opened and her sons stepped into the parlour. Putting her needlework aside she darted over to them and bent down in front of her youngest to have a closer look at his face. There were a couple of scratches that hadn't been there in the morning as well as a swelling bulge just above the eye. "What happened?" she asked in concern as she felt his body for further injuries.

"It's nothing, Ma," the child told her and Menegilda, finding no further injuries, turned to her eldest. His left eye was blackening but apart from that he looked well and decidedly smug.

"It's the Bucklebury twins," Saradoc informed her with a grin. "We had a fight and I won."

"You had what?" Menegilda demanded sternly and Saradoc flinched just a little. Her eldest liked to solve his problems with his fists in spite of her efforts to teach him differently.

"He was amazing, Ma!" Merimac announced before Menegilda could rebuke her lad further. She canted an eyebrow as she turned to find him bouncing with excitement. Heaving an inward sigh she prepared for yet another lecture, but Merimac wouldn't allow it. His eyes sparkled with delight and obvious esteem for his brother.

"The twins and I were climbing the oak and Tod made fun of me because I wouldn't go higher than the second lowest branch. I told him that I would climb further up if he and Rob weren't blocking the way. Tod said I was lying and kept on teasing, so I spoke right back to him because I really was saying the truth. But then he pushed me and I fell down. I cried so as to give them a fright," Merimac recounted the events with a sideways glance at his brother lest he should object, "and they were mightily scared, I tell you. They climbed down in a hurry but Sara, who saw everything, was already waiting for them and he punched Tod's face as soon as his feet reached ground, and told him to leave me alone. Then Rob hit Sara and I wanted to help him but Sara managed them all by himself. Isn't he amazing, Ma?" the boy repeated breathlessly. "And all for me!"

With that Merimac flung his arms around his brother's neck and grinned up at him with such innocent admiration that Menegilda almost forgot that she should punish Saradoc for his deed. Saradoc put on almost as innocent a smile and held his young brother tight. The lads had her in their hands and what was worse at least Saradoc knew exactly what he was doing. Menegilda glanced at him long and intently. "I think a day or two in the kitchen would do you some good, young lad."

"But, Ma," Saradoc protested clutching his brother even tighter for effect. "I did it for Merimac."

Menegilda nodded. "Yes, that's why it will only be a day or two."

Saradoc heaved a sigh and wriggled from his brother's grip to depart grumbling from the parlour. Menegilda shook her head and smiled as Merimac hurried after his hero. It was a joy to see Saradoc stand up for his brother even though she had rather that fists were not involved. Yet she wondered how long the peace between the brothers would last.

~*~*~

Year: 1392 (set after To Die For)

His breathing was shallow, the pain obvious in his laboured breaths. He would never tell her how much he really hurt; never admit how deep his fright still sat. But she knew and she loved him all the more for it. He would have given his life for their son. Her foolish, brave Merimac! Farmer Grubb had told her how close it had been for both Mac and Berilac. She could have lost them, lost them both in an instant.

Tears filled her eyes at the mere thought. Adamanta ran a hand through her sleeping son's curls and breathed a kiss on her husband's brow just to assure herself that both were indeed well and alive.

Merimac was roused by the gesture. He blinked sleepily, his eyes reflecting the golden firelight. He frowned at the sight of her tears and reached out a hand to gently brush them from her cheeks. "What is wrong, love?"

"Nothing," she smiled and kissed him lovingly. "Thanks to you, my bravest of fools."

Merimac raised an eyebrow.

"Though I must say that you gave me quite a fright." Her voice broke in spite of her efforts to keep it cheerful.

Merimac's features softened with compassion. He rose to pull her close but grimaced from the pain the movement caused him. Adamanta nonetheless returned the embrace and allowed another tear to trickle down her cheek. Never had she thought she could love someone so much as she did Merimac. Unbelievable that nearly losing him had reminded her of that.

"Don't cry," Merimac soothed her. "I'm a Brandybuck. It would take more than a bolting pony and its cart to get rid of me."

Adamanta almost laughed at the absurdity of his words. Yet she was glad for the toughness of her lads and the courage of her husband.

Beside her Berilac murmured in his sleep and Adamanta put an arm around him and drew him closer to her and Merimac. Her husband smiled and while he kissed her hair he ran a hand through Berilac's curls. Adamanta heaved a sigh of relief. They were both still with her and would be for a long while yet.

~*~*~

Year: 1399

Merimac sat on the roots of a huge weeping willow whose branches hung sadly into Brandywine River, combing like fingers through the dark swirling water. His eyes glistened and tears ran down his cheeks. Never had he felt this empty and aching. Not even Mantha or Berry could comfort him, not when he walked past the small parlour she loved so much every morning to see it unchanged. No one had the heart to put her belongings away. How could they increase the distance she had already gone without them?

"I knew I would find you here."

Merimac flinched at the voice but he did not turn, not having the heart for that either. For the first time in his life he needed solitude more than the company of friends and family. "How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough," was the quiet reply. Steps approached and that same voice spoke gently to him. "I used to come here often myself. It's the right place to mourn."

A gust of wind disturbed the branches sending a low, dreary murmur through the tree as if to prove the words. Merimac shivered and almost drew back when a warm hand was laid on his cold one and someone sat down beside him. No one should see him like this, he least of all.

"It's all right," the voice said, sensing his thoughts.

Merimac stifled the sob that threatened to escape his lips and held tight to the offered hand. Silence closed her veil about them and it was Merimac who eventually broke it. "Will it ever stop to hurt?"

"No," was the quick reply and for the first time Merimac looked into the kind face of his cousin. "But after a time you will stop bleeding."

Merimac nodded and did not protest as his cousin put an arm around him and lay his head onto his shoulder so that Mac could lean his against it. The young one hurt too only this time it was Merimac who had lost his mother and the child who looked in vain for his aunt. Strangely comforted by this thought Merimac drew the tween close. Frodo knew. Frodo understood better than anybody else ever would.

~*~*~

Year: 1408

"Is he coming?" Esmeralda asked as Merimac stepped into the corridor, her voice shaking with discomposure.

"Not yet," he replied, laying his hands soothingly on her shoulders. "Give me another ten minutes."

Esmeralda opened her mouth but Merimac didn't allow her to protest. "You go back to the main hall and keep the nervousness at bay. He will come, don't worry. Now, look after Merry while I take care of your husband."

"Mac…"

"Go!" Merimac ordered her again and this time Esmeralda complied. With a last nervous look she lifted her skirts and hurried down the corridor. Merimac followed her with his eyes and heaved a sigh. He had to see this through.

Determined he turned the knob and once more stepped into the Master's study. Saradoc sat in front of the hearth his eyes fixed on the fire, just as Mac had left him. Merimac waited another moment to gather his strength before he advanced his brother. "You're family needs you, Sara," he said calmly but with insistence, "and so does your people."

"I am no king!" Saradoc retorted hotly.

"No," Merimac shook his head, his composed voice wavering, "but you're the Master of Buckland and folk look up to you."

Saradoc's tense form collapsed like a house of cards and he buried his face in his hands. The fire illuminated the trembling form as if to emphasise the misery. Warm flames, golden and flickering, yet Merimac felt nothing but cold and dark. His heart sank as he put a hand onto his brother's shoulder to reassure him feeling a tremble rise within him.

"Can't you see I'm not ready for this?" Saradoc asked helplessly and his voice broke into a whisper. "I don't have his strength and capability. I did what he told me, Mac, nothing else. And I always had him to ask for advice before acting. I can't do this alone."

Merimac knew exactly how his brother felt. Six years ago Uncle Saradas had officially handed over his office to him, though Merimac had been head of the breeding program much longer. It had been strange to suddenly be his own master and not ask for a second opinion in most decisions. He had welcomed it as much as he had feared to do something wrong. Now he often wondered how he had ever managed working under somebody's watchful eyes.

With Saradoc it was not different. Their father had announced him Master at the day of his sixtieth birthday. Yet Saradoc had always been in Rorimac's shadow. This would be the first time to meet the Bucklanders as the only Master of Buckland, rather than the younger. He was the main authority now.

"You have served as Master for the past eight years, Sara, and helped Father long before that," Merimac reminded him. "Nothing has changed."

Saradoc glanced up at him, his face pale. "Why does it feel different then?"

"Because you're not used to having no one to turn to should you need help," Merimac smiled compassionately. "But I know you, Sara. You always did the right thing and Father often said that you would no longer need him. He was proud of you. Don't disappoint him now by giving up."

"I'm not giving up," Saradoc told him, "I just…"

"Well. what are you still doing here then?" Merimac interrupted. "Step into the main hall and show people that they can depend on you, that you have the strength to walk in our father's steps as I know you have - and so did he."

Merimac tilted his head as his brother made no reply and squeezed the shoulder his hand was still resting on. "You're not alone, Saradoc. Merry looks up to you and Esme will always be at your side. And if you're in doubt I am always behind you as well. The little, annoying brother can finally be good for something, if only to give you a poke every now and then."

Saradoc chuckled involuntarily and Merimac smiled knowing that he had succeeded. "Now, go out there and do your duty. They are waiting."

Saradoc gazed into the fire once more, greying hair shielding thoughtful eyes. A tremble shook his body as he heaved a heavy sigh and eventually got up to look long and intensely at Merimac. Mac managed a smile which vanished the moment his brother pulled him into a tight embrace. No words were uttered but Merimac knew exactly what his brother wanted to tell him. All his life Saradoc had taken care of him, now was the time that Mac could look after his brother in the best way he knew: by reminding him that there was a strong and courageous heart beating in the Master's chest.

Eventually Saradoc broke away and slowly walked towards the door. There he turned once more, his eyes thoughtful. "Where do you take the strength from?" he asked quietly.

Merimac shrugged. "I guess it has to do with something our wise young cousin taught me years ago."

Saradoc considered this for a moment, frowned and then shrugged. "Don't ever stop being strong when I am not. We're both our father's sons and at the moment you're far more the Master than I think I will ever be."

Merimac smiled and nodded weakly. Silently he watched his brother leave the room before he glanced at the wall where a huge picture of his mother and father hung. "He'll mange," he told the portrait holding tight to the last bit of control he still had over his voice. "We both will."

~THE END~

Title: A Special Yule
Rating: G
Summary: An illness has Adamanta miss the Yule festivities. Her husband keeps her company and sees to her well-being and happiness.
Year: 1400

Special thanks to Ariel for betaing.

~*~*~

It was unusually quiet in Brandy Hall. In various fireplaces, the fire burnt low, but hardly anyone sat before them to warm cold fingers or weary bones. They had all gone to the riverbank. Every year the First Yule was celebrated there. Food and mulled-wine were offered a-plenty, music played, couples danced, friends and family conversed and children laughed until they became too tired to keep their eyes open. Torches and candles burned, golden and red ribbons danced in the cold winter-wind and bundles of evergreen decorated every table. But what made every First Yule special was the huge bonfire that was erected at the shore. Red and orange, its flames reached for the black sky, their light reflected on the equally dark water of the Brandywine. The smell of wood mingled with that of food and drink and sometimes a lone hobbit would stand close to the fire with a sheet of paper in his hand. It contained all the sorrows and woes of the past year and, eventually, it would be handed over to the fire's care in hopes that the new year would be a better one.

Adamanta stared wearily into the dancing flames of her own little fire. Her face glowed in a dark red and gold and her eyes glistened as they reflected the only source of light. She had been ill for ten days and this was the first time that she had set foot out of her bedroom.

It had begun a harmless cold that would not keep her from the Yule preparations. Brandy Hall was exceptionally busy during Foreyule and every helping hand was needed. But then the fever had come and rendered her utterly useless. For a time, so Merimac had told her, she had been so far gone that even he had not been able to reach her. Adamanta remembered none of it except for the ache in her throat and head, and her inability to breathe properly.

The fever had broken two days ago and glad as she was, Adamanta loathed the lingering weakness. She could not be up for longer than thirty minutes before her limbs would begin to tremble and could no longer carry her weight. She felt dreadful about the situation especially since Merimac had said that he would skip the festivities and stay with her instead. Adamanta shook her head, sighing quietly as she pulled the blanket further up. Her husband was terribly pigheaded and, not only that, but ever since the rest of the family had left, he had fretted over her like some old mother hen.

"You look thoughtful." Adamanta smiled inwardly as Merimac came to her, a tray in his hands and an exuberant smile on his face. "Is there any trouble you want to burn in the fire? I could hurry down and do it for you, you know. The flames won't mind whose hand throws your paper in."

Adamanta chuckled hoarsely. Mother hen, indeed! "I wish you would go," she said at last, thankfully accepting the steaming cup of tea Merimac offered her. "At least one of us should see the bonfire and dance in the new year."

Merimac plopped down on an armchair with a teacup of his own. "And who should I dance with?" he asked. He shook his head when she opened her mouth to speak. "Nay, lass, my heart and love are here and I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend the last hours of the old year with than you."

A blush rose to her cheeks and Adamanta looked away, flattered by his words. Merimac had always known exactly what to say and when - a fact he knew all too well, judging from the wanton look he was giving her. She sipped at her tea and suppressed a smile as she thought of a perfect reply to such provocating words. "That's very sweet talk for one who used to have such a questionable reputation."

Merimac grinned, half hiding his smirk behind his cup. The sheepish expression made him look young, even though the first silver threads had already streaked his hair. Fine lines gathered around the corner of his eyes and mouth making his laughter all the more fetching - it was the very smile she had once fallen in love with. "I'm afraid you've foiled any reputation I might have had, but I am sure your son will have one soon enough."

"Let us hope he is my son in that respect at least!" Adamanta countered. "It wouldn't do Buckland any good to have another Merimac Brandybuck to deal with."

Her husband chuckled and pondered this for a few moments. "No," he agreed at length, "it probably wouldn't."

Berilac had always been very like his father, but Adamanta hoped that he had not inherited that particular trait. As much as she loved her husband, she didn't even want to guess what a handful he had been to her late mother-in-law. Merimac canted an eyebrow as if knowing her thoughts, but when she did not offer a reply, he sank deeper into his chair and stared silently into the fire. Adamanta followed his example.

The merry tunes of the distant feast drifted into the small parlour and Adamanta closed her eyes imagining the people dancing to them. She could all but see Esme and Saradoc following the rhythm of the music, Hanna being twirled around by Marmadas - skirts brushing against ankles, billowing, and long curls, shawls and warm coats fluttering in the wind. And somewhere in that seething bustle, her son and nephew would hopefully be keeping themselves out of mischief.

It took her a moment to realise that the new air; a low, mellow sound, wasn't being carried here from the riverbank. It was her husband playing one of his whistles. Merimac preferred the higher pitched instrument since it lent itself perfectly to the lively tunes he so loved to play. Tonight, however, he had decided to play the lower pitched whistle that produced such a deep and rich sound - just what she liked to listen to most. The melody Merimac had chosen was sad - and yet it wasn't. Adamanta found her mind drifting even as she watched her husband.

Merimac had a faraway look as well, but then he always lost himself in his music. His eyes were dark and distant, his cheeks flushed from the firelight, and his fingers moved without conscious thought. From time to time, his features would be lit by a sudden gleam of firelight and then they would darken under a fleeting shadow as the flames fell again. Adamanta closed her eyes, keeping that picture in her mind as she let the melody bear her away.

Instead of carrying her far away, the music held her to the little room. Smells she had barely noticed before filled her nostrils: apple wood, herbs, Yule biscuits, pipe-weed, and the sickness that still clung to her body despite her efforts at washing. The crackle of the fire startled her - a rough interruption of her husband's soothing melody. Yet it gripped her mind and drew her to the river. Though she could hear her own hoarse breathing and the constant stream of music that Merimac breathed through his instrument, she could see the bonfire in her mind's eye. It stretched into the night, like long blazing fingers reaching into the sky and sparks flew into every direction. It smelled of smoke and ashes, of death; yet its glow was the life she felt drawn to.

"I wish I could see the fire," she whispered, her voice filled with longing.

The music stopped immediately and with it the odd feeling of floating ended. When Adamanta opened her eyes, she found her husband studying her intently. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. Adamanta looked back at him helplessly, unable to find words for a yearning she had not recognised until that moment. The fire had been her favourite part of Yule since early childhood.

All of the sudden, Merimac got up and hurried out of the room. When he returned, he was dressed in his dark-green coat and carried two blankets which he laid on her feet before carefully unfolding one. Adamanta followed his movements suspiciously, but only found her voice when he started tucking the blankets around her and packing her in. "What are you doing?"

"Making you happy," Merimac replied and grinned at her like a boy up to mischief. Taking the half-empty cup of tea from her hands, he continued his ministrations folding the second blanket about her in the same way.

Curiosity held her tongue. Whatever Merimac had in mind, he looked determined to do it. The sleeve of her robe slid off her shoulder and he clucked in disapproval as he pushed it back up and continued to "dress her properly" as he put it. Adamanta finally protested when Merimac drew the blankets well over her chin and tucked her in so tightly that she couldn't even move.

"Whatever you're planning, you will suffocate me if you don't allow me even a little…"

Her complaint was silenced by a deep and fiery kiss. It stroked her surprised lips and left her breathless and dizzy. Adamanta looked up at him, gasping, another, until now unnoticed longing awakening in her. Merimac grinned, smug in the effect he had on her and then paused as if reconsidering his course. He bent and gave her another kiss, as full of passion as the first, but with more promise of things to come and gave her bindings a final tuck.

"So, are you going to kidnap me bundled up like this?" Adamanta asked, still not quite sure what her husband had in mind.

Merimac's grin broadened. "That would be tempting, but I'm afraid tonight I have other plans." He winked conspiratorially causing a thrill of excitement to course through her. Adamanta let him hoist her into his arms, even though she felt a little unsure of her husband's intentions.

"Where are we going, Mac?" she asked, wriggling her arms free so that she could wrap them around her husband's neck.

"If you don't keep yourself warmly covered," he said, nodding at the corner of a blanket which had slipped from her shoulders, "we're not going anywhere."

Adamanta sighed but complied nonetheless. "As you wish, mother hen on duty."

The look of confusion on his face was so endearing that Adamanta could not help sniggering. Merimac probably didn't even realise that he was waiting on her hand and foot. He couldn't have been more attentive if it had been Berilac who was ill. Leaning contently against his shoulder, she waited to see what Merimac had in store for her.

They passed several dimly lit corridors - empty, for once. Merimac's steps echoed and his breathing was just a little strained. Adamanta felt guilty but knew that Merimac would not allow her to walk herself. Once he set his will, nothing and no one could dissuade him.

Her cheeks tingled as they stepped into the open. The night was cold and dark, the few lamps at the Hall's western entrance provided the only source of light. Adamanta closed her eyes, savouring the freshness of the air which seemed to chase away all weariness.

