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The 12Days Challenge  by Grey Wonderer

Three French Hens #3

Title:  "Good for What Ales You"
Fandom:  Lord of the Rings
Characters:  Frodo, Merry, and Pippin
Rating:  PG-13  (suggestive, non-slash)
Brief Summary:  After a night of drinking, all Merry wants is a bit of peace and quiet, but Pippin and Frodo have questions.

“Aw, my head hurts,” Merry moaned as he rolled over in the bed and pulled the blankets over his head.  “What did I drink last night?”

“It might be easier for me to tell you what you didn’t drink,” Pippin said, leaning back in the chair beside of his older cousin’s bed and propping his feet on the bed.

“Not so loud, Pippin,” Merry moaned.  “My head feels like there are tiny hammers inside of my skull and all of them are trying to pound their way out.  Go away, will you?”

“Not until you tell me about those lasses that you were dreaming about,” Pippin said.  “If I’m not allowed to get drunk with you, then you can at least tell me what you were dreaming.  You talked all night long, well, once you finished vomiting, you talked.  I much preferred the talking.”

“I would prefer that you stop talking,” Merry mumbled into his pillow.

“Is he awake yet?” Frodo asked as he stuck his head into the room.

“Mostly,” Pippin smiled.  “Enough to tell me that I’m talking too much.”

“Yes, well, you always do,” Frodo said, putting his hand on his own aching head.  “I’m making tea with uncle Saradoc’s head-ache remedy in it, Merry.  I’ll bring you some if I am able.”  Having said that, Frodo staggered toward the kitchen.

“Go and help him, Pip,” Merry suggested, softly.

“I don’t know anything about making a hang-over cure,” Pippin chirped.  “You and Frodo won’t let me get a hang-over, remember?”

“You’re too young to drink,” Merry said, into his pillow.  “Now, go away.”

“I will if you’ll tell me about the lasses, Merry,” Pippin said.  “I should get a bit of fun out of this since I get left out of the drinking.”

“This is not story-time,” Merry growled.  “Now, go away until your thirty-five or so and let me recover.”  Merry burrowed deeper into his blankets in an effort to shut out Pippin’s voice.

Pippin frowned and folded his arms across his chest.  “If you’d let me drink with you, then you wouldn’t have this problem because I’d feel dreadful too.”

“If we let you drink with us, then we’d be up all night while you vomited and I’d be listening to you moan and groan about now,” Merry said, rubbing his aching temples underneath his blankets.

“Much like I was last night?” Pippin asked.  “You vomited all over my foot, you know.”

“You’ve thrown up on me plenty of times,” Merry mumbled.  “Now, let’s not talk of vomit, Pippin.  My stomach isn’t up to it.  In fact, let’s not talk at all.”

Pippin sat still for a few minutes and then muttered,  “I’m eighteen now.  I don’t see why I can’t drink a bit now and then.”

Merry exhaled and rolled over on his back.  He uncovered his head, and draped his arm over his eyes to shut out the light.  “Fine, let’s have this over with so that I can die peacefully.  What must I do to shut you up?  I’m too near death to climb out of this bed and kill you and so I shall have to give in to your demands for the moment,” Merry moaned.

Pippin grinned and leaned forward, “Just tell me about the dream you had about those lasses.  Then, I promise that I’ll go away.”

“It was a very strange dream, Pippin,” Merry sighed.  “I don’t really remember all of it and what I do remember doesn’t quite make sense.”

“It sounded interesting last night,” Pippin objected.  “You moaned a lot and you kept saying something about feathers and ale.”

“Fine,” Merry relented.  “I dreamed that I was in the chicken coop stark naked with nothing but a basket in my hands.”

“You dreamed what?” Frodo asked from the doorway, balancing a tray with two cups on it.

“Not you too?” Merry moaned.  “I have too many cousins, all of them inconsiderate.”

“Get up and let me fall, er, sit down, Pippin,” Frodo said, walking over.  Pippin stood and took the tray from Frodo who sank into the chair.  “Give me my tea.”

Pippin wrinkled his nose and handed the tea a cup to Frodo.  “When did I become your servant?” he demanded.

