Daisies for Daisy

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“Strider, I’m glad your here,” said Merry, opening the door laboriously. His other arm was limp at his side. Aragorn looked at Merry in concern.

“I supposed the rain might be causing the four of you pain. I should have come sooner.”

“Frodo’s worse off,” replied Merry, opening the door to allow access to the room. “But we are all feeling it.”

Aragorn looked around at the quiet room the Hobbits had occupied at Minas Tirith. The three other Hobbits where scattered about in varying degrees of discomfort. A fire was blazing in the hearth, aided by Pippin who sat rubbing his ribs fretfully. Sam was slumped in an armchair on the other side, obviously feeling miserable. Frodo looked worse of all with dark circles under his eyes, a book loosely hanging from his fingertips with the air of someone who had given up a pretense of reading. He was staring deep into the flames. The shutters where drawn tightly, but the sound of the torrential rain was the only thing that could be heard besides the crackling fire. Merry tugged gently on Aragorn’s sleeve. When he obligingly ducked down to Merry’s level, he whispered in his ear.

“Frodo had another nightmare last night and refused to sleep afterwards, which kept all but Pippin awake too. I’m surprised he didn’t wake the whole city with his hollers.”

Aragorn looked at Merry. “How often have these nightmares come since he last spoke of them to me?”

“Twice. He refuses to let us wake you or tell you after.”

“Next time wake me, even if he doesn’t desire it so.”

Merry nodded and held his arm to his chest absentmindedly. Aragorn smiled grimly.

“I supposed that would be the wound that ails you.”

Merry didn’t look him in the eye before replying. “Frodo’s worse off,” he said again. “I’m just going to heat up one of those herbal packs you gave us. That will probably help Pippin and Sam, but there is something different about Frodo’s wounds which nothing seems to warm.”

“As it is with your own?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose.”

Sam looked up at Merry miserably, knowing what he was whispering about. Aragorn just nodded at him and went to tend the various ailments in silence. After several hot packs and hot water bottles, he broke it. “It’s only to be expected. You all are only healing from your ordeals.”

Pippin fidgeted angrily, and burst out, “I don’t wish to become like an old gammer. The rain! It never bothered me before.” He crossed his arms and glared at the wall, ever the uncooperative patient. No one responded immediately, but Sam spoke after a minute or so.

“Try to find a way to keep yourself entertained, Mr. Pippin.”

Merry stirred where he sat at Frodo’s feet. “Let’s tell stories.”

Strider, who had just turned to leave, suddenly sat on another chair. This proposition could turn out to be entertaining, as he knew from previous experience.

“I remember one about Frodo.”

Frodo exhibited signs of life for the first time since he entered the room.

“Which one would that be?” In spite of the weariness in his voice there was a note of trepidation. His cousin knew entirely too much about his interesting childhood for that sentence to be safe.

“When we where young, I remember cousin Frodo fancied a young lass named Melilot down in Buckland.”

Frodo groaned. He knew now the story Merry was referring too, and it was not one he wanted to hear again. Merry continued as if Frodo had made no sound at all.

“He went to great lengths to spy on her. However, he was good at it. Only Uncle Merimac and I ever knew what he was up to, and we teased him relentlessly about it.”

Frodo flushed deeply, Aragorn noticed. He was glad, for Frodo looked