But Merimac had not yet reached his destination. Taking a deep breath, he stepped across the frozen grass and ascended the small hill west of Brandy Hall. There he sat her down on the wooden bench beneath the great oak that grew from the crest of it. The wind whistled through bare branches and bent the leafless twigs. Adamanta shivered a little, suddenly chilled, as Merimac shook out his arms, but when he sat down behind her and drew her body against his, she warmed immediately. She smiled fondly at him as she snuggled against his chest. "There was no need to carry me here."

"Wasn't there?" he replied. He drew her even closer, absently putting her blankets back into place and took her hands into his own to keep them warm. "Then, my love, you should not only start to listen but also look."

He nodded toward the north-west. At that moment, the musicians at the feast struck up their instruments and far off in the distance, shining brightly between the barren trees, there shone a red and golden glow. Adamanta gasped in surprise. Flames licked into the sky like dancing fairies, their blurred reflections on the river imitating their every move. Occasionally a shadow would disturb the pattern of light - the celebration was in full swing.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Merimac, breathing a kiss onto her hair.

Even had she been chilled to the bones, Adamanta would not have cared. Her heart ached with joy and her eyes were fixed on the fire, enthralled by its light. She felt as if she was young again - a child beholding the wonders and delights of Yule for the first time. She clasped her husband's hand tighter as if afraid of losing herself in something she had thought out of reach. She did not realise she was crying until she tasted salt on her lips. She turned to face her husband but her voice failed her. Silently, she formed the words 'thank you'.

Merimac smiled down at her lovingly and kissed a tear away. "Merry Yule, my love."

A merry time it was! It would not have been Yule had she not been able to see the fire. How could she ever thank the one who had gifted her with this sight? "Mac," she whispered and struggled to sit up. Her husband tightened his grip.

"Don't fret, my love," he said. "Take in the sight while you can. We shouldn't stay too long," And then he added in a lower voice, "though my arms would be glad if we did."

"I can walk," Adamanta assured him with a slight smile.

"Yes, and catch your death from it," Merimac playfully chided her. "I'd rather carry you back inside."

"Stubborn Brandybuck," she muttered and stretched to kiss his cheek. Merimac caught her lips instead. Adamanta closed her eyes savouring his warmth and nearness as if it were the first time she had been so close to him.

At length, she leaned back contently against him, her eyes wandering to the bonfire once more. "Thank you," she whispered. The music still drifted up to them, but Adamanta's mind was with her husband and the love that filled her. The fire might be the icing on the cake, but now she understood that all she needed for a perfect Yule was her Merimac.

~THE END~

Title: Joy of Your Life
Rating: G
Summary: Children are the joy of your life - or aren't they? Baby Pippin causes not only his father to think about his children.
Year: 1390

Special thanks to Shirebound for betaing.

~*~*~

It was a cold afternoon in early Solmath when the families Brandybuck gathered in the Tooks' living-room. Laughter and talk filled the chamber, and cakes, sandwiches, and tea were devoured -- but the centre of all attention was little Peregrin Took. The newborn was admired by everyone, much to the enjoyment of his parents. Paladin, in particular, beamed with pride, and Merimac seemed unwilling to let go of the little Took once his arms got hold of him.

"Can I have him now?" Berilac inquired, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. He was the only one of the children who had not chosen to go to the nursery.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I am holding him now," Merimac told his son firmly, and gently rocked the bundle in his arms as if to prove his point. "Why don't you go and play with Merry and the lasses?"

Berilac opened his mouth, but the look in his father's eyes silenced every protest. He stood for a moment, pouting, before a call from his cousin had him hurrying to the nursery.

Paladin smiled after him, but quickly returned his attention to his own son who was curiously studying their guest. His girls were not too happy about the new member of their family. Vinca would rather have had a little sister, while Nel claimed that she didn't want any more siblings at all. Only Pearl didn't care, but then his eldest didn't care much about anything these days. Paladin, however, could not be happier. He loved his daughters more than anything. Each had her own special way: Pearl had his strong will, Pervinca possessed the amiable perkiness of her mother, and Pimpernel was gentle and calm except when she was irritated. But then, all his lasses were able to mouth their opinions loud and resolutely if need be.

Peregrin, Paladin was convinced, possessed his very own special character. Peregrin was his son, after all, and that was a special blessing in itself. Esmeralda had called the boy Paladin's spitting image: auburn hair, cleft chin, alert eyes - eyes that almost crossed in the effort to follow Merimac's finger which was currently tipping the child's nose.

"Merimac!" Paladin cried, fretting that his son should be teased so.

Merimac grinned and used that same finger to stroke it across the baby's brow. "It seems you've finally done something right."

Paladin canted an eyebrow.

"Well, he's a lad," Merimac pointed out.

"Yes," Paladin agreed, "and we've had three daughters before him. Wonderful daughters, mind you."

Merimac chuckled. "I didn't say the opposite. No need to take offence."

"He doesn't take offence," Eglantine laughed, reaching for Paladin's hand. "He just doesn't know which child to be prouder of."

"Ah," Merimac nodded. "I don't have such worries."

"Not yet," Adamanta chipped in.

Merimac gazed at her in amazement. "What do you mean?"

Mantha shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

Merimac's face brightened, and Paladin could all but read his thoughts as the younger returned his attention to little Peregrin. He winked at Adamanta who smiled shyly, but it was Saradoc who spoke out loud what everybody knew already. "Someone's not disinclined."

Merimac made no reply but continued murmuring to Peregrin, who eagerly grasped the finger Merimac was once again extending to him. Paladin smiled down at his son and squeezed Tina's hand. She was right in a way: he would never know which of his children he should admire more. They were all special and he would never tire of watching them grow. It filled him with more than just a little pride that he should be the one to accompany them on their way to adulthood and beyond.

"Dad!" Paladin turned around as Pimpernel hastened towards the table. "Berilac called me names and now he is quarrelling with Pearl. Pearl says she is the older one but Berilac insists that he is a boy. And Merry is shouting because Berilac wouldn't let him do anything else."

"Where is Clover?" Paladin asked, surprised that the children were alone.

"She's gone to clean up Vinca, who got jam smeared all over her face."

At that very moment a yelp was heard from the direction of the nursery, followed by a thud and a victorious outcry. "See, I told you I'm stronger."

Paladin immediately jumped to his feet, as did Esme and Mantha, but Merimac stopped them all three. With a heavy sigh, he handed Peregrin to Tina and ambled towards the nursery. Taking Nel's hand in his, he cast a meaningful glance over his shoulder and winked at Adamanta. "Children are the joy of your life, eh?"

There was another yelp from the nursery and Merimac finally quickened his pace. "Berilac Brandybuck! Stop fighting the lasses."

"I'm not! I'm fighting Merry!" was the boy's insistent reply before all sounds faded once again.

As if the lack of noise had been some kind of secret cue, the adults broke into laughter. Paladin leaned towards Adamanta conspiratorially. "He wouldn't mind, either."

She nodded and smiled all the more, then held out her arms to Tina. It was her turn to hold Peregrin, and she didn't want to miss a moment of it.

~THE END~

Title: A Father's Reflection
Rating: G
Summary: Shortly before the birth of his first child Merimac ponders his new role as a father and husband. Adamanta unwittingly puts him to the test many years later.

Special thanks to Ariel.

~*~*~

Merimac was lulled by his wife's soft breathing. The embers had long grown cold, but the smell of wood lingered in the air like the memory of the glowing warmth that had arisen from it. Merimac buried his face in the scent of beeswax and apple, Adamanta's favourite soap, and allowed her curls to tickle his cheeks as he nuzzled her nape. Adamanta made a little noise as if disturbed by Merimac's gentle caress. He breathed a kiss on the soft skin before propping himself up on his elbow.

A silver moon shone through the small window underlining his beloved's flawless, tender features. Wild, auburn curls hung over eyes whose long lashes painted even longer shadows on high cheekbones. A slightly pointed nose led to wine-coloured lips, a pale neck, and the soft curves of her breasts. And then - Merimac stretched out his hand to place it on his wife's swollen belly - the blessing that was granted them. A blessing, Merimac realised, that filled him with as much fear as joy. Could he really be a father? Would he be able to give a child what it needed? Was he ready to care for a family?

Merimac pressed his body against Adamanta's once more and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply the scent of her hair and skin. Would she forgive him if he failed? Could he? He had not known love until Adamanta came into his life. A child was the fulfilment of that love. He was full of expectation and could not wait until he finally held his son or daughter in his arms. But at the same time, the prospect filled him with dread.

According to his mother, the new Brandybuck would arrive in a matter of days. Everything was ready, though with little Frodo being recently orphaned and causing so much trouble, life in Brandy Hall had been in a bit of a turmoil. The grieving Bagginses had stayed long in Buckland, comforting the young boy and trying to convince Saradoc to hand over his care to them, but in the end, Saradoc had won. Frodo would stay in Buckland for the time being, and would soon meet his cousin - the child Merimac would have to do for just as his brother now cared for Frodo. His child. The idea still seemed impossible. His child, growing within his wife - a product of their love.

Merimac shook his head and with a last quick kiss on his beloved's temple, slipped out of their bed. He had to clear his mind. Binding the belt of his bathrobe, Merimac stepped into the corridor and started up the corridor. Three nights ago his father had decided they no longer needed to sit watch in front of Frodo's apartments. Merimac stopped at the door, just two up from his own, and peeked in anyhow. Guarding Frodo had almost become a habit and Merimac was relieved to find his cousin curled up in peaceful slumber. The child's pale face was illuminated by the moonlight and Merimac felt an odd pain as he watched his cousin. He remembered the tears the boy had shed the past few weeks. Frodo's love for his parents was still incredibly strong. Would his child love him that much? Would Merimac be the father this baby deserved?

Heaving a heavy sigh, Merimac closed the door. He was not used to such brooding and hoped a cup of tea would ease his mind. He could see a soft glow shining from beneath the kitchen door. To Merimac's great astonishment, he found the Master sitting at table, his face contemplative and his hands wrapped around a cup of tea. "Father!"

"Son," Rorimac greeted and smiled as Merimac hesitated a moment longer. "You can't sleep either, eh?"

Merimac shook his head.

"It's the full moon, you know," Rorimac informed him as Merimac prepared his tea. "It always robs my sleep."

Merimac plopped down on the chair opposite to his father's, chin resting in his left hand while the other listlessly stirred the steaming liquid of his cup. The sourish-sweet smell of melissa tickled his nose while the candles' glow warmed his cheek. Merimac was well aware that his father was watching him but he didn't even mind. Having Rorimac at his side no longer made him feel like he was fleeing from the inevitable.

"Mac?" Merimac started at the sound of his father's voice. "You look troubled. What's the matter?"

Heaving a sigh that was far heavier than Merimac had intended, he shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm worried because I'm worrying."

"Worrying about what?"

Merimac shook his head, feeling unsure whether he really wanted to discuss such matters with his father and not knowing how to explain them anyway. He sipped his tea in silence, glad that Rorimac did not press him. But Rorimac continued to watch him and the intensity of his gaze encouraged Merimac to speak.

"I don't think I can do this, father. I don't know anything about babies. What if I break the poor child? Adamanta would…" He broke off and chuckled dryly. "Well, she's had too much patience with me to be tested further." His hands closed around the teacup he was staring into. "I'm just so afraid of where this will lead to."

Helplessly, Merimac met his father's eyes. "I've always lived for the moment. I don't know how to," He made a feeble movement with his hands and let out a breath of air, "plan ahead."

Rorimac watched him as if waiting for more. When Merimac didn't offer more, he nodded reassuringly. "You know how to, and if you don't, you will learn." His father smiled as if at a memory. He took a sip from his tea. "You think this is easy for any of us? I had the same worries when your mother was pregnant the first time."

"You?" Merimac asked, having a hard time imagining it.

"Yes, me," Rorimac answered. "I wasn't born the Master, you know."

Merimac smiled and resumed thoughtfully stirring his tea as the silence once again filled the room.

"I've never told anyone but I've always pictured myself with a family." Merimac shrugged without looking up. "It's just what is expected, I suppose, but I never considered what it would feel like, what it meant to have someone you're this close with."

Rorimac chuckled. "I remember well the nervous wreck you were days before your wedding. Saradoc had his hands full to keep you from running off."

Merimac laughed wryly at the memory before looking helplessly at his father. "I wish I could run off now."

"No, you don't," his father told him without hesitation. "You're too keen on the idea of becoming a father. Don't frown. I know you are. You wouldn't worry about it so much if you weren't."

Merimac hesitated before pointing out: "But once the child arrives…,"

"… It will get even better," Rorimac assured. "Being a father is like being on a quest. You always want the best for your child and if you work hard enough your children will give their best back to you." The fond smile on his father's face grew even more benevolent. "Some of your steps might be wrong and there will be shadows and even storms along the way, but if at the end of the day you can look back with a smile or even laugh at the folly that is life, you shall be a happy man."

"Of course, you could always look back and smile before bed," Merimac laughed.

"No," Rorimac acknowledged. "At least one of my sons made that rather difficult from time to time. But I wasn't alone, and neither are you, boy. Your Adamanta is with you and she will help you smile as your mother helped me."

Merimac smiled fondly. "She does already."

"Of course, she does!" Rorimac agreed. "And soon your child will be another source of joy, no matter how much trouble the little one causes."

His father winked conspiratorially and rose to collect their mugs. "You should've been in your bed long ago, boy."

Though Merimac did not object, a pleasant weariness was already creeping into his bones, he chuckled as he got up. "You'll never stop behaving like my father, will you?"

Rorimac smiled and laid a good-natured arm around his shoulders. "No."

Sighing in mock exasperation Merimac allowed Rorimac to lead him down the corridor. His heart was lighter now and for the first time in many days he awaited his child's arrival with only joy. Thanks to his father he would manage. And he would be a good father because he would always be able to ask his own for advice.

"Thank you," he said honestly after exchanging good nights.

Rorimac smiled and fondly squeezed his shoulder before he staggered into his own room. Merimac watched him disappear and smiled to himself. He had never realised it but Rorimac Brandybuck was the best father a hobbit could wish for. If he did half as well as his father had, Merimac would be content.

~*~*~

Blothmath, 1401

Merimac well remembered the day Berilac came into this world. Over fourteen hours Adamanta had lain in labour before his son had finally arrived - just in time for second breakfast. All wet and slippery, the little hobbitling had lain in his arms voicing his protest at the top of his tiny lungs, the already rosy cheeks colouring further from the effort. His heart had immediately swelled with love for his boy, especially when he realised how much the child reacted to him mere moments after being born. At the sound of his comforting voice, the baby had quieted, listening and struggling to open his eyes, but the long birth had exhausted little Berilac as much as it had his mother and they soon drooped again. The memory of the moment was enough to still make his eyes water. It was indeed a miracle.

Yet, it was not the only one granted to him and Adamanta. After Berilac, neither thought they would want more children for several years. In fact, the matter did not arise again until Peregrin Took was born. Adamanta admitted fancying the idea of another child and Merimac found himself delighted at the prospect of caring for a little one again.

Their efforts, however, did not bear fruit and as the years passed by they abandoned the thought of a bigger family. But then the year 1401 arrived and at Lithe it was clear that Adamanta was expecting.

Berilac had not been very excited. "But you're so old!" he had told them, looking sceptically at his mother's rounding body.

"Old?!" Merimac had huffed in disbelief. "Rest assured, my boy, that on your 59th birthday I will be at your side all day to tell you just how old you are becoming."

Berilac had not known what to answer to that and had not raised the topic of a sibling again, but he grew more and more annoyed at the prospect as Adamanta's pregnancy proceeded. Merimac could not blame him, since the following months proved to be a crucial test for everyone.

While the first pregnancy had been an easy one with Adamanta's only woes being morning sicknesses, an aching back, and swollen feet, this second one robbed Merimac of every single nerve he possessed. She was moody. Oh, she was more than that! She was a spitfire and no matter what Merimac did, nothing could please her. He spent many nights in a guest room fearing he would do something he might regret if he stayed with her. During the days he kept himself busy in the stables or took off with Berilac, who, now a tween, was his apprentice and at his side nearly all day long.

Merimac knew it was unfair of him to keep away from Adamanta and he was sure his mother would have given him a piece of her mind had she still been alive to do so. But he simply could not bear it. He did not remember Adamanta ever having such mood swings before. There were days when he seriously wondered whether the woman beside him was still the same one he had married.

Today was one of those days. Adamanta was all smiles when she told him her latest ideas for names. She had a whole list of them, not all of which were to Merimac's liking, but he knew better than to object.

But when an expanded silence stretched out between them, her mood changed. She looked at him, long and intensely, tears suddenly glistening in her eyes. "You don't like my ideas!"

"Of course, I do," Merimac quickly assured her. "Who wouldn't like to call his son...," he thought hard for a moment, "Rumil, was it? And Bonnie is really… pretty." Merimac managed a wry smile secretly entreating his wife to reconsider her choices.

Adamanta studied his face intently. At last she sniffed and lowered her head. "You think them ugly - just like me."

Merimac was caught for an answer. For seconds he simply gaped at her. "I would never say such a thing!"

"But you're thinking it!" Adamanta insisted. "You think I'm fat and ugly! The worst part is that I feel like the barrel you see in me!"

With an effort Merimac stifled the snicker which threatened to escape him. Adamanta had gained a lot more weight than during her pregnancy with Berilac. Yet he would never compare her to a barrel. An abdominous flagon perhaps, but never a barrel - and that only when he was in an ill mood.

"You look beautiful," he assured her lovingly.

"Then why don't you touch me anymore?"

Merimac gulped, unsure how much he could admit. He cleared his throat, taking the risk. "When I dared come closer last night, you were the one who sent me away because I was 'squashing you' and 'robbing you of your space'." He did not mention that that space was comparatively enormous.

His words caused her tears to spill over. Merimac sucked in a breath looking at her with a mixture of pity, helplessness, and frustration. "Don't cry," he pleaded and, after a moment's hesitation, took her into his arms and combed his fingers through her hair. "I didn't mean it."

"You still love me?" Adamanta sobbed looking pleadingly into his eyes.

"Of course I do," Merimac assured and kissed her brow. "More than anything."

Adamanta smiled weakly at that and snuggled against him in a way that told Merimac her emotional outburst was over. In fact, he was quickly forgetting all disputes himself. Mantha nuzzled his neck and nibbled his earlobe in so tantalising a manner that a secret fire inflamed within him, sending heat through his veins. His grip around her tightened in pleasant anticipation.