“As soon as you were old enough to be of some use,” Frodo muttered, sipping his tea.  He took one toe and poked at Merry’s bed.  “Sit up and have your tea.  From the sound of that dream, you need it worse than I do.”

Merry sighed and raised himself up so that he was propped against the pillows on the bed.  “Fine, I’ll drink tea, before I die.”

Pippin handed him the other cup, lay down the tray, and then sat on the end of the bed and prodded, “So, you are naked in the hen house with a basket in your hand and?”

“You are impossible,” Merry growled.  He sipped the tea and then continued.  “I am standing there looking about as if I’ve come for something important only I can’t remember what it is.”

“Your clothes?” Frodo asked, with a smirk.

“No, I don’t seem at all concerned about being naked,” Merry said.  “I am looking about for something else and all of the sudden, the basket turns into a large mug of ale and so I have a drink.”

“That’s convenient,” Pippin said.  “But what about the lasses.  I mean you are naked and so, aren’t there lasses?”

Frodo snorted.  “Honestly, Pippin, it isn’t that simple.”

“I know that, Frodo,” Pippin said, irritated.  “But this is a dream and so it might be that simple.  Dreams are different that way, you know.”

“Not mine,” Frodo grumbled into his cup.

“I am enjoying my drink tremendously, when all of the sudden I hear someone speaking but I can’t make out a word of it,” Merry said.  “They aren’t whispering or anything, I just can’t understand them.  It’s as if it is in some strange language.”

“Like elvish?” Pippin asks.  “These are elvish lasses?”

“No, it isn’t elvish or at least, I don’t think it is and it isn’t lasses,” Merry said, taking another small sip of his tea.  “I hear this funny speech which I don’t understand and then I remember why I’m in the chicken coop to begin with.  I’ve come to get the eggs which was why I had the basket, only now all I have is this empty mug.”

“Eggs?” Frodo said.  “Merry, what did you drink?”

“I know it sounds crazy and I am only telling it to get Pippin to shut up and go away, but I was there to get the eggs,” Merry said.

Frodo smirked.  “You’re making this up.”

“I am not, you evil Baggins, now keep still and let me tell this so that our much younger, and much more annoying little cousin will leave me to die in peace,” Merry growled.

“I am not that much younger,” Pippin complained.

Frodo snorted and sipped his tea.

“I am in a bit of fix now because I don’t have the basket and I am without pockets, but I do need to get the eggs,” Merry said.  “So I go on in and start to search about for the hens, but I can only find three of them.”

“How many eggs do you need?” Pippin asked and Frodo snorts again.

“I don’t know, but I seem worried because there are only three hens,” Merry said, frowning.  “Anyway, I go up to the first one and stick my hand under her to find the egg and she speaks to me.”

“You mean she squawks, don’t you?” Frodo asked.

“No, she speaks to me in that funny language that I heard before at the first of my dream,” Merry said, annoyed.

“What does the chicken say, Merry?” Pippin asked, leaning forward.

“How should I know?  Whatever language she’s speaking in, I don’t know it.  The only bit of it that I remember is something with the word ‘we’ in it.”

“We?” Frodo frowned.

“I know it isn’t much, but it was the only word that I could understand,” Merry said.  “And then the other two hens started speaking to me too and it all got completely confusing.  They were giving me a headache and all I wanted was the eggs.”

“What happened then?” Pippin asked, interested in spite of the complete absence of lasses.

“Well, all three of them started throwing eggs at me and then I woke up with you nagging me to tell you about my dream,” Merry said.

“That was the whole thing?” Pippin said.  “Why do you suppose you were moaning?”

“I was naked in a barn with three hens who were speaking some foreign language and pelting me with eggs, Pippin.  I was probably moaning in pain, much like I am now,” Merry sighed.

“Well, that’s a bit disappointing now, isn’t it?” Pippin frowned, getting up and leaving.

“He’s right, you know, that was disappointing,” Frodo said, closing his eyes and slumping into the chair.

“I may have left out the part about naked hobbit lass who brings me more ale, and then there was an interesting bit with a butter churn,” Merry smiled, wickedly, and closed his eyes.

All attempts on Frodo’s part to get more information at that point went unanswered.

 

The End

G.W.     12/28/2004






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