*******

"You're going to spare me the details, aren't you?" Saradoc interrupted when Merimac recounted the scene to him after four mugs of ale.

"That's my problem!" Merimac called out in frustration. "There. Are. No. Details. We barely made it into our room and suddenly she was again convinced that I'm 'insensitive' and 'oblivious of her needs'. Me?!" he snorted. "A mulish mare is more sensitive than she is!" Merimac sighed in defeat, drained his fifth mug and peered woefully into it. "I want my wife back."

*******

It wasn't until two months later that Merimac got to see his beloved again. As exhausted as she was, he sat by her side in their shared bed gazing down at his newborn daughter admiringly. The child watched them through grey eyes Merimac knew had yet to acquire their final colour. She was beautiful, her face as gentle as her mother's.

"She's a Brandybuck through and through," Adamanta whispered as she tenderly brushed a hand over their child's dark, downy hair. Little Bluebell closed her eyes at the touch and gave a huge yawn. She whimpered and her petal-shaped lips trembled just a little as if to protest the sleepiness.

"Wait a minute, my little one," Merimac murmured his voice thick with emotion and pride. "You still need to meet your brother."

Just then, the door burst open and Berilac stumbled in at full speed startling all three of them. Bluebell hiccupped and immediately started crying. Berilac stopped short and blushed catching the warning glances Adamanta and Merimac were giving him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled and hurried to close to door, before he slowly, almost shyly advanced toward the bed.

Cradled in her father's arms and with warm hands protectively caressing her brow and cheek, Bluebell soon calmed down. She seemed oblivious to her first visitor. Merimac smiled at his son. In spite of the lad's lack of enthusiasm about having a sibling, he now seemed utterly stunned and watched the baby with awe and wonder.

"Sit down," Merimac instructed the boy nodding to the chair next to the bed. Berilac looked almost frightened, but stumbled back anyway without taking his eyes from his sister. Merimac got up and carefully placed the child in the boy's arms. From over his son's shoulder Merimac looked at his daughter who, after a moment's contemplation, snuggled against her brother. Smiling broadly, Merimac then turned his attention to his spellbound son, frowned, and ruffled the lad's curls. "Don't forget to breathe."

Berilac gave him a weak smile and almost tentatively touched Bluebell's cheek. The baby made a small noise and waved her hand at the tween. Berilac reached for it and immediately his index finger was caught in his sister's strong grip. Merimac's heart almost melted when he saw the expression in his son's eyes. There was nothing but love in them, nothing but the knowledge that Berilac would look after and protect his sister just as fiercely as Merimac himself would. He breathed a kiss onto his son's curls before sitting down next to his wife again. Adamanta winked at him, perceiving the same love.

"She is well worth the pain she put us through," Berilac announced quietly after a while.

"Hush!" Merimac scolded, but could not help to chuckle.

Adamanta canted an eyebrow. "He has clearly been spending too much time with you."

Merimac shrugged innocently and put his arm around her as she leaned against his shoulder. When Merimac kissed her temple she frowned and turned to him once more. "Have I really been that bad?"

"Worse," Merimac winked and kissed her again. "Don't fret, love. I can laugh about it now and so should you."

Adamanta did laugh then and after another long look at her children she closed her eyes and drifted off. Merimac remained by her side, holding her close and talking quietly to Berilac who seemed unwilling to let go of his sleeping sister. Becoming a father was indeed a miracle and being one was an adventure Merimac would never regret starting out on.

~THE END~

Title: A Little Rest
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac stumbles across a very tired Frodo and is determined to see the lad at rest.
Year: 1384 (Frodo: 16; Berilac: 4; Merimas: 3; Merry: 2;)

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish.

~*~*~

With a shake of his head Merimac plopped down on the huge mattress, chuckling as he watched Berilac use his natural authority as the eldest to drag an unwilling Merimas to the far corner of the nursery, with little Merry quickly following them on all fours.

"It's not that he can't walk," said a voice beside him. "He's just too lazy to get on his feet."

"He has his own head," Merimac replied with a smile. "He will cause trouble sooner or later."

"You must know."

Merimac glanced askance at his cousin. "You think so?"

Frodo simply shrugged and tried to stifle a yawn. Flinging his arms around his legs the lad rested his chin on his knee. The book which already lay there slipped to the floor beside him. His eyes sleepily observed his young cousins, who were amusing themselves by building huge brick towers out of wooden blocks. Merimac leaned against the wall and followed his gaze.

There weren't many children in the nursery this afternoon. Apart from the two Merrys and Berilac there were only a couple of lasses and the Longfoot twins. All of them, for once, were peacefully engaged in their individual games. Petty Smallburrows, a bright young lass just out of her tweens, had recently begun her work in the Hall's nursery and as far as Merimac could tell she did a very good job. The children adored her - at least Berilac did. The boy could babble all evening about what Petty had told him and how Petty had sung songs with them. Said young lass sat at a desk in the far corner commenting on a child's drawing when Merimac caught her curious glance.

"I think you're getting her nervous," he murmured to Frodo. His eyes, however, rested on Petty who blushed and quickly averted her gaze at his unabashed grin. "Why are you reading here anyway? Wouldn't you be more comfortable in one of the parlours?"

Instead of offering a reply Frodo toppled sideways and bumped his head against Merimac's upper arm. Frodo jumped in surprise while Merimac raised an eyebrow, observing the lad closely. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," the boy quickly assured but even as he spoke a huge, noisy yawn split his face in two.

"Whoa, lad!" Merimac exclaimed with a grin. "I strongly advise you against eating me alive. I'm not that much of a culinary delight."

"I'm sorry," Frodo mumbled. He blinked sleepily and Merimac suddenly remembered why he had initially come here. His brother had asked him to have a closer look at Frodo. The lad lacked energy and was rather pale of late and since the relationship between Frodo and his guardians wasn't at its best at the moment Saradoc had hoped that Frodo would talk instead to Merimac. For some reason Merimac had always been on easy terms with his youngest cousin. Unlike the relationship the lad had shared with Saradoc, theirs had not suffered since Frodo's fosterage began four years ago.

"It's that one."

To Merimac's surprise he didn't even have to ask for further information. His eyes followed the lad's pointing finger. "Merry?"

"He is crying all night because he wants to be with his parents," Frodo grumbled and let out a puff or air. "I don't even know why I still bother to soothe him for each time he ends up in my bed; and he doesn't exactly sleep like a baby. He kicks, and punches, and smacks in his sleep. And as if that weren't enough he keeps stealing my blanket." Frodo frowned at his young cousin. "Saradoc has had better ideas than having him share a room with me." Another yawn claimed him. This time he remembered his manners and used his hand to hide it.

Merimac smiled warmly at the sight. "That's just how I used to torment Saradoc."

Frodo glanced up at him, then crossed his arms and tiredly leaned back against the wall. "Saradoc was almost your age, unlike me," he mumbled, not taking his eyes from a gleefully playing Meriadoc.

Merimac raised an eyebrow. "You're in desperate need of a sibling, scallywag. Saradoc might have been younger than you are now, but he still was the older one, the big brother. Besides, his bed was far more comfortable than my own." He paused to let his eyes wander from Frodo to his nephew and back to his cousin, a fond smile playing at his lips. "I'm afraid that's Merry's way of telling you that he loves and trusts you to protect him and keep him safe."

Frodo sighed. "I wish he would trust me enough to believe I'm looking after him even when he sleeps in his own bed."

"My poor scallywag!" Merimac exclaimed teasingly and pulled Frodo close with one hand while he ruffled his curls with the other. "Is he tormenting you so?"

"It's not funny, Mac!" Frodo scowled at the grin on Merimac's face. "It's frustrating. I want to sleep."

"And that from the mouth of a teen!" Merimac exclaimed. "Mother would be delighted to hear that. When I was your age she tried in vain to convince me that I needed to sleep from time to time." Frodo's scowl darkened causing Merimac to sober. After all he could see the lad was dead tired. Allowing him to break free from under his armpit Merimac observed that the nursery was not the best place to find some rest.

"And neither will I in the parlour or in my room," Frodo told him grumpily but with a helpless tone to his voice. "The parlours are as noisy and if I choose my room Esmeralda will think I'm ill and send for the healer."

"You have a point there," Merimac nodded, a caring smile on his face. "I fear you have to do with the nursery then."

Frodo lowered his head, his lids drooping. Merimac watched him struggle for a while before he once again put an arm around the lad's shoulder and gently but firmly guided his head to rest on his lap.

Frodo started up the moment he realised what Merimac was doing. "What are you up to?"

"I'm transforming into a cushion for my tired cousin," Merimac informed the child matter-of-factly

"I don't need a pillow!" Frodo insisted and pushed Merimac's hand from his shoulder. "Really, Mac!" He indignantly called out, when Merimac wouldn't allow him to break free completely. The fact that Merimac rested his eyes on the children instead of him seemed to annoy Frodo further. He complained all the louder about pillows and sleep, and ended his exclamation with his not being that tired after all.

Merimac would have laughed out loud if he hadn't felt so dismayed. "Cousin-mine, you really are a knotty problem," he announced at last turning to face the boy. Frodo evaded his gaze, allowing dark curls to hang into his eyes. All of a sudden he seemed more troubled than cross. Merimac tilted his head and tentatively tightened his grip around Frodo's shoulder once more. The muscles under his fingers quivered, the child still being exceptionally tense, but Frodo did not protest. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid," Frodo told him but though he sneaked a glance at him he didn't dare to lift his head. "I'm just," he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then, where is the problem of accepting some undisturbed rest?" Merimac prompted.

Frodo hesitated, silently watching the children and, unwittingly, allowing Merimac to observe his conflict. It was as Saradoc had said: Frodo might have come to accept and even love his surrogate family but he did not confide in them.

"Merry will…" The lad made a rather hollow attempt to find yet another excuse but Merimac dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.

"Never mind Merry. I'll have an eye on you and keep the children away. And I won't tell Esme either if you're worrying about that as well." Merimac smiled and ruffled Frodo's curls when the lad turned towards him with a frown. "I can all but hear you thinking, scallywag. Why don't you just leave your concerns and see what the afternoon has in store for you? I'm sure that mind of yours will welcome a little respite. It must be hurting being as busily occupied as it is."

All the while Merimac gently guided Frodo's head back down and this time the lad relinquished, but whether because he was now welcoming the offer or simply too tired to resist Merimac could not tell. Either way, he was glad to feel his cousin's tenseness lessen and, though the deep breath the child took didn't sound as if he were quite at ease, Merimac felt as if he had accomplished something special. He smiled down at the lad who could no longer keep his eyes open. Gently he brushed a stray curl from the boy's forehead and took the book from his hands. "Don't let yourself be troubled."

Quietly Merimac leaned back, one hand resting on his cousin's shoulder the other carefully shielding the lad's ear from the noises in the nursery. Frodo had quickly fallen asleep and Merimac, too, allowed his mind to drift.

He must have dozed off for he woke to Meriadoc calling for his "Fo" at the top of his lungs. His nephew waved a woollen sheep by its tail as he was darting towards them on wobbly feet.

"Hush!" Merimac hissed pressing his hand on Frodo's ear. "Frodo's asleep."

Merry stopped frowning first at Frodo then at Merimac. "Eep?"

"Yes," Merimac replied in a whisper. "Asleep; and we don't want to wake him, do we?"

Merry shook his golden head, teeth and tongue working on his lip.

"Good," Merimac nodded and leaned back with a deep contented breath. "Why don't you go and play with Berilac and Merimas again?"

Again Merry shook his head. "Me-y eep."

Before Merimac could reach for his nephew the lad had plopped down beside Frodo. Merimac tensed. 'Don't wake him up now,' he begged silently. 'Not after he has finally allowed me to look after him.'

Unable to get rid of Merry without disturbing Frodo himself Merimac hardly dared to watch how Merry snuggled close to his older cousin. To his astonishment Frodo didn't seem the least bit disturbed. In fact, he even supported the young one's closeness by putting his arm around the small one's chest.

After all Merimac had seen and knew about Frodo this was the last thing he had expected. Yet he smiled, understanding dawning. Frodo might whinge about Merry but he doubted that he was as averse to the lad sharing his room as he said. Frodo had called it Saradoc's worst idea so far, but the longer Merimac watched the surer he was that this was, in fact, the best thing his brother could have done for their cousin. There was yet hope for Frodo. Merry would teach him how to trust again, of that there wasn't any doubt.

"You're as much the scallywag as he is, little one, do you know that?" Merimac announced with a grin at Merry who was watching him from the crook of Frodo's arm.

Chuckling to himself Merimac shifted his weight to get more comfortable, careful not to disturb his charges. There was no need to worry about Frodo - not anymore. Merry, with his childish innocence, might reach farther than any of them ever had. The lad already held more of Frodo's reliance than any of them had gained the past four years. Through him, Frodo would come to trust all his family again, of that Merimac was convinced.

~THE END~

Title: Pets
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac is in trouble but his brother is there to help him out – or isn’t he?
Year: 1351

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

~*~*~

Merimac stumbled down the stairs, almost knocking over uncles Saradas and Dodinas in the progress, hastened down the hallway and darted into the parlour where he knew his brother must be. Standing in the doorway and panting as if he were fleeing from something he spotted Saradoc in the far corner playing a card game.

"How much do you love me?" He fell to his knees right in front of his brother, grabbed his arms, and stared at him desperately.

As soon as the first shock passed, Saradoc peeled himself from his grip. "If you look at me like this I don't think I like you at all."

"Ma is about to put our room into order," Merimac answered, and pulled Saradoc to his feet in spite of his reply.

Just as he had intended it, Saradoc's eyes widened and his brother immediately took over the lead. He grabbed Merimac by the arm and led him into the corridor. "You're in big trouble."

"So are you if we can't keep her out of the room."

Saradoc grinned and shook his head. "We agreed that you would take all the blame. After all, the mice were your idea."

Merimac sucked in a breath. Mother would rip off his arm and then father would beat him over the head with it. He'd be in just as much trouble as he was last year when he had a pet frog. The poor animal died after three days and just as he was about to get rid of the corpse, mother had bumped into him. She was furious and said something about cruelty, responsibility, and whether he didn't smell that nasty stink. He assumed mother didn't like frogs, but he knew that she detested mice. At least she was screaming and scrambling onto a chair when father had detected one in the family kitchen last autumn.

"You like them." Merimac insisted unwilling to face his parents' lecture alone.

"But they are all yours," Saradoc replied matter-of-factly. "You built the hutch; you got them straw and food. I only helped you keep them amused. Don't look at me that way!"

Merimac tried his most pleading and devastated look on his brother. His eyes were wide as saucers, his lips trembled, and if he concentrated hard enough he might even manage a tear or two.

Saradoc squeezed his eyes shut and held him at arm length before he thought better of it. "Keep looking like that," Saradoc told him and gazed about him. Merimac frowned at the smirk which suddenly grew on his brother's face and tilted his head. "But don't look at me look at…" His brother's face brightened only to take on an utterly distraught air a moment later. "Auntie Primie!"

Merimac shouldn't have been surprised at the sudden change in his brother's tone but then it was that he admired him for. Lawks, Saradoc would even fool him! Aunt Primula should be an easy victim. She loved them both and though she was a spitfire when she was angry she usually helped them out of trouble. Merimac decided to play along; after all he really had reason to be desperate.

To his relief aunt Primie was immediately at their side and Saradoc even managed to draw her away from the bustle and into the shadow of the lamps - probably for effect. What Merimac didn't expect was that his brother would reveal the entire story to their aunt.

"Merimac has captured two mice about ten days ago He keeps them in a small hutch beneath his bed. Mother is in our room now to clean it and she will certainly find them and make a huge fuss. Mac will surely be punished if we cannot save the poor mice."

Merimac whimpered and a tear trickled down his cheek, not because of his brother's words but because said brother was secretly pinching him. Merimac bit down the pain - tears were effective after all - though he already made plans to box Saradoc's ears for this treatment.

"My poor dear," Primula called out and pulled Merimac into a tight embrace. "Don't cry." Gently she combed her fingers through his locks and Merimac could barely keep himself from jumping up and down with victorious joy. "Mice are no pets, darling and if your parents punish you for keeping them in small boxes, they do so rightly."

Merimac glanced up at her, all delight vanishing. His aunt's face was earnest but her smile was kind and her eyes loving. "Will you promise me to set them free in the woods where they belong?"

Merimac shook his head. "They are my pets."

"You have a stable full of ponies, sheep, pigs, cows, and hens."

"But I want a real pet," Merimac insisted and the tears which gathered in his eyes this time were real ones.

Aunt Primula lightly shook her head. "Set them loose, Merimac. You will make them very happy. Just imagine if it were you who were captured in a small hutch when you're used to having a whole forest of your own. Would you be happy?"

Merimac shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh. "Will you help me then?"

His aunt shrugged. "If you promise, I don't think any harm will come from it."

A huge grin split his face in two and he quickly kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you so much, auntie! Sara won't help me, you know. He said they were my mice so it was also my trouble - although he loves them as much as I do!"

He scolded his brother and grinned even wider at the older one's disbelieving stare. Aunt Primula shook her head and tsked at Saradoc before she lightly slapped the back of his head. "Brothers ought to stick together, Sara." Merimac could barely stifle a snicker when his aunt slapped him as well. "The same counts for you, young lad. Really, sometimes I wonder who is worse of the two of you."

She took both of them by the hand and led them back to the staircase where she told them her plan. Merimac was to hide beneath the stairs while Primula lured their mother out of their room with some excuse. As soon as she was out of sight Merimac should dash in and fetch the mice so that he and Saradoc could set them free in the little forest not far from here.

Instructions told, their aunt hurried up the stairs while Merimac and Saradoc hid beneath them. They exchanged angry glances, each brother annoyed because the other had tattled. But all disputes were forgotten when Primula led their mother downstairs. With a quick shake of hands and good wishes from Saradoc, Merimac departed, smiling all the while. Giving up the mice might even help him to get a better pet. Perhaps he could persuade father to get him a rabbit. He would even help to build a huge hutch for it so that it wouldn't feel captured.

Even as he carried the mice outside Merimac nodded to himself. He would definitely ask his father for a rabbit tonight.

~THE END~

Title: Between Leaves
Rating: G
Summary: Frodo has got into a predicament and needs the help of another to get out again.
Year: 1374

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

~*~*~

Frodo could not remember how he had got himself into this bit of trouble. He had not intended to climb so high but somehow he was now almost at the top of the Great Oak. The view was splendid but Frodo couldn't enjoy the sight of Brandy Hall's spring green roof shining golden in the afternoon sun. It might, after all, be the last thing he would ever see.

Frodo swallowed and tried once more to see whether he could reach the branch below, but it was in vain. Not even his trembling toes touched the bough. Frodo pressed his cheek against the cold bark and clung tighter to the trunk. He would never get down again, and he didn't even have a snack to comfort himself with. Discouraged Frodo blinked against the tears coming to his eyes and stifled the sob which threatened to escape him.

~*~*~

The scents of thyme and marjoram filled the air, carried up the hill from Brandy Hall's huge kitchen garden. Insects hummed around the grass and birds twittered their evening songs.

Merimac ambled up the hill, smiling to himself and licking his lips. He felt very pleased with the day's events and was convinced he could get used to this new routine very quickly.

He had now met regularly with Sally Bunce for over a week. She lived with her family somewhere in the Hall's west wing and Merimac knew her well, but only recently had he discovered that she was actually a very fine looking lass. And, my, could she kiss! There was nothing shy or timid about her and more often than not Merimac was left breathless and dizzy. He didn't know what she gained from all this, but Merimac was all too willing to play along. He liked the thrill. Both their parents would be furious if they found out and his father especially would be fuming. Old Rory would bore him senseless with another homily or two and a lecture - but that would make it all the more interesting.

Merimac plopped down under the shadowy roof of the Great Oak, still giddy and tingling all over. He welcomed this quiet corner, a perfect retreat to calm down before dinner. Merimac knew that his mother would immediately guess that he had been sweet-talking another girl if he showed up in the dining room now. Only Sally didn't need any sweet words.

Leaning contently back against the trunk Merimac closed his eyes and allowed the light breeze to cool his heated cheeks. It was only then that he noticed the quiet snivelling and quickly sat up straight to listen. Just then someone snuffled noisily and Merimac rose to look about him. Usually even the swing, which hung from a strong branch on the opposite side, was abandoned at this time of day and Merimac was quite sure that he hadn't seen anybody when he walked up here.

"Hello?" he asked, and immediately felt foolish.

"Mac!"

He jumped at the sound of his name and wheeled round only to see that he was still alone.

"I'm up here!"

Merimac shielded his eyes against the sun and squinted up into the tangled branches. Specks of blue sky and sunshine greeted him from between the leaves, and from the very top of the tree an ebony-haired, blue-shirted hobbit-lad waved back at him.

"By the Shire, Frodo!" Merimac called out in surprise. "What are you doing up there?"

"I want to get down," was the miserable reply.

"Well then, climb down."

"I can't." Frodo hugged the stem as if to prove his words. "It's too high."

"How did you get up there, lad?" Merimac asked intending to show that if Frodo climbed up he could climb down as well.

"I climbed, but I can't get down now."

Merimac sighed and shook his head. It seemed there was nothing for it. He would have to climb the tree himself if he wanted to get Frodo down. Aunt Primula was probably worried sick already, and if his cousin didn't show up at dinner he would be the first one she'd be after. Somehow he always was the prime suspect.

With an effort he hauled himself up the first branch and briefly wondered how Frodo had managed this first step when beneath him the swing started moving. Merimac nodded understanding and smiled fondly at his young pupil's cleverness.

Branch upon branch he climbed higher, shoving twigs and leaves aside until he finally sat on a bough opposite his cousin. Frodo had followed his every step, cheering when he had come higher and sucking in his breath when a twig had broken under Merimac's weight.

"Well," Merimac asked, leaning his cheek against the trunk his cousin was so desperately clutching. Frodo smiled up at him but Merimac could see the traces of tears in his eyes. "How long have you been sitting here?"

"Forever!" the lad cried out and immediately his eyes started watering again.

"Now, now," Merimac soothed and caressed Frodo's cheek. "I'm here now and together we'll manage the climb down."

Frodo nodded and snivelled again.

Merimac carefully moved to the second branch beneath Frodo's. Testing his balance he told his cousin to slip down to the bough that stuck out just beneath Merimac's chest.

Frodo shook his head vigorously and clung tighter to the stem. "I tried. It won't work."

"I'm here to catch you," Merimac assured but still Frodo didn't move.

Merimac sighed. The leaves about them rustled and in the west the sun was already sinking low. The Brandywine glittered red and golden, and looked almost like a stream of light between the dark shadows of bushes and trees.

"You won't fall?" Merimac looked up in confusion to find his cousin peering at him. "If you catch me you won't fall?"

"No," Merimac assured and once again tested his balance and hold.

Frodo pondered that and after a moment, very careful and with trembling legs, he leaned forward to grab Merimac's offered hand. Ever so slowly he glided down his perch but when he felt no rescuing branch beneath his feet, he cried out in fear nearly knocking his older cousin off.

Merimac winced and cursed under his breath. The first thing his cousin had got his fingers into had been his hair which he was now desperately clutching. Frodo fidgeted nervously and Merimac could feel the young lad's every limb trembling, while he tried hard to keep a secure hold on both his cousin and himself. "Stop squirming!" he grumbled at last, sharper than he had intended you. "I have you but I can't guarantee anything if you don't keep still."

Frodo froze in an instant and Merimac heaved a sigh. Great! There he was, his vision blocked by hobbit, his movement strongly limited by yet more hobbit, and his head throbbing because a certain hobbit was about to rip off his scalp. Leaning somewhere between trunk and branch he grabbed one of Frodo's hands and untangled it before he carefully set the lad onto the branch he himself was standing on.

"That's that!" Merimac announced. "On to the next bit, shall we?"

Frodo did not look pleased at all but he followed his instructions as well as he could. Merimac decided to climb down with Frodo slowly following. It went better than he had at first feared. With every branch dealt with Frodo became more confident.

"You should have taught me how to climb down as well," the lad declared. "You can't just show me how to climb up, you know. If momma knew about it she would rip off your head."

Merimac held out his hands while Frodo slipped from another bough. Precocious little brat! He wouldn't be surprised if the first thing Frodo did as soon as he was on the ground would be to run to his mother and tattle. Of course, he would insist that he only told her about his latest adventure and that it was only by coincidence that Merimac usually looked like the bad influence that started it all.

He admitted he was not exactly the perfect older cousin but he would never allow anything to happen to Frodo - which probably was the only reason aunt Primula still allowed him to look after him. Well, she couldn't blame him for this one. He was the one who got Frodo down, after all. That he was also the one who taught him how to climb trees in the first place was beside the point.

Merimac smiled fondly at his cousin. They had reached the lowest branch. One leap and they would have solid ground under their feet again. Merimac jumped without hesitation but Frodo stood without moving, brow furrowed and blue eyes full of doubt.

"It's too high," he observed at length.

Merimac spread his arms and, for about the hundredth time, assured the lad that he would catch him. To his surprise Frodo believed his words immediately and before Merimac could prepare himself the lad bumped into him and knocked him to the ground. Frodo's knee hit his middle, robbing him of his breath.

Gasping, Merimac stared at the darkening evening sky and the rustling leaves above him until Frodo's smirking face thrust itself between him and his view.

"You caught me!" the lad cheered and bounced happily. "You're soft."

Merimac groaned and with one swift movement pushed his cousin from him. "Soft, eh?" he announced through clenched teeth. "Unlike my hard-boned cousin."

"But you caught me," Frodo pointed out and flung his arms around him as soon as Merimac scrambled into a sitting position. "You're my bestest cousin!"

Merimac canted an eyebrow. "Am I? Well, that does make up for the pain you cause me."

Frodo grinned and before Merimac had fully risen he flung his arms around his neck so that Merimac had no chance but to carry him piggyback to the Hall. "And here I thought you had had enough of heights for a day."

Frodo did not reply, but laid his chin on Merimac's head. Merimac smiled to himself and pinched his cousin until his giggles and delighted protests echoed through the evening air. That lad was indeed far more precious to him than he felt comfortable with

~THE END~

Title: Among Family
Rating: G
Summary: Frodo visits Brandy Hall where he meets his new baby-cousin, is encouraged to start a family, and finds out that he has one already.
Year: 1401

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

~*~*~

Frodo glanced down at the small bundle in his arms. Huge, blue-grey eyes studied him intently, a pale brow knitted in confusion at his unknown face, and small rosy-coloured lips parted with a smacking sound.

He smiled and gently caressed the infant's cheek. "Hullo, little Bluebell. I am your cousin Frodo."

Bluebell smacked her lips once more and gave a small grunt.

"I think she's hungry," Frodo said to Adamanta but the baby's mother shook her head.

"She can't be. I fed her moments before you arrived."

Frodo had come to Buckland a month earlier than was usual. This was his first Yule without Bilbo and though he enjoyed being the Master of Bag End there were times when he felt lonely, especially now that the days had grown short and the evenings before the fire were long and silent. After a while he had lost interest in his books and found himself thinking of Bilbo more often than not. He wondered where the old hobbit was and sometimes he even asked aloud all the questions he had on his mind. When the message arrived that little Bluebell had been born Frodo found her the perfect excuse to come to Buckland a month early.

On his way to the Hall he had been surprised by a snowstorm and before Esmeralda allowed him to see his new cousin, she made sure he was warm, dry, and had a morsel to eat. She always made such a fuss when he arrived and though he was still embarrassed about it he had to admit that he liked to have someone take care of him, especially since Esmeralda was openly delighted to see to his well-being.

"Bluebell Brandybuck," Frodo whispered and gently grasped one of the baby's tiny hands. "A very poetic name." He looked at the maid child's father. "You didn't choose it, did you?"

"You wouldn't put it past me, eh?" Merimac huffed. "Too un-bookish, am I?"

Frodo shrugged and though he was just a bit nervous at the indignant tone in his cousin's voice he smiled as he saw the older one's grin.

"It was Mantha's choice," he admitted, laying an arm around his wife's shoulder and kissing her cheek. "And I'm very glad she didn't go for Bonnie or any of her other horrendous suggestions."

Frodo grinned. "Merry told me some of them. Horrendous, indeed."

He gave Adamanta an apologetic look, but she waved it aside. "I don't want to see the names you come up with if you had nine months to think about them."

"Doubtlessly something Elvish," Merimac agreed.

Frodo shrugged. "It has a nice ring to it, hasn't it, little Nellothiel**?"

Bluebell waved her arms. The furrow on her brow was gone and to Frodo she looked decidedly pleased. He grinned at the proud parents. "She agrees."

Merimac simply nodded and Adamanta smiled as she leaned closer to her husband. Frodo noted that she looked tired and had dark rings under her eyes. Yet, at the same time she seemed to glow with happiness, but that, he told himself, might as well be the reflection of the firelight.

"I doubt they will be back tonight," Esmeralda announced as she entered the family parlour. "The storm only grows worse."

Saradoc and Merry had gone to Haysend for business and had been surprised by the same storm Frodo had been caught in. According to Esmeralda they wanted to be back by dinnertime but Frodo knew Saradoc was wise enough to find some lodgings for the night with weather like this. Even Frodo had been tempted to stay in The Golden Perch but in the end his wish to see his family again had won.

"A child suits you well," Merimac said suddenly. "You should get yourself one."

Frodo blushed furiously. Heat rose to the tip of his ears and he found himself unable to meet his cousin's eyes. He all but knew about the older one's wide grin, especially when Adamanta admonished him, for once, shocked by his bluntness.

"What is it?" Merimac defended himself. "If I were his age, less married, and had a huge smial begging to be filled with my offspring I wouldn't hesitate."

"I doubt you would," Adamanta replied and held him tight. "Thankfully, you are very much married."

"Besides, he isn't exactly ugly," Merimac went on, oblivious. "There have to be some lasses attracted by him."

Frodo knew he must be crimson by now and was glad when Esmeralda put an end to his cousin's wild speculations about dozens of girls pestering Bag End every evening. If only she hadn't patted his shoulders so fondly while speaking for him. "Now, now. He's only just come of age. He has lots of time to find the lass he wants to spend his life with."

Merimac nodded and, when Frodo dared to lift his eyes, he winked at him and whispered conspiratorially. "Clover hasn't any suitors as far as I know but I think to remember you were quite fond of her, and she of you."

"Mac!" Frodo called out, now truly appalled. "That was years ago!"

Merimac shrugged. "Well, now you're of age."

Frodo shook his head but to his surprise discovered that he wasn't so averse to having a private chat with Clover. They grew up together but he hadn't seen her for quite a while. He wasn't surprised she didn't show up on his birthday party, after all her family disliked him too much to allow her to come. He was delighted though when he had received a letter from her.

"You realise you're smiling?" Merimac asked and was obviously pleased to see his plans for Frodo bear some fruit.

Frodo countered with a smile that was just a little vicious. "Assuming Clover was your Bluebell here, would you still be so eager for me to see her?"

"He would chase you out of the smial if you did as much as talk to her. Shake her hand and he would personally rip your head off and keep it as a trophy," Esmeralda remarked before Merimac could do as much as think about an answer. "And don't object," she told her brother-in-law. "I know fathers of daughters and they tend to be touchy as soon as their girls reach their tweens."

"You're thinking of old Adalgrim?" Merimac asked.

"Of him, of Pal, and of you. You know too well the mind of a young up-to-no-good to let your lass out into the world and face them."

Frodo snickered. Merimac looked as if Esme had just slapped him. He gazed at her for a very long moment, wrinkled his nose, and eventually got up to take his daughter from Frodo. The little maid-child had fallen asleep and Merimac seemed all too glad to have an excuse to bring an end to this conversation.

"You bested him," Frodo whispered to Esmeralda who nodded and smiled smugly.

"She did no such thing," Merimac told them. "It's just that Bluebell and Adamanta need their sleep."

"And you need time to come up with a reply," Frodo remarked.

"Cheeky little brat!" was all Merimac had to say to that before they exchanged their good night and he and Mantha left the parlour together.

Frodo and Esmeralda exchanged a look and broke into laughter. It felt good to be among family again and Frodo was sure he wouldn't regret he had come to Brandy Hall for the Yule preparations. He was welcome in Buckland and though Bag End was his home he knew there was always a room in the Hall for him.

~THE END~

** my own creation from the Elvish words for "bell", "flower", and "female"

Title: Precious
Rating: G
Summary: A visit to Whitwell and a quarrel with its occupants causes some discomfort.
Year: 1348

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

~*~*~

"Where did you get that?"

Paladin winced at the high-pitched note in his sister's voice. It was quite normal for her to quickly rise to provocation but he hadn't heard that particular tone in weeks; not since Ruby, Opal, and Amethyst had insisted that she was too young to come along to their Highday-evening out. Rejected by her elder sisters Esmeralda tended to lash out at everybody unlucky enough to cross her way.

Paladin hoped he could ignore her this time but then Saradoc, who was standing beside him, sighed deeply and pointed out that it was again Merimac who stood at the receiving end of Esmeralda's unusually flaring wrath.

The poor child seemed quite intimidated by Esmeralda's anger, looking at her wide-eyed and unable to reply. That, however, might also have been because Esme was flooding him with insults and Paladin silently congratulated him for bearing it so well.

"Don't make me take it back from you!"

That was enough. Paladin jumped from the fence he was sitting on. "Esmeralda Took! If you need to vent your temper yell at Ruby. She at least will be able to talk back."

"I could talk back as well," Merimac piped in.

Paladin and Esmeralda ignored him. She was busy shooting Paladin malevolent looks, while he held her gaze because it would infuriate her even more. Ruby, as the eldest of five children, had a way of telling off her siblings for every misstep and Paladin felt a secret pleasure whenever his sisters argued among themselves.

"You think I'm in a temper, do you?" Esmeralda growled. "Well, you'd be as well. What good is there in having sisters when they keep telling me I'm too young to join them while this little…" Esmeralda gestured at Merimac but failed to find a suitable name. "I saw him sneak around the smial. He took grandma's ring although mother keeps it in a casket in her room. What were you doing skulking about in there?"

Esmeralda glared down at Merimac who smiled in perfect innocence, though Paladin did not fail to notice that the child kept his hands hidden behind his back. His manner, also, was slightly different and numerous visits with the Brandybucks had taught him not to trust Merimac whenever he started brushing his toes over the grass the way he did now.

Ignoring Esmeralda's continued twitter Paladin knelt down in front of his cousin and placed his hands on his shoulders. In a gentle voice he asked: "Did you take the ring, Merimac?"

Merimac opened his mouth, then, obviously realising he was caught, lowered his eyes and drew even more vigorous circles with his toes. "It wasn't in a casket," he pointed out. "It was just lying on the nightstand."

"Why did you take it?"

"What did he do this time?" Saradoc asked with a reproachful look at his brother. "Why do you always have to spoil everything?"

"I didn't!" Merimac told him indignantly. "It was pretty and…"

"You can't just take it away, Mac. It's an heirloom, you know and…" Paladin tried to explain but Esmeralda interrupted him.

"You realise you're stealing, do you?!" she thundered and before Paladin could stop her she grabbed Merimac by the arm and tried to take the shining golden ring from him. The sunlight got caught in the glittering diamond as Merimac desperately tried to keep it out of Esmeralda's grip.

"Stop it, Esmeralda!" Paladin yelled but she kept screaming at Merimac who shouted back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes blazing as he struggled to break free.

Later, Paladin could never quite tell how it happened. Saradoc cried for them to stop fighting while Paladin tried in vain to separate his sister from Merimac. He only succeeded when Merimac collapsed, choking and gasping for breath. Esmeralda immediately let go of him and they both stared at their cousin, unable to move.

"No, you didn't!" Esmeralda moaned but her voice had lost its sharpness and was now trembling with the seriousness of the situation.

Merimac had only seen this one way to escape his captor, but in the scuffle no one had noticed that he had shoved the ring into his mouth until it was too late. With watering eyes he desperately tried to suck in some air, one moment trying to swallow the treacherous trinket and the next fighting to retch it back up. Horrible choking and gurgling noises accompanied this struggle as Merimac's face grew crimson and the arms with which he tried to support his weight trembled.

"Do something!" Saradoc was the first to awake from his stupor and it seemed to Paladin that his voice cleared the mist in front of his eyes.

Without knowing what he was doing or whether it was the right thing to do, he grabbed Merimac around the chest and hit him on the back with the flat of his hand. "Retch it back up!"

"That's it!" Esmeralda finally came to as well. "You have to stick your finger down his throat so that he vomits. I saw Ruby do that to the Longbottom boy when he swallowed poisonous berries."

Paladin stared at her, momentarily forgetting that Merimac was about to suffocate. He did not realise that the coughing sounds were once again replaced by heavy swallowing. "I'm not going to stick my finger down anybody's throat!"

"Mama!" Saradoc fled in a panic, fearful eyes glued to Merimac's helpless form.

Paladin felt a pang of guilt. This was not the time for arguments, however horrible Esmeralda's suggestions might be, but just as he made up his mind Merimac, now purple in the face, fell limply against his chest and gulped in the air like a fish outside water.

"What's going on?" Esmeralda asked nervously looking at their cousin as if he had grown a second head.

Paladin glared at her before tentatively touching a flaming and tear-streaked cheek. "Mac?"

The child opened his watery eyes and smiled weakly up at him. "It's gone," he croaked before breaking into a breathless giggle.

Paladin kept staring but Esmeralda's temper immediately rose again. "What do you mean 'gone'?"

Merimac shrugged innocently. "It's no longer there."

"You didn't!" Esmeralda shouted and Merimac tensed, his grin vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "You didn't swallow it!"

"What did he swallow?"

Menegilda hastened around the corner fearing the worst. Saradoc was rarely that pale in the face and he never stuttered, except when in a panic. The sight before her didn't do anything to lessen the tightness in her chest. Paladin and Esmeralda knelt in the grass, a weak-looking Merimac in Paladin's lap. He was flushed and breathing hard, while Paladin caressed his cheek with a frightened look on his ashen face. Menegilda felt her own colour drain and her finger tighten convulsively around the fabric of her skirts.

"Mama!" Menegilda's heart skipped a beat. "Don't let her get me." Merimac sat up and spread his arms as if to hug her, only to slump back against Paladin once more.

"Merimac, sweet, are you all right?" Relief washed over her as she pushed Esmeralda out of the way to kneel down in front of her youngest son, combed her fingers through his hair, stroked his wet cheeks, and patted his shoulders.

"He swallowed my grandmother's ring!" stormed Esmeralda.

"Esmeralda Took!" Hyacinth scolded; there was no doubt who the girl had her temper from. "Mind your tone!"

"You swallowed it?" Menegilda asked, dimly aware of the worry in her voice. "You didn't choke it back up? Saradoc said…"

Merimac interrupted her with a shake of his head. "I tried. It wouldn't work, but it's gone now."

She smiled weakly at her boy's confident expression but couldn't ignore the knot which once again formed in her chest. "Do you hurt? Are you sick?"

Merimac frowned in confusion. "I'm fine, but you should worry about Esme, Aunt Hyacinth. She's mad and her eyes are almost popping out when she shouts."

"You little…," Esmeralda thundered but whatever insult she had in mind was lost in a wave of laughter. Menegilda felt her tenseness ease and was only dimly aware that Saradoc, too, had reappeared beside her and now smiled uncertainly at his brother who seemed decidedly puzzled at the sudden outbreak of mirth.

"You will tell me when you're feeling unwell, won't you?" Menegilda asked her youngest son when the laughter subsided.

Merimac frowned but nodded nonetheless.

"And you will tell me whenever you have to use the privy in the next two days."

"I can do that alone!" Merimac blustered indignantly.

"I know, dear, but you have to tell me."

"And what if I don't want to?"

Menegilda gave him a stern look and though Merimac averted his eyes she knew he wouldn't fail to inform her.

"That's settled then," she said looking from Paladin, who was still rather pale, to Saradoc and a pink-cheeked Esmeralda, and back to her flushed son. "Why did you take Aster's ring?"

Merimac's ears turned even redder as he fidgeted and made to hide his face in Paladin's shirt. It needed another stern prompting of Menegilda's to coax a mumbled reply out of him. "It was pretty, and it's my birthday soon. I hardly have any presents and you told dad," he gave her a hurt look before hiding his face again. "You told him you like rings even though you seldom wear them. I thought it would make you happy."

Menegilda couldn't reply at once. Her heart swelled with love and her eyes filled with fond tears. After a moment she scooped Merimac into her arms, held him close and kissed his forehead. "My sweet, you needn't give me a ring to make me happy, especially not one that doesn't belong to you. See, I couldn't wear it anyway whenever I go to one of the many mummies in Buckland." Merimac looked at her with a mixture of sadness and relief. "Besides, you still have another six weeks until your birthday. I'm sure you will find a small present by then, won't you?"

Merimac nodded and smiled when Menegilda brushed another kiss onto his curls before she turned an apologetic look to her friend. "I'm sorry about your ring, Hyacinth, but I think you will have it back in less than two days."

"Urgh!" Esmeralda's voice was so full of disgust that Merimac wheeled around with a look of fascination. She turned a thoroughly sick look at him. "You're revolting!"

Without further ado Esmeralda turned her back on them and stormed off. All five looked after her in silence for a moment until Merimac heaved a heavy sigh of relief. "I'm glad she's gone."

Menegilda clucked her tongue at him and ruffled his curls before she guided him and Saradoc back to the table where she and Hyacinth had tea together. It was better to keep an eye on him and the lads before they ended up in worse trouble.

~THE END~

Title: Penny Buns or The Straw Hat Chronicles Part I
Rating: G
Summary: A ride through the woods leads two brothers to a tasty discovery.
Year: 1365
Author notes: The Straw Hat Chronicles are by no means chronologically ordered. It was just a silly little idea I had when I discovered that a straw hat would repeatedly appear in my Merimac stories - especially where some kind of mischief or foolishness was involved.

Special thanks to Ariel.

~*~*~

"Touch it and you're dead."

"It's ugly."

"That's style."

"You're stupid."

"You're jealous," Merimac said dryly and once again arranged his straw hat. He pulled its broad rim down to his nose to shield his eyes and drown half his face in shadow. Content with the result, Merimac lifted his chin and mounted his pony in what he doubtlessly thought, was an elegant manner.

Saradoc shook his head and followed his brother's example. "You're ridiculous, Mac, and so is the hat."

Merimac shrugged and softly kicked his steed. "Jealous."

"Because of that hat?" Saradoc snorted. "Sure I am!"

They trotted along together down the road to Bucklebury. The wind, fresh and cold enough to belie the gleaming sunshine of the autumn afternoon, played with their cloaks and brought colour to their cheeks. Saradoc welcomed the coolness. He had spent the morning brooding over some harvest calculations and had accepted his brother's invitation to join him for a ride gladly. Merimac, however, was uncommonly quiet and didn't provide him with the distraction he had looked forward to.

His brother's steed, Minx, was the first pony Merimac had tamed himself and this was her first foray away from the stables. Merimac, determined to find out exactly just how well she would do outside the riding ring, was now paying attention to every tremor and twitch of her ears. If not for that ridiculous hat he would almost have looked as if he knew what he was doing. Saradoc couldn't understand what his brother loved so about that hat. He couldn't even remember when or how he had got it, but ever since Merimac didn't go anywhere without it. Saradoc didn't mind so much. Not in summer; but now it was the end of Halimath and too much sun definitely wasn't a problem anymore.

"You should get rid of it," Saradoc announced and turned towards the woods south of the road. He had made many attempts to relieve his brother of his headdress and Merimac surely knew what he was talking about, though he made no reply. "What about another game? If you win, I will not bother you about it again; but if I should win, you will give it to me and I will do with it whatever I wish."

Merimac lifted his head and though Saradoc could see nothing but his brother's nose and chin he felt his eyes upon him. He looked straight back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, for he knew his brother was unlikely to refuse such a challenge.

"You play me every year and you keep losing," Merimac told him. "I thought you brighter than to ask again. I wonder: will you handle your businesses in the same stubborn manner? After all you must know that you don't stand a chance against me."

"You've had fortune on your side these last two years," Saradoc said and grimaced at the memory. It had not been wise to play cards and roll the dices over as important a matter as this disgusting insect bait.

Merimac grinned. "Fortune likes my hat."

"Fortune has no taste," Saradoc answered.

Merimacs smirk grew even wider. "First one to the clearing wins?"

Saradoc didn't like the confidence in his brother's voice, but decided to take the risk. Merimac couldn't always be lucky. He nodded and a moment later both ponies were galloping along the narrow lane, Merimac obviously confident of his mount's speed. Red and golden leaves fluttered past them on either side. The sun sparkled from between the dwindling crowns, while their ponies stretched their necks forward as if intoxicated by their own speed. Their hooves pounded into to the ground frightening hedgerow birds which broke into wild squawks and fled in all directions.

Saradoc was in front by half a head. In his mind's eye, he could already see the hat going up in flames. Suddenly, his brother gave a shout of surprise and somersaulted past him. He almost would have landed on his feet, but then stumbled and fell face first into the dirt.

Alarmed, Saradoc pulled his pony to a halt and turned back. The straw hat had rolled into the middle of the lane. His brother lay sprawled and motionless beside it, his brown cloak covering him from head to toe. It was a horrific sight and Saradoc's heart was in his throat until he made out the sound of muffled curses punctuated by moans and groans - a sure sign that Merimac was not seriously injured.

Relieved, Saradoc turned to Minx. The pony stood some steps behind them under the branches of a tree and munched on a piece of - something. For a pony she looked decidedly smug and Saradoc couldn't help but feel that she was quite proud that she managed to unseat Merimac and was laughing at him.

"Sod it!" Merimac blustered as he scrambled to a sitting position. "Dratted nag! Blasted - oh - blood." Merimac paled and slumped back down the moment the red liquid dripped onto the back of his hand. He gave a pitiable moan and closed his eyes.

Saradoc watched him for a moment. His nose was a little flat. Blood trickled from it and ran across his dirty cheek. A scratch adorned his forehead and a few leaves were entangled in his hair. Other than that, Merimac looked all right. "It's not that much blood, Mac," Saradoc said. "No need to dramatise."

"Very sympathetic," his brother muttered and blinked up at him ruefully. "'Are you hurt, Merimac?' 'Can I help you in any way?' 'Here, lean on me for support.'" He sat up once again, brushed the blood from his nose, reached for his hat, and glared at Minx who was still munching contently.

Saradoc followed his angry stare and chuckled. "You didn't exaggerate when you said she was wilful."

"Wilful?!" Merimac bristled. "She's gormless and hoggish!" He advanced the pony with long strides. "What is it you're chewing on, glutton?" Angrily he grabbed the reins and pulled the pony's head up only to stare open-mouthed at her discovery. "Penny buns! That stupid mare eats mushrooms!"

"You have a great deal in common," Saradoc laughed as Merimac bent down to eagerly collect the mushrooms in his steed's stead. Denied access to the delicious food, Minx began to nibble on the straw hat instead, pulling it off Merimac's head defiantly. "And she likes your hat too. Maybe you should get yourself a box next to hers."

Merimac glowered at him while barely managing to keep his mare from eating the precious mushrooms. "Would you be so kind as to stop cracking jokes and keep this beast," Merimac pushed Minx's nose from where it had sneaked past his shoulder, "from the penny buns while I save my hat."

Saradoc smirked and made himself more comfortable in his saddle. "A difficult decision, isn't it? Hat or mushrooms? Style or food?" he teased with a singsong voice. "I'd go for the food. The hat is mine now anyway."

"You didn't win."

"I would have. You were quite," Saradoc snickered, "flattened." Merimac scowled at him, from beneath tousled curls. Beside him, the pony stared at her owner with the same expression. Merimac had a tight grip on her reins so she could not get another bite of the penny buns. Saradoc shook his head in amusement. "Really, Mac, Minx is your perfect mount."

Pulling an unwilling pony behind him, Merimac retrieved his hat and advanced on Saradoc to push the reins into his hands. "I had considered sharing this prize with you, but as things stand I believe I will eat them all myself."

Saradoc inclined his head, holding Minx back in spite of his threat. He thought he saw his brother grin as he knelt down to collect the rest of the penny buns. Merimac was no great cook, but he knew how to prepare mushrooms - better even than Cook! - and he also knew Saradoc was not averse to a little snack before tea; especially one of mushrooms. Saradoc fidgeted for a while, then cleared his throat. "I could keep my eyes open for a little more."

"Take Minx with you," Saradoc wasn't sure whether it was annoyance or some secret delight he heard in his brother's voice, "She seems to have a knack for finding them."

Saradoc looked at him for a very long moment, but Merimac didn't spare a glance at him or his pony. Annoyance, then, Saradoc told himself, and the prospect of grilled mushrooms to keep his anger at bay. He had better oblige and, perhaps, he might come up with another idea to get rid of that hat while he collected more mushrooms. Minx might be of help too if he could get her to nibble on its straw more often. With a last look at his brother, he clicked his tongue and pulled on Minx's reins. "Come here, glutton."

Somehow he wasn't surprised to find Merimac, whom this nickname was usually reserved for, looking up at him with a frown. Saradoc shook his head and chuckled quietly. Minx was, indeed, his brother's perfect mount.

~THE END~

Title: Nursing
Rating: G
Summary: Adamanta is away to care for a sick cousin, leaving Merimac alone with both children, when Bluebell unexpectedly becomes ill as well.
Year: 1409

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish.

~*~*~

Merimac inhaled deeply the fresh scent of the laundry which lay on his bed. He took one of his shirts and flung it over his still damp shoulders before putting the others into the wardrobe. He was beginning to feel like a house husband.

Adamanta had gone to care for her cousin Violet in Budgeford who had taken ill ten days ago. Her husband, being busy with the harvest, had asked for Mantha’s help. Since then Merimac had been on his own and when he wasn’t working in the stables, he was looking after Bluebell.

To make matters worse, his daughter had caught a cold as well and Merimac missed his wife more than ever. He could only wonder how Mantha managed the constant whinging, the always-runny nose, and the tears because ‘mummy could do everything so much better’. Well, at least Bluebell preferred him to Petty Smallburrows, the nurse; although he wasn’t so sure whether this was a good thing.

At least his little girl was asleep now and he could look forward to a quiet evening in the family parlour with his son, his brother, and his friends.

Merimac plopped onto an armchair and closed his eyes – just for a second. The fire crackled. His face glowed in its warmth. The smell of apple wood lingered in the air and mingled with that of bee wax soap. Wet ringlets fell into his face and his head grew heavy. If only Mantha could be here as well. If only…

And suddenly her smell filled his nostrils. Hair, bathed in rose water, tickled his cheeks and flowed over his neck and shoulders. He could feel her calming presence, her gentle touch on his arm. Merimac reached for her hand. Her skin was soft as velvet and as he brought her fingers to his lips the sweet smell of honey and almond bemused his senses.

“Da?”

The hands that tugged at his sleeve were surprisingly small and the voice that disturbed the quiet was hoarse and weak.

Merimac forced his heavy lids to open and gazed blearily at his daughter. Her dark hair, which hung down to the small of her back, was tousled and limp. Her eyes were teary, her cheeks flushed, and her nose was red and sore – and running again.

“What is it, dear?” Merimac lifted his little darling into his arms and hastened to get a handkerchief from a chest of drawers before Bluebell snuffled. He was too slow but wiped her nose nonetheless as he plopped back into the chair.

“I hurt,” Bluebell whined and buried her face in his chest.

“I know, sweet,” Merimac replied gently, cradled her close, and kissed her brow. It was still warm but cooler than before. Her shoulders shook when he combed his fingers through her knotted ringlets. “Don’t cry.”

Bluebell flung his arms around his neck, her breath hitching. Merimac felt forlorn. Adamanta was the one who could deal with weeping children. He would manage tears of anger or defiance but not these pitiful sobs his sweet little darling was uttering now. They tore at his heart and if he had been able to he would have taken her sickness and pain onto himself. As it were, he could only hold her close, cradle her, and murmur lullabies.

Eventually, her sobs subsided. At first Merimac thought she had fallen asleep again – he, for one, felt totally exhausted – but then he realised she was quietly humming along with him and playing with one of his buttons.

“Better now?”

Bluebell nodded. “When will mum return?”

“Soon,” Merimac answered and dearly hoped it was true.

Bluebell accepted that and yawned widely. Merimac looked down at her sleepy face, her glassy blue-grey eyes, and the runny nose. Merimac wiped it dry again and kissed her once more. She was a beautiful little girl and Merimac’s heart swelled with love for his daughter.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” she asked hoarsely and how could he have denied her request?

“Of course,” he said and the thickness in his voice told him that he was struggling against sleep as much as she did. He could not remember ever feeling so tired and that from simply caring for a sick child. How Adamanta did it was beyond him. Thank goodness Berilac could look after himself most of the time. Just the thought of having to nourish both children made him even more exhausted.

Nevertheless, he had to admit he enjoyed to have the girl here. His little Bluebell was normally quite a powerhouse. To have her so still and all to himself was a rare gift; the only reason why he hadn’t yet written to Adamanta and begged her to come home; apart from his wish not to worry her needlessly. So far he had coped quite well, after all.

The sounds around him muted until only his sweet girl’s laboured breathing was audible. He could still smell the apple wood and the sweet-stingy scent of sweat that lingered on Bluebell’s hair.

The girl snuggled against him and her lids fluttered when Merimac caressed her cheek. Her face glowed in the firelight and as Merimac watched her and marvelled at the trust she presented him with, he felt his mind drift again.

~*~*~

When Berilac came to look for his father he found him fast asleep. Bluebell was curled up on his lap, furry toes hidden beneath her nightgown. Berilac smiled. He hadn’t thought the girl would exhaust their father that much – not after all the ‘of course, I can manage’ and the ‘I’ve handled far worse than that’.

Well, he should have known better. Bluebell could be quite a handful, especially when she was in an ill mood – or sick.

Berilac picked up a blanket from the bed and tucked them in. He brushed a gentle kiss onto Bluebell’s brow and smirked at his father. There were some things about his daughter Merimac had yet to learn, but, as it seemed, he was doing fairly well already. Mother would be proud of him if she could see him now. He was a wonderful father. Berilac smiled at him and his expression was full of love when he walked out of the room backwards, leaving the two sleepers alone.

~THE END~

Title: Of Pranks and Experiments
Rating: PG
Summary: Saradoc gets a chance to repay his brother for a prank he played on him.
Year: 1364 (Merimac has just turned 22, Saradoc is 24)

Special thanks to Ariel.

~*~*~

Icy winter wind whistled through the slightly open window. The curtains billowed and dust seeds danced in the strands of morning sunlight streaming in through the gap between them. Saradoc shivered and glanced longingly at the still warm covers of his bed before returning his attention to the washbasin before him. He looked at it for several long minutes, knowing that the water it held was as icy as the wind. He took a deep breath and braced himself, gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and splashed the freezing water into his face. How he hated Sterdays! He reached blindly for the towel, rubbed it with just a bit too much force over his pale cheeks and gazed into the mirror. Eyes underlined with dark rings, tousled curls and a decidedly pallid face looked back at him. Yes, he definitely hated Sterdays.

Saradoc shook his head – even if he didn’t feel it he at least wanted to look awake – and groaned in pain. He pressed his cool palm against his forehead. The fifth glass of brandy might have been one too many. Or perhaps it was the four pints of ale, or…

A moan from the bed made him smile in spite of his own miserable state. He, at least, was up and dressed. As long as father didn't storm into their room and pull him out by his ears, he would even consider himself on time for today's training lesson.

“Uncle Saradas won’t approve of that,” he announced, trying to arrange his hair. He knew his uncle was as strict as his father when it came to punctuality for training, and Merimac had a gift for being late.

Merimac answered with another grumble, shifted his weight several times and disappeared under his blanket.

Saradoc grinned. “He’ll probably have you muck out stables all day, or you’ll have to clean the sumps. You smelled awful the last time you did that.”

“Just leave me alone, will you?” a hoarse voice from somewhere on the bed snarled at him.

Saradoc looked at the bundle that was his brother and a vicious grin appeared on his face. Under normal circumstances, and considering that he was almost too tired to pester Merimac, he would probably have left him be. After all, last night had been a very long and exciting one, but as matters were, he couldn’t waste such a golden opportunity to repay Merimac for what his brother liked to call ‘the water incident’.

It had happened last summer during a visit to Whitwell. Saradoc had been asleep during the planning stages, but from what he had been told, it must have gone along these lines….

~*~*~

“You can’t do that!” came a hushed but appalled voice.

A grin, a sideways glance: “Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

“It’s nothing to do with curiosity. It’s about dignity.”

“Dignity?!” Merimac’s jaw dropped and for a few moments all he could do was gape at his cousin. “Really, if growing older means becoming as cautious as you have become, I hope I never will.”

“Maturity will catch you.”

Merimac hastened to his cousin’s side and covered Paladin’s mouth with his hand, a look of mock horror on his face. “Hold your breath and don’t move,” he whispered. “I think you’ve been possessed by my father. I heard him speak through your mouth.”

Paladin grabbed his wrist and locked eyes with him. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’ll stop being ridiculous when you stop acting like an 80-year-old gaffer,” Merimac told him reprovingly. “Really, Pal, you used to be fun to be with. What happened to my cousin?”

“He grew up,” Paladin said matter-of-factly and straightened as if to punctuate his words.

Merimac stared at him. The light of several candles reflected in their eyes and cast a shivering red and golden glow over their faces. For the first time in his life, Merimac, who had always looked up to Paladin and counted on his support, felt a painful second of rejection. It seemed as if a gap had opened between them, just broad enough to keep Merimac from reaching his older cousin.

His unease must have shown on his face, for Paladin suddenly broke into a smile. “Have you tried it before?”

Merimac grinned and the tightness in his chest eased as the gap vanished. “No, but the Bucklebury twins did and they said it worked just fine. Besides,” he hooked a thumb towards the bed in which his brother slept peacefully. A wicked grin spread on his face. “This is just too good an opportunity to miss.”

Paladin raised an eyebrow following his gesture. Merimac watched him, hardly daring to breathe lest he interrupt his cousin’s pondering. He needed him to join in his plan, for what use was there in proving a myth if no one but him saw the result?

“I’ll warm the water,” Paladin said eventually and Merimac had to bite his tongue to keep from exulting.

“That’s my cousin!” he cheered in a hushed voice and slapped Paladin on the shoulder. “That’s the Pal I know.”

“And I already regret it,” Paladin replied with a wink before he left the room.

Not long after, he and Paladin sat cross-legged beside Saradoc’s bed, the candles’ glow on their expectant faces. Carefully, Merimac lifted a bowl of warm water underneath his brother’s dangling hand until it was completely immersed. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Merimac found this part of the enterprise the most trying. He could hardly sit still, which made it difficult to keep his brother’s hand from slipping out of the water. Both he and Paladin were completely focused on Saradoc, alert to his every move and softest sound. So fixated were they that they did not hear Esmeralda until she was almost standing beside them.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Merimac jumped, almost spilling the precious water and Paladin hissed a warning for his sister to be silent. She started at his commanding tone, but complied as Saradoc stirred.

He frowned and mumbled in his sleep, then stretched, turned and curled up against the wall.

Merimac watched, his heart thumping and his breath held, but Saradoc did not move again. His features relaxed and his breathing once again grew deep and even. Merimac closed his eyes for a second, and breathed a sigh of relief before turning to glare at the intruder. “Happy now?” he hissed through gritted teeth. “How will I ever get his hand back into the bowl without waking him now?”

“Get his hand into – what?” Esmeralda looked at him in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I am about to prove a theory,” Merimac declared, still whispering. Without waiting for an answer he leaned over his brother’s body, tempted to shift him to a more suitable position. But then he discovered a gap between his brother’s face and the wall, just big enough for the bowl. He carefully situated it there and submerged his brother’s hand once more.

Satisfied and with a nefarious grin, he turned back to his audience. Paladin seemed embarrassed, but Merimac found that he did not mind having Esme join them at all – now that the experiment was no longer in jeopardy. The more witnesses, the better.

“He is about to do something in the bed he’s probably not done since he was a faunt,” he explained to a still frowning Esmeralda, “because, it’s said that when you place a body’s hand in warm water as they sleep, they will wet themselves.”

The girl gaped at him in disbelief. Her mouth worked in angry silence for several moments before she turned and addressed herself to her brother. Her voice squeaked from her efforts to keep it down. “Don’t tell me you’re involved in this.”

“I’m… well…,” Paladin stammered and shrugged. Merimac hastened to cousin’s side before Esmeralda could convince her brother of the error of his ways.

“He’s only here at my invitation as a witness.”

Esmeralda turned her steely, blue eyes on Merimac. They glistened in the candlelight, menacing daggers of light in her darkly shadowed face. She looked to him like some wild animal lurking in the dark and waiting to attack. Merimac shifted uneasily but did not shrink. She shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe your wickedness! He’s your brother!”

Then, to his and Paladin’s utter surprise, she plopped down beside them. Merimac stifled the grin that threatened to split his face and winked at Paladin who seemed unsure whether to be shocked or relieved. Esmeralda, however, did not comment and so they all proceeded to wait and watch in silence.

It was difficult to tell whether they waited minutes or hours. Time seemed to slip out of existence and for a while there was nothing but their breathing, the flicker of the candles and the occasional creak of the mattress when one of them strained a little too hard to see if anything had happened.

In the end it was Saradoc himself who told them that the anticipated event had eventually occurred. He stirred in his sleep and grumbled a curse even Merimac was shocked to hear. But it was Merimac whose cheer of triumph sounded first and loud enough to cause Paladin and Esmeralda to jump in surprise. Saradoc, too, started up in fright and tipped over the water bowl in the process. This, in turn, alarmed him so much that he jumped out of the bed and almost knocked them over.

“What…? What…?” he cried breathlessly, as he looked about him, disoriented.

Merimac could hardly breathe for laughing. The Tooks stood sniggering, Esmeralda hiding her mirth behind her hand, until Paladin pointed to the wet spot on Saradoc’s nightshirt. Merimac didn’t know how he found enough air to form the words.

“Really, brother. I thought that at your age you could control that sort of thing.”

The trio dissolved into more uncontrolled laughter as Saradoc frowned and looked down the front of his body, still too confused to understand what had happened.

~*~*~

But understand he eventually did. And ever since he had been keen to return his brother the favour. Saradoc looked at the basin of cold water, tempted to dump it over Merimac’s head, but dismissed the idea almost as soon as it arose. That was the kind of thing a sullen child would do. It would not be an appropriate retribution for the humiliation he had suffered. And in front of Esmeralda no less! No, a dash of cold water waking Merimac up after a long night was not enough.

Merimac shifted again and sucked in some breath as if in pain. Saradoc frowned. “Do you have a problem?”

“Yes,” Merimac growled in reply. “It’s called Saradoc Brandybuck and he is dreadfully annoying this early in the morning.”

“You’re having a good day already, I see,” Saradoc replied unfazed and forced his tired feet to walk towards the bed. “Would it brighten your morning if I stripped you of your blanket?”

“No!” Merimac’s outcry was sudden and almost desperate. The figure pulled the blanket tight until it turned into a taut cover. “If you as much as touch it I swear you shall never have a moment’s peace again.”

Saradoc raised an eyebrow in surprise. The usual Sterday-morning affection consisted of a threat or insult only, not a frantic exclamation that caused his headache to pulse even more vigorously.

“Mac?” he asked almost concerned, trying to remember whether anything had upset his brother the last night – anything more than Maramdas beating him at cards which was nothing out of the ordinary; especially not while they were drunk. But then, as he gazed at Merimac’s oddly stiffened frame outlined under the cover, another thought came to him. Perhaps the issue was not something that had happened last night but rather, this morning. The grin returned to his face.

He walked to the window and opened the curtains fully so that his brother’s bed was bathed in light. The icy water might come in handy after all. Leisurely, he then walked back to his brother’s bed and poked the younger in the back, hoping to distract Merimac from his death grip on his blanket.

The desired effect followed instantly. Merimac drew the blanket over his head and growled angrily at Saradoc to leave him alone. Saradoc’s grin grew wider and more vicious and he tugged at the concealing blanket. Merimac grabbed it with both hands, still trying to cover himself, but finding himself outmatched in his just wakened state.

“Might as well get out of bed since you’re already ‘up’.”

Merimac didn’t even finish his insult before he snatched the blanket from his brother’s grasp and disappeared beneath it once again.

“As if it’s never happened to you! Why don’t you just leave me be!” The voice was angry now and Saradoc could not help but feel very pleased with the morning’s events. He walked back to the basin and smirked at his reflection, while he traced a finger across the water’s cool surface. This was the kind of thing he needed. Too bad, though, that he didn’t have an audience as well.

Humming a light tune he lifted the washbasin and advanced the bed once more. Unable to resist the chance to tease his brother some more he called in a sing-sang voice: “Oh, Merimac… I can hear mother coming...”

It was a downright lie, but a very effective one. Immediately the blanket was pulled even tauter and Merimac’s head emerged once more. “You…!”

Whatever his brother had been about to say drowned in a surprised, half-choked yelp. Water poured through the blanket’s thin weave dousing the bed and occupant thoroughly. Merimac jumped out of his bed instantly and stood stiff as a statue and dripping wet from his belly downwards. His breath hitched and came out in uncontrolled gasps as he looked down the front of his nightshirt in utter shock. It took him a moment to note the now empty washbasin was in Saradoc’s hand and still he was unable to do anything but pant helplessly.

Now this was revenge. Saradoc grinned smugly, savouring the retribution he had waited far too long for.

“I seem to recall,” he said at length, putting the basin back on the chest and out of the way of Merimac’s certain outburst. “Once you illustrated a body’s – my body’s – reaction to warm water.” He turned to his brother to see understanding dawn on his appalled face. His grin grew even wider as he gestured at the mess that was Merimac and his bed. “I simply used yours to demonstrate the effect of cold water. And I think the theory is well proven, isn’t it?” He nodded at his brother’s soaked lap.

That did it for Merimac. His face darkened with murderous rage. Saradoc only just managed to make it out of the room and down the steps to the family corridor before Merimac latched onto his collar. His mother looked up in surprise at the sudden turmoil.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, suddenly caught between one snickering and one furious tween.

“I’ll kill him!” Merimac cried in a voice that trembled with anger. He tried to get past Menegilda, but she was standing in the kitchen’s doorway and blocked his way. “Let me get him!”

“First you explain what’s going on.” Menegilda insisted and pulled herself up to her full height so that she was level with Merimac. She put her hands on her substantial hips, making it impossible for him to squeeze past her. Saradoc stood safely behind in the kitchen and took in the scene before him with delight. No one could match his mother, not even father, when she stood up like that; strong, compelling and unassailable, like a dragon defending her treasure – the able Mistress of Buckland. He was glad that he was not the target of that fierce look.

“I want to rip off his head!” Merimac screamed as a reply. Menegilda turned to Saradoc, who was struggling hard to keep a straight and not too ecstatic face.

“He couldn’t handle a prank,” was all Saradoc could say before his face split into a broad grin that infuriated his brother even more.

“Let me at him! He deserves being beaten black and blue – and yellow and green and…!”

“Merimac Brandybuck, mind your tongue!” Menegilda glared at her youngest, her voice stern and angry. Saradoc bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. This was getting better by the minute.

“You don’t need him,” Merimac told her in a voice dark as death itself. “You’d still have a son and I’m the better of the two anyhow. Look at this!” He grasped his soaked nightshirt and shook it angrily. “Look at what he’s done to me!”

Menegilda dutifully looked him over from head to toe, while Merimac stood trembling with rage and too little sleep. His eyes were swollen, his hair too long and unkempt and his nightshirt clinging to him while droplets of water ran down his ankles. Had he not richly deserved this treatment, Saradoc would almost have felt sorry for him.

“Explain.”

Saradoc found his mother gazing at him sternly. The dragon had discovered the intruder. He sobered immediately. “It was payback.”

“Payback for what?”

“Whitwell,” Saradoc answered and sent daggers past his mother’s shoulder in spite of his triumph. Everyone had heard the story many times and Saradoc still found himself the brunt of the occasional joke over it.

Menegilda, still standing formidably between her sons, nodded. “I see.”

“But that was nothing compared to this!” Merimac defended himself. “That was a joke! This was pure cruelty. I would never have done this to him if he was… if he were… if….” he trailed off.

Menegilda looked over her shoulder but Merimac said no more. He clenched his fist and avoided her eyes.

Saradoc grinned at Merimac and, in his most conciliatory voice, explained to his mother: “He had a problem. I merely helped him solve it.”

“Solve it?!” If looks were able to kill Saradoc would have dropped dead then and there. “I’ll be in pain for the rest of the day!”

“You will not. Don’t exaggerate!” Saradoc told him.

“Let me spill a basin of icy water over your privates and then tell me if I am exaggerating!”

“Stop it right this instant!” Menegilda’s voice rose over their heated argument. Silence fell immediately. No one stirred, no one breathed and even the distant clamour that was morning in Brandy Hall’s main quarters was no longer audible. Menegilda looked from one son to the other and when she was satisfied they were silenced, she commenced in a reasonable voice.

“Let me get this straight. You,” nodding at Saradoc, “are still upset because of Whitwell. Understandably so,” she added before Saradoc could argue. “So you went ahead and spilled water…”

“Cold water,” Merimac pointed out.

“… cold water,” Menegilda repeated and Saradoc knew that the look she sent in Merimac’s direction told him not to interrupt her again. “You went ahead and spilled cold water all over your brother’s private parts while…”

“Mother!”

Menegilda shot another glance at Merimac before facing Saradoc. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Saradoc nodded, without the slightest remorse or embarrassment.

Menegilda shook her head, pressed two fingers to her brow and sighed. “You two will be the death of me one day.”

“Right now I’d rather be his death,” Merimac proclaimed and Saradoc knew his brother would be at him already if their mother hadn’t been blocking the doorway. He didn’t care. Right now nothing could overshadow his sense of righteous satisfaction.

“You realise this is your own fault, do you?”

Saradoc turned in surprise to find his father advancing on them. He had been too occupied with Merimac to notice that both Rorimac and their uncle Saradas had been sitting at the kitchen table the whole time. “That was a nasty joke you played on your brother last summer, and this was an equally mean retribution. Both of you should be ashamed of yourself not just because of what you did to your brother, but because you have enjoyed each other’s misery.”

Saradoc lowered his eyes and bit his cheeks to conceal his pleasure. Merimac said nothing, but his stiff posture told Saradoc that there were quite a few things he’d have liked to reply.

“I don’t want to hear of anything like this happening again,” Rorimac continued in a calm but stern voice. “You’re even now and if I see you,” this with a sharp look at Merimac, “even raise your voice against your brother, you won’t see the inside of an inn for the rest of the month.”

Merimac’s mouth opened in protest but Rorimac wouldn’t let him interrupt. He turned to Saradoc without taking breath. “The same goes for you if I see the ghost of a complacent smile on your face or you do anything else that might infuriate your brother.”

Saradoc nodded, lips pressed tightly together.

“He’s grinning!” Merimac squealed.

“Stop being a tattletale and get dressed!” Rorimac shouted and for a second father and youngest son locked eyes in silent combat. It was the son who eventually broke contact and sullenly stomped back down the corridor. When he slammed the door of his room, the whole smial shook.

Saradoc smirked contently and immediately received a slap to the back of his head. “You get yourself into that study! You’re half an hour late already.”

“Yes, sir.” Saradoc, feeling more pleased than was good for him that morning, took a moment to fetch two slices of bread from the table before hastening down the corridor.

He did not see his parents shake their heads in unison. Nor did he hear uncle Saradas’ amused comment on Rory’s extraordinary speech.

“You know that you were worse than the two of them put together, do you?” Saradas pointed out as he followed his nephew with his eyes.

“I was not,” Rorimac answered matter-of-factly and returned to the table to finish his tea.

Saradas smiled at Menegilda who nodded in agreement. “He was. If they have indeed inherited their father’s spirit, I can at least hope I’ve tempered it enough so they won’t pass it undimmed onto their own children.”

“Don't bet on it,” Saradas said and raised his hand in farewell as he walked towards the boys’ bedroom and called. “If you don’t come out of there in ten seconds, Merimac, I will drag you to the stables in whatever state you’re in.”

The door opened immediately, but before Saradas saw more than a glimpse of Merimac, his nephew shoved a coat into his arms. The tween looked hardly better than before and was obviously still boiling with rage as he stomped down the steps, slipping into the second sleeve of his shirt and buttoned it up.

Saradas bit down his laughter as he followed his apprentice. He smiled at Menegilda who still stood in the doorframe but had resigned from saying more. “I’d say they're as true blood Brandybucks as ever there was.”

~THE END~

Title: The Chanter's Tune
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac practices his new instrument.
Year: 1359

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

~*~*~

Saradoc gripped the binding of his book a little tighter and glared at the sentence he had started to read at least fifty times. And as long as his brother was in possession of that cursed thing his parents had given him for Yule, he never would finish it either. He glowered over the book’s edge at that dark piece of wood Merimac was so vigorously blowing into and cringed as yet another mistuned note made the whistle screech in the most dreadful manner.

Merimac, too, glared at his instrument – as if it were to blame for its lousy player! – took another overly deep breath and commenced anew. Saradoc bore his nails into the book to keep himself from aiming it at his brother, as he played up and down the scale to improve his finger movement. Oh, why did it have to be such a high-pitched, screechy instrument? Why not a zither, or even drums? Anything that was low and mellow and not loud and…. Saradoc cringed again and sucked in a breath as a second octave B was lost to too little air.

Merimac grumbled at the whistle, looked at the sheet music uncle Dino had given him only the other day – and Saradoc had half a mind of telling him just what he thought of musical presents for his brother – and started the tune Saradoc was already sick of hearing.

To his surprise it went fairly smooth this time, but Merimac stopped in its midst to glare at one of his fingers. Saradoc raised an eyebrow in confusion and watched in silent agitation as Merimac blew a note and moved said finger up and down the hole with increasing speed.

“See,” Merimac told his finger at length. “You’re not glued to that hole. You can move. You must move.”

‘Yes,’ Saradoc thought darkly. ‘You must move to another room.’

If Merimac had even bothered to look at him he would have stopped practicing immediately. Saradoc’s face was hidden in shadow and only his eyes glowed, reflecting the candlelight that illuminated their room. His breathing was laboured, an indication of the forced calm he so desperately tried to hold onto.

How could Merimac not be annoyed by his own squeaking? And why did he not tire? He had played that same tune for over an hour now, interrupting only to play up and down the scale, move his fingers in what he doubtlessly thought was a nimble way, and to have a sip of water while he cleared all the spit from his whistle. Really, if Saradoc didn’t hear him playing he would think all Merimac did was drool into his mouthpiece.

His brother was flushed to the tip of his ears from concentration and lack of breath – breath his notes would have been grateful for. And so would Saradoc, for that matter. It would at least make the melody bearable, make it music. Currently his brother sounded more like an infant trying to sing before it was even able to speak.

Saradoc kept scowling at the other end of the room and wondered if it was possible to get hoarse from whistling and how long it would take. Meanwhile, Merimac stopped again, took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. “Must. Not. Think.”

“Now, that shouldn’t be too difficult for you!” Saradoc blurted out. “In fact, I think that’s what you can do best. Not thinking.”

“You don’t understand,” Merimac explained oblivious of Saradoc’s angry tone. “I can play it by heart but I keep looking at the sheet music and if I would just let it flow instead of thinking about what I have to do next it would be…”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Saradoc yelled at him and jumped to his feet. “You sound dreadful either way and you don’t even realise it! It’s a pain to listen to you!”

The contentment vanished from Merimac’s face leaving it blank and unreadable. “Nobody made you listen.”

“As if I had a choice, since I am stuck in the same room as you!”

“I guess I had better find a room of my own, then,” Merimac replied after several moments of silence. He packed his nightshirt, a candle, his whistle and the sheet music, heaved his pillow and blanket over his shoulder, and strolled to the door. “I’m sure I will find a room with someone who appreciates my company.”

Saradoc watched in silence as the door closed behind his brother. He let out a heavy sigh and slumped back onto his bed. He pricked his ears to be greeted by his breathing alone. Blissful silence! He stretched himself, rolled onto his belly and picked up the book again.

Halfway through the sentence he was reading for what felt like the hundredth time he found himself glancing at the now empty bed on the opposite wall. He had the room all to himself. He could not even remember the last time he had had a room of his own. He should be happy, and he was; except that the room was so dreadfully quiet. It was almost eerie. No breathing apart from his own, no occasional rustle of bed sheets, no one pestering him with questions, telling him the news of the day, or urging him to play a game in spite of the lateness of the hour.

Saradoc closed his eyes and shook his head. Curse that Merimac! He shoved the book onto his nightstand and hastened out onto the corridor, ready to look for his brother. To his surprise he discovered said brother sitting on the opposite wall and grinning widely at the distressed expression on Saradoc’s face. “What…?”

“I knew you’d come looking for me sooner or later,” Merimac answered calmly and gathered up his belongings. “Only I would have thought it rather later than sooner.”

Saradoc gaped at him.

“Don’t worry. I’d probably have missed you too after a while. A little bit, at least.”

Saradoc could only stare as Merimac walked past him, threw blanket and pillow back onto the bed and plopped onto the mattress. The sheet music he put on the nightstand, before he, almost reluctantly, parted from his whistle and placed it carefully on top of the sheets of paper. His touch was gentle, almost affectionate and Saradoc would have laughed if the stinging pain of guilt had not made his insides cringe.

“Look, Mac,” he began as he closed the door behind him, but his brother cut him short.

“Do you think you could give me an hour or two every evening so that I stop sounding dreadful?”

Saradoc squirmed just at the thought of it but he nodded. “I could if you promise me to improve quickly.”

Merimac grinned from one ear to other, his face bright once more and his eyes shining. “You think I could….”

“No,” it was Saradoc’s turn to stop his brother’s eager talk. “Not tonight.”

Merimac’s shoulders sagged but the disappointment did not last long for his brother immediately produced a stack of cards from one of his nightstand drawers. “Shall we play?”

Saradoc looked longingly at his book, sighed, shrugged, and sat cross-legged onto the floor, an invitation his brother followed happily without notice. Well, it was what he had wanted, or wasn’t it?

~THE END~

For anybody who is interested, here is a soundfile of the Chanter's Tune (yes, it does exist). I'm a relatively new player, so the song itself is probably all but perfect, but I nonetheless recorded it. I'm afraid the quality isn't the best either. My MP3 player is more used to playing music rather than to record - especially music that needs so much air :)

Lily playing 'The Chanter's Tune'

Title: All that is Needed
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac helps Adamanta forget her worries.
Year: 1376 (set shortly after Ribbons)

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

~*~*~

Adamanta was not quite sure how she had ended up here but she could not deny that she preferred the outcome of this evening to the day’s events. She took a deep breath and let out a sigh that was just a bit shakier than she would have liked. Merimac tightened his grip around her shoulder and she thankfully leaned into his warm embrace.

As she did so a sneering face appeared at the back of her mind and Adamanta could not help but smile sadly back at that face, troubled. Oh, if she could see her now, snuggled in his arm, his fingers combing through her hair, caution thrown aside. What would Violet have to say to that? Adamanta heaved another heavy sigh and allowed the regular rise and fall of Merimac’s chest to calm her.

Poor, jealous Violet. Adamanta had often wondered why she was so resentful towards Merimac and now could not help thinking that she envied them both. Merimac because he spent time with her, and her because she had got what Violet, in spite of her cold words, had secretly desired. Adamanta, unlike her cousin, had not ended up as a checkmark on his list of sweethearts. She told Violet about her luck thinking the girl would be happy for her, but ever since she had mentioned the letters she and Merimac had exchanged things had become unpleasant. And once the younger one had found out that Adamanta had been at Brandy Hall on Yule, her cousin had not one friendly word to spare. Violet accused her of disloyalty, stupidity and worse, her dislike of Merimac growing stronger rather than weaker.

“We don’t matter to you anymore, do we? Your family means nothing to you now that you have him!” she had yelled this very afternoon.

“Just because I came to see him as well doesn’t mean I care less about you.”

“You’re a liar!” Violet spat back and her words still stung like a knife in her chest. And as Adamanta inhaled the sweet scent of pine needles and Old Toby she wondered whether the very fact that she was with him now didn’t prove her cousin right.

She had not meant to see him, but chance had brought them together and Merimac seemed as surprised at their sitting here as she. At least Adamanta could not think of any other reason that would so efficiently silence the usual loquaciousness of the Master’s youngest son.

She had fled her aunt’s smial after the argument, tears rising involuntarily to her eyes. Never before had she felt so alone when visiting her family. Her heart was torn between the cousin with whom she had always been close friends and the hobbit she had grown to love, although neither she nor Merimac seemed to quite understand the feelings growing between them. Despite his words on Yule Merimac had not made any move towards a formal courtship and much preferred to silently sneak up on her when she was on her own. Then he would take her hand and walk her around Buckland, neither of them talking about what happened at Yule and neither quite daring to get as close to the other as they had been then. It seemed their reunion had only been a dream and now they simply continued from where they had left off the morning after his coming of age. Yet she knew there was more to it. His words had been from the heart, more so, perhaps, than he had intended. She could feel it whenever he was near, knew it from the way he seemed to sense her whereabouts and would seek her company.

It was with this instinct he found her tonight, as she blindly stumbled through the dusk in tears because of her cousin and for reasons unknown even to herself. The look of genuine concern on his face as he walked up behind her caused even more tears to slide from her eyes. She never managed to answer his anxious question but simply held on to him, allowing him to lead her out of the cold and dark into Crickhollow.

There they now sat, on a dusty carpet in front of the hearth, still wrapped in their shawls and cloaks to keep away the cold that had found its way into the uninhabited house. Adamanta turned slightly to find him watching her. He had lit a fire and the red and golden shine was engaged in a playful dance of light and shadow on his face. His still figure cast an ominous silhouette on the wall behind him and only when Adamanta drew closer to him, she noticed that the looming shadow was no threat to her. It seemed more like a guardian, a silent watcher, a friend as close to her as the one whose arms were wrapped around her.

“Are you feeling better?” She jumped at the sound of Merimac’s voice. His concerned gaze tentatively met hers, and colour rose to her cheeks. She nodded before averting her eyes, suddenly feeling foolish.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from weeping. “You…”

“Never mind,” he cut her short and gave her a heart-warming smile. “It was a great evening.” He wavered. “Minus the tears, of course.” Again, he hesitated and considered his next words with great care, but Adamanta saw the usual twinkle return to his eyes. “Apart from that I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night – as long as my father doesn’t find out I broke into Crickhollow that is.”

Adamanta offered an apologetic smile and leaned her head back onto his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft on her cheek. “Thank you, Merimac.”

“As I said,” he replied after a long silence and his voice betrayed the lightness of his words. “These shoulders will always be at your service should you require them.”

Adamanta chuckled but thought to herself that they were very good shoulders indeed. They were worth coming to Buckland for. Eventually even Violet would understand that or so she hoped. And if her cousin didn’t – Adamanta smiled a little to herself. Well, sometimes a shoulder to lean on and silent company were all the comfort needed.

~THE END~

Title: The Apprentice
Rating: G
Summary: While the Brandybucks are waiting for their dinner Merimac entertains wee Frodo.
Year: 1370

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

Primula smacked the back of her nephew’s head as she walked past the fireplace. “Stop teasing my baby, Merimac.”

“I’m not teasing him,” Merimac grinned back and once again took her boy's hood and pulled it over the lad’s eyes until nothing but the boy’s mouth, nose and flushed cheeks were visible. “He likes uff…”

Primula smiled as Merimac clutched at his stomach where Frodo had kicked him. “He doubtlessly does.”

Merimac gave her a look but said nothing as she walked back to the kitchen. A couple of days ago she had invited her brother and his family for dinner, knowing that neither Rorimac nor Menegilda would take a break from the annual and far too busy Yule preparations. Unfortunately, the Brandybucks had reached her little family’s humble home over an hour early than she had expected them. Drogo now kept Rorimac and Saradoc entertained, but Menegilda had insisted on giving her a hand in the kitchen. Frodo she had left in Merimac’s care although Primula now wondered whether that had been a wise idea. Her young nephew delighted in teasing her little boy and constantly pulled the hood of Frodo’s woolly jumper over the faunt’s eyes, completely ignoring the lad’s protest and making it impossible for the little one to see.

Menegilda was in the middle of pouring some of the meats own juice over the chickens as Primula entered the kitchen, greeted by the welcoming smell of chicken, roasted potatoes and vegetables. “How are they doing?” she asked, meaning the chickens, the only dish on which they still waited.

“Almost done,” her sister-in-law informed her. “A few more minutes should do the trick.”

“You really should go and rest a bit,” Primula said. “You’re doing enough as it is.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Menegilda put the chicken back in the oven and wiped her hands on a cloth. “I enjoy helping you.”

Primula smiled thankfully and, loaded with seven plates, knives, forks, and spoons, made her way back to the parlour.

Drogo, Rorimac, and Saradoc sat in one corner of the room, deeply engaged in conversation, each with a glass of brandy in one hand. An unused glass stood on the small table beside them. It had been poured for Merimac on the family’s arrival but Frodo had claimed possession of his cousin the moment he had entered the room.

“That’s it, scallywag,” said cousin now proclaimed happily. “Just a little more.”

Primula frowned. It could not be a good sign to hear Merimac that excited, but the tween had her back to her, preventing her from seeing what was going on between him and her wee boy.

“No,” Merimac laughed. “Don’t just stick it out. You need to go upwards too. See here.”

“No work,” Frodo said unhappily and Primula seriously wondered what he was up to since he sounded as if he had forced the words out though closed lips.

Once the last plate was in its place she sneaked back to the fireplace. Logs cracked and crackled and golden light illuminated Merimac’s face. His eyes sparkled with mischief and excitement and as Primula drew closer she could see the same light reflected in her son’s eyes. The boy’s face was a mask of concentration, chubby cheeks flushed to the tip of his ears and eyes almost crossing in his efforts. His tongue stuck out and moved in a way that suggested it was evading the control the boy tried to exhibit. Merimac, on the other hand, had full control over his own tongue which currently touched the tip of his nose.

“Merimac!” Primula scolded and once again slapped the back of her nephew’s head. Merimac flinched and yelped as he bit his tongue. “Don’t teach the boy such nonsense!”

Frodo giggled as Merimac clutched at his mouth with both hands and gave her another of those ‘that really wasn’t necessary’ looks. Primula shook her head and bustled off to the kitchen. From the corner of her eye she saw that Saradoc’s attention had shifted to the scene at the fireside while she heard Merimac telling Frodo off for laughing at other people’s misery. Frodo spluttered his defence in a cascade of words too big for his small mouth and eventually decided to punish his cousin with sullen silence.

“Your son does what he is best in,” she told Menegilda as she re-entered the kitchen.

“Mischief,” Menegilda said and it was no question.

Primula nodded. “It seems he has found himself a willing pupil too. I’m not sure if I approve.”

“I’m afraid you won’t have a choice,” Menegilda replied with a smile as she handed her a bowl of steaming carrots and peas with a slice of butter on top. “What Merimac sets his mind to, he gets. If only he’d set it to other things apart from trouble.”

The tune of a well-known and rather suggestive drinking song met her ears as she went back into the parlour. Primula stopped short. Unsurprisingly, it was Merimac who had intoned the song but to Primula’s horror she also heard the high, soft voice of her son cheerfully hum along. Obviously, Frodo had forgotten to sulk.

“Merimac!” Primula shouted and took the long road to the table. Merimac had no chance to duck. She had made the distance in time to slap the tween again. “This clearly is no song for a child’s ears.”

“’Tis dood!” Frodo defended his cousin and this time it was her own boy giving her that look. Primula stared with her mouth open, searching for the right words. Not finding them she gave Merimac a warning glance. The victorious grin on Merimac’s face disappeared immediately, but Primula could all but see it shine again the moment she departed for the dinner table.

That Merimac! Primula sighed as she placed the vegetables on the table and turned around to give Merimac another smack on the head.

“Oww!” Merimac rubbed his head and frowned at her. “Whatever was that for?”

“For good measure,” she said and winked at the disbelieving look on Merimac’s face and the grin on Frodo’s. She then waved at Drogo and gestured for him to invite their guests to have a seat. Her husband nodded understanding and she disappeared into the kitchen. “How is the chicken?”

“Done,” Menegilda announced and produced a tray with two crusty chickens from the oven. Immediately the smell of roasted chicken grew even stronger and Primula breathed in a nose full which made her stomach grumble.

“It’s high time we get you fed,” Menegilda laughed and together they set to work and piled the rest of the food onto plates and into bowls.

In the parlour Drogo and Rorimac had already taken a seat by the table, both commenting on the tantalising smells wafting from the kitchen. Only Saradoc still sat by the fireside where he had joined Frodo and Merimac.

“You’re such a prat, Mac!” was all Primula heard of the conversation the brothers had exchanged and this time it was Menegilda who did the slapping of heads.

“Mind your language, boy!”

“Pat!” Frodo repeated happily and grinned from one ear to the other.

Merimac stifled a laugh. He showed obvious delight in not being the one getting reprehended. He got to his feet and lifted Frodo into his arms. “Really, Saradoc,” he said and clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. “You’re a bad influence on my apprentice.”

For the second time this evening Primula’s jaw just dropped and she looked helplessly at Menegilda. Her sister-in-law merely shrugged and smiled. “His mind is set, my dear. All you can do now is hope for the best.”

“You do know that I will bring him to the Hall if he gets too exhausting, don’t you?” Primula joked.

“Bring it on,” Menegilda replied. “I’ve got used to it,” and in response to Frodo’s uncontrolled giggling. “Merimac, stop making faces at the baby!”

~THE END~

Author notes:
I think it's time I guiltily crawl out of my hole. I knew I was busy that past year, moving house, attending summer school, general student's madness, extra hours at work, and then that nagging idea for an orginial story slowly taking form in my mind... but has it really been a year since my last hobbit story? I apologise. And although it doesn't look it, I have not forgotten my furry-footed friends, and for those wondering about Schicksalsjahre eines Hobbits, I have not forgotten that either. I'm just a victim of RL with precious little me-time left in betweeen. For those who still visit here, thank you for being so patient with me! 

Happy Holidays!

Title: The Smell of Yuletides Past
Rating: G
Summary: The Brandybucks enjoy an afternoon of baking and eating biscuits.
Year: 1409 (Foreyule)

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

Merimac shook from top to toe as he closed the front door behind him. He breathed into his hands and rubbed them for warmth, shuddering at the sound of the howling winds outside. Shaking snowflakes from his curls he walked down the corridor in long strides, stripping off his wet jacket was he went.

It was his nose that distracted him halfway to his room. Something smelled deliciously sweet and fragrant. Merimac would have recognised the smell of Yuletide baking anywhere and it had him shiver with something entirely different than the cold. Following his nose he headed towards the Master’s family kitchen, inhaling deeply after every few steps.

“Mmmh,” he hummed as he pushed open the door.

“I told you it was only a matter of time until he would show up,” Frodo announced by way of a greeting.

Merimac blinked only now realising that he had his eyes all but closed, and found his entire family gathered in the kitchen. Saradoc, Frodo and both Berilac and Merry sat around the table, sipping tea and tasting some of the finished and less successful results of the day’s ventures. Adamanta and Esmeralda busied themselves on a counter covered in flour, bowls of baking ingredients, dough, and trays of baked and unbaked biscuits. Among it all sat Bluebell covered in as much flour as if she were a Yuletide biscuit ready for baking herself. She grinned at him with sparkling eyes, waving a small star-shaped biscuit cutter. Merimac walked across to her and kissed her cheek while she explained delightedly about the Yuletide bakery that had so transformed the Master’s kitchen.

“I never doubted it,” Saradoc‘s agreement to Frodo’s earlier comment had Merimac distracted from his daughter’s accounts of the day’s work. “He was born a glutton.”

His brother took a sip of steaming tea and leaned back in his chair, an expression of amused contentment on his face. Frodo chuckled. “He certainly knows more about the whereabouts of the storage rooms in Brandy Hall than I could ever have discovered on my own.”

“You got that from him too?” Merry asked incredulously and when Frodo shrugged he rolled his eyes as if to say he should have known.

“He was quite gifted too!” Frodo went on oblivious to his presence. “The moment you even thought about food he would appear beside you.”

“Especially if you were thinking of mushrooms,” Saradoc agreed. “His pony, Minx, was exactly the same. Like master, like animal, I guess.”

Merry snorted into his tea and Merimac felt a grim feeling of satisfaction when his nephew burned his lips, although that did not stop the tween from laughing.

“Stop your teasing, boys!” Adamanta came to his rescue. With a flurry of sandy curls she turned towards him, wiping her floury hands at her apron. Merimac did not wait until she was done but wrapped her arms around her hips and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

“Oh, please!” Berilac moaned and made a face. “Do you have to embarrass me?”

Merimac ignored him and instead inhaled deeply the sweet smell of gingerbread and marzipan that lingered around his wife. “Thank you,” he whispered and kissed her again before turning a stern eye on his son. “You wait until you find yourself a girl and then tell me just how embarrassing you are.” He grinned a mischievous grin that spread from one ear to the other. “Did I ever tell you how embarrassing Saradoc was all his tween years?”

“Can we change the topic?” Saradoc piped in looking rather less comfortable than he had just a moment ago.

“It’s no secret you were smitten for years before Esme…” Merimac’s smug comment dissolved into incoherent mumbling as Esmeralda shoved an exceptionally large piece of gingerbread into Merimac’s mouth. Laughter and giggles erupted throughout the kitchen, but Esmeralda merely winked at her husband.

With the freshly-baked bread between his teeth Merimac was more than willing to let the topic drop. As he plopped onto a chair the conversations and laughter picked up again but he only half listened to his family. He allowed himself to sink completely into the warmth that had settled inside him. One of his first memories of Yule involved baking and somehow the Yuletide bakery had become a symbol to him of everything the Yule celebrations stood for. It was a time for family, of music and peaceful get-togethers, and baking provided the perfect excuse to spend a stormy afternoon in the kitchens, exchange stories and, of course, bake biscuits. The smell of all the spices and dried fruits was like a key that opened the door to every Yuletide he had ever experienced. Every celebration at Brandy Hall, every visit to relatives in the days before and after the feast, every content face and every delighted smile appeared before his eyes. He saw the fires of countless hearths, felt their warmth on his cheeks, and remembered the joy that even the long nights and days of preparation and decoration brought to his parents. He felt a twinge of grief tug at his heart at that. This was going to be their second Yuletide without Rorimac and yet, in many ways, it would be the first. Last year they were still numb with pain, unable to properly take part in the joys of Yule. There had not been a private bakery last year. This year was going to be different. That they sat gathered in the kitchen now was proof of that and Merimac could not help but be glad.

“The smell of Yuletides past,” he mumbled to himself his memories linked too closely to the smell of the Yule Bakery to separate.

A sudden lack of conversation had him look up to find Berilac, Merry, Frodo and Saradoc looking at him in confusion. Even the women had stopped in their work. After a long silence Saradoc shook his head. “You’re cracked”, he declared with a warm smile.

“Cracked? Cracking… cracking nuts!” Merimac exclaimed and pointed a finger at Saradoc making everyone jump in the process. “Yes, nuts, and almonds, and cinnamon…”

He got to his feet, grabbed a startled Adamanta around the hips and spun her around before he kissed her once more. “And clove and ginger…” he went on.

“And marzipan and gingerbread?” Bluebell asked adding to his list of scents.

“Exactly!” Merimac agreed and scooped her into his arms, cutting form, wooden spoon, heaps of flour and all. She squealed in delight and as Merimac planted a kiss on her flour-streaked forehead he inhaled again the fragrance he had come to associate with Yule so much. He buried his nose in his little daughter’s dark mop of hair delighting in her joyous laughter.

“I think the sudden change of temperature after being out in the stables didn’t do you any good,” Berilac said but the smile on his face betrayed the seriousness of his voice.

“Or maybe there is something wrong with the gingerbread?” Merry wondered and scrutinised his own gingerbread hobbit from every angle until his mother gave him a look that had him shove it whole into his mouth and praise its excellence.

Only Frodo did not join in the teasing. He sat with his eyes half closed breathing deeply, inhaling the various scents Merimac had listed. He smiled, an expression of peace and contentment on his face. Merimac could only guess Frodo’s memories, but he knew they must be of a similar nature as his. “I think you are right, Mac,” the boy finally said. “It’s the smells of Yuletides past that will make the Yuletides to come just as memorable.”

Merimac grinned. “I always knew you were a clever one, scallywag. Thank you for proving me right.”

“I’m clever too!” Bluebell told him and Merimac grinned.

“Yes, you are, my dear. You are the cleverest of us all.”

He kissed her again, feeling decidedly happy to have his family gathered around him even in this cold and dark time of the year. He did not doubt the truth in Frodo’s words and as he put Bluebell back on the worktop to have her continue her work he promised himself that he would make every one of his daughter’s Yuletides special for as long as he could.

~THE END~

Author notes:
The unbelievable has happened... I wrote something that is neither an essay nor background material for a very own story I am planning. It's only a drabble, but it's a beginning, right? Just a way to prove that I have not forgotten you, or hobbits.

Title: Tuckburough Market
Rating: G
Summary: The beginnings of a certain hat...
Year: 1362

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish.

“What are you looking at?”

Paladin turned, his face taking on the most incredulous expression possible. “The most ridiculous thing Tuckburough Market has ever produced.”

Merimac delightedly tapped the rim of his newly acquired hat, his expression smug. “It’s perfect.”

Paladin’s lips twitched. Only his young cousin would consider a straw hat of these proportions perfect. Its rim was broad enough to provide shelter for a small family. Paladin chuckled picturing the scene.

“Cousin-mine, it is perfect,” he grinned, his arm around Merimac’s shoulder. “With a bit of earth on top you might even grow your own vegetables, or perhaps…”

~THE END~

Title: The Fright
Rating: G
Summary: Merimac acts the overprotective father.
Year: 1428 (Bluebell is 27)

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

“Ah, my daughter!”

Adamanta stopped with her hand on the door knob. Something in her husband’s overly pleasant voice told her that now was not the best moment to open the door to the garden and meet him. Her heart went out to Bluebell, wondering what the girl had done to displease him this time.

“My daughter, with my beautiful inherited looks and the immaculate traits of a Brandybuck…”

Adamanta was glad Merimac could not see her, as she struggled to keep her face straight. It seemed her ever modest husband was having one of his humbler days.

“… and some person of doubtful origin.”

Merimac’s voice, though still pleasant, darkened considerably. Adamanta knew this particular tone of voice. Merimac had acquired it three years ago when Bluebell’s first suitors appeared on the doorstep. Adamanta called it The Fright, a nickname those tweens of Buckland interested in their daughter, had adopted when talking about her husband. She had nothing against her husband’s protectiveness. All fathers went through this and all daughters had to endure if they were to get a family of their own. Merimac, however, overdid it. Considering her husband was an expert at being a rapscallion tween chasing after girls, Adamanta was not surprised.

“Doubtful origin? I’ve been working beside you in the fields for years, Mac.” Adamanta recognised the voice as belonging to Robin Burrows from Bucklebury. He was a handsome young lad and more sensible than most.

“Don’t Mac me, boy! What are your intentions towards my daughter?”

“Father!” Bluebell cried out at the same time Robin mumbled a confused: “What?”

Merimac went on oblivious, acting the strict and fearful father – a role he was perfecting with every boy he successfully scared away even if said boy’s only crime was to look at Bluebell for longer than a moment. “You heard me, boy!”

“I have no intentions,” Robin defended himself helplessly. He paused, thinking over his answer. “Well, I do intend to take her to the Bucklebury Fair but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Exactly!”

Merimac’s exclamation astounded her. Usually an explanation like Robin’s was followed by something along the lines of: “You say that now, but the moment you’re out of my sight, you will have forgotten all about your claim.” Adamanta was curious where this new tactic would lead to.

“Exactly!” Merimac repeated when the reply he seemed to have expected failed to be forthcoming. “It is nothing out of the ordinary. This is my daughter you’re talking about. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary’ is not enough. She deserves something special.”

“But I’m just…” Robin went on confused and was stopped short by Merimac.

“Do you disagree?”

“No!” Robin blurted out, but seemed at a loss for words. Adamanta chortled. The poor boy! He did not know that The Fright was already won.

“So you agree?” Merimac asked pointedly.

“Yes,” Robin stumbled over his words. “She deserves better. She…,” peeking through the door Adamanta could see Robin straighten his back. “I shall take good care of her.”

“You had better,” Merimac agreed and Adamanta could all but see the fearful scowl her husband liked to warn overeager tweens with. She felt sorry for Robin who shrank visibly.

“I’m sure he will!” Bluebell interrupted, grabbing the lad by the hand and pulling him away. “I shall be back by dinner.”

“You had better!” Merimac repeated sternly and as Adamanta opened the door to step into the afternoon sunshine she thought she heard an embarrassed Robin call a quick farewell, before the two youngsters took flight. Merimac greeted her with a confused look, but smiled in response to her own laughter. “You’ve been eavesdropping.”

“And you like him,” she countered and planted a kiss on his cheeks. He put an arm around her shoulder and gazed wistfully after their daughter and Robin.

“She could do worse.”

Adamanta grinned. “She could.”

Merimac sighed. “I’m still worried."

“You just be glad she doesn’t take after you,” she teased.

“Mmh,” was all he replied. Adamanta knew he would never stop worrying about their Bluebell. She was his little girl, the apple of his eye, and in his eyes no-one would ever be good enough for her.

~The End~

Title: Hands
Rating: G
Summary: Four vignettes where a hand says more than words can.

Special thanks to Dreamflower.

Year: Spring 1374

Frodo felt taunted. Here he was, sitting on the fence, chewing sorrel with his cousin. It should be a pleasant afternoon. It was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon, but he could not enjoy himself. It was Marmadoc’s fault. His older cousin was at the other end of the paddock, playing with some other boys. Older boys. They did not just sit on the fence. They stood on it, balancing precariously from one post to the next.

“You could do that too.” Merimac had followed his scowl. He seemed unimpressed by Marmadoc’s skill.

Frodo huffed in frustration. Of course, Merimac had no need to admire Marmadoc. Merimac had probably balanced across every beam in Buckland. If only Frodo could be like him. Then he would not just sit on fences, dangling his feet.

He started when Merimac’s outstretched hand appeared in front of him. “What are you waiting for?”

Frodo’s face brightened, yet he felt compelled to warn his cousin. “Mama will rip your head off if she finds out.”

“Don’t tell her”, Merimac shrugged and nodded for him to go on.

Frodo smiled and stretched out his arm, only to pull it back again. “You won’t let go, will you?”

“Have I ever?”

With a grin Frodo placed his hand in Merimac’s.

~*~*~

Year: 1380

Adamanta had watched him for a while. He was so quiet tonight. She would have been concerned if it were not for the peace about him; a steady calm that seemed to radiate from him with every slow rise and fall of his chest. She had seen him like this only once before: on the night before he proposed to her.

Normally, Adamanta could read him like an open book. If he was not saying what was on his mind, he carried his emotions on his face. Not when he was like this. Marks of red and gold illuminated his face. Fire reflected from his eyes and shadows danced across his still figure. She wanted to share this moment with him, wanted to understand his peaceful contemplation, but she was loath to break the silence.

He never looked up as she walked towards him, yet her presence beside him did not go unnoticed. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. He raised his head to smile at her. Adamanta felt the love in his gaze and for a moment she wondered how she could have been so lucky to end up here, at this very instant, with her hand in his. Without letting go of her fingers, Merimac placed their joined hands on her swollen belly. Adamanta thought she finally understood his silence.

~*~*~

Year: 1383

Adamanta smiled lovingly at her husband. He was nearly hidden from her view, green sheets pulled up to his nose. Dark curls spilled across the pillow and over his eyes, hiding them from her. She gently brushed them aside, but did not dare disturb him further. The first rays of sunlight peeked through their window, caressing his sleeping face. Adamanta could tell he was dreaming. The hand that rested lightly on his pillow twitched ever so slightly. Adamanta found herself drawn to that hand, mesmerised by its occasional movement. Unable to resist, she traced her fingers lightly across his. Merimac reacted instantly, grumbling in his sleep and pulling his hand a little to the side. Adamanta smiled wondering what role she had played in his dream. She was tempted to tease him some more, yet her desire for this moment to last predominated. This was the time when he was all hers. In the quiet of the early morning they might be all alone in the world No-one ever saw him as she did now and Adamanta intended to savour the moment. Silently, she placed her head beside his and, again, found her eyes drawn to his open palm. After a moment’s hesitation she carefully placed her hand in his. She was surprised when only seconds later his fingers closed over hers.

~*~*~

Year: early 1420 

A wisp of smoke.

That was the first thing that came to his mind when Merimac saw the stranger sitting with his back to him. The Troubles had taken their toll on them all, but this one, it seemed, had suffered more than his fair share of sorrows. His hair still clung to the ebony of youth but it was the strands of silver that flashed in the firelight. His coat was thick and warm but even the wool could not hide the thinness beneath it. Long, bony fingers, their skin as pale as the mist on an early autumn morning, reached for a steaming cup. Merimac could see that the hands that held it shook ever so slightly. Was it cold or old age that made him tremble? Merimac thought the former, even though the room was as especially cosy on this winter evening.

He was about to turn away, made uneasy by the stranger’s ghostly transparency, when he caught his brother’s eye. He had not noticed Saradoc until his brother waved his hand at him. Merimac obligingly made for the table, when the stranger turned his head. His breath caught in his throat. His feet stopped mid-movement and for a moment he could not help but stare.

Frodo. He wanted to shout the name but his mouth was dry and his voice would not comply. Merry had told him his tale, Frodo’s tale of a ring, of war and suffering. He had warned them that their cousin had changed, but nothing could have prepared Merimac for what he saw now. He looked so old, so fragile. Frodo smiled, but there was pain in his eyes. He had suffered, there was no doubt about that, and to Merimac it seemed he was suffering still.

Like a wisp of smoke, dispersed by the slightest breeze.

“Cousin,” Frodo greeted him and Merimac reached for his maimed hand. It was cold to the touch and Merimac gently, protectively covered it with both his own. He wanted to warm it, heal it, heal him.

When he met Frodo’s eyes he knew his cousin had read his thought, yet Frodo did not pull away. Instead he gave the slightest nod, acknowledging what Merimac would never say out loud.

Like a wisp of smoke.

Without letting go of Frodo’s hand entirely, Merimac embraced his cousin and found the only words he could speak. “Welcome home.”

~The End~

After having collected so many stories with and about Merimac I feel like having to explain myself, especially after realising that Merimac doesn't necessarily have the main role in the stories though he usually is a figure of some importance. Either Frodo is sneaking into the Merimac stories…or Merimac sneaks into what would be a Frodo story :)

All this started out as a challenge by Hobbits100 over at LiveJournal. I was assigned twenty prompts to be included in twenty different stories. I have not yet written stories for all prompts although some prompts definitely could have been used for stories already posted. The reason for this is that I already have ideas for stories that fit better to the prompts.

Yet, this series is reaching unforeseen dimensions. While I thought to write about twenty or twenty five stories the muses had different ideas. Looking at my file with ideas for stories without Merimac I have about three pages. But the file with the Merimac stories has reached its eighth page now.

I have discovered an increasing fondness of the early generation of hobbits so I assume there will be a lot more stories to come with Saradoc, Paladin, Drogo, Primula, and even Esmeralda... young and old. But of course Frodo will keep sneaking in from time to time. His name, at least, appears in many notes :)

For a while I pondered ripping this series apart and post each story separately again but after some thought and good advice I decided to keep them in one place – at least the ones featuring Merimac.

The stories are not written in any particular order but I have added a date to each to help you track them. The ficlets are mostly rated G but the rating is also stated separately in every story.

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Story List:

Feeding a Cousin
Merimac involuntarily shares Frodo's meal.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy
Sequel to Feeding a Cousin. Ten years after the incident with Frodo Merimac faces a similar situation.

Tomp Tomp
Merimac gets a hearty welcome from his young cousin. But said young lad has second thoughts.

To Die For
A visit at Buckland's market has unexpected consequences.

Punishment
Frodo has to serve a sentence. At the hands of his elder cousin Merimac, punishment however turns into an enlightening experience.

Master’s Heir, Master’s Son
An almost typical summer day hides some important revelations for the Master and his sons.

Looking After
A birthday party leaves Merimac to prove his competence in looking after 4-year-old Frodo - with unexpected consequences.

A Pony Too Little
It’s Saradoc’s birthday but it is Merimac who gets his hands on his brother’s present.

Sleep
On one of their first nights together, Adamanta watches her husband.

Easing Troubles
When Merimac looks in on his son one night he finds the lad in tears.

Bedtime Hour
It's Merimac's first night in the room he shares with his brother.

Milk and Honey
When young hobbits are ill milk mixed with a little honey is the best remedy.

Hero
Four tiny ficlets where Merimac either acts as hero or is in need of one.

A Special Yule
An illness has Adamanta miss the Yule festivities. Her husband keeps her company and sees to her well-being and happiness.

Joy of Your Life
Children are the joy of your life - or aren't they? Baby Pippin causes not only his father to think about his children.

A Father's Reflection
Shortly before the birth of his first child Merimac ponders his new role as a father and husband. Adamanta unwillingly puts him to the test many years later.

A Little Rest
Merimac stumbles across a very tired Frodo and is determined to see the lad at rest.

Pets
Merimac is in trouble but his brother is there to help him out – or isn’t he?

Between Leaves
Frodo has got into a predicament and needs the help of another to get out again.

Among Family
Frodo visits Brandy Hall where he meets his new baby-cousin, is encouraged to start a family, and finds out that he has one already.

Precious
A visit to Whitwell and a quarrel with its occupants causes some discomfort.

Penny Buns or The Straw Hat Chronicles Part I
A ride through the woods leads two brothers to a tasty discovery.

Nursing
Adamanta is away to care for a sick cousin, leaving Merimac alone with both children, when Bluebell unexpectedly becomes ill as well.

Of Pranks and Experiments
Saradoc gets a chance to repay his brother for a prank he played on him.

The Chanter's Tune
Merimac practices his new instrument.

All that is Needed
Merimac helps Adamanta forget her worries.

The Apprentice
While the Brandybucks are waiting for their dinner Merimac entertains wee Frodo.

The Smell of Yuletides Past
The Brandybucks enjoy an afternoon of baking and eating biscuits.

Tuckburough Market
The beginnings of a certain hat...

The Fright
Merimac acts the overprotective father.

Hands
Four vignettes where a hand says more than words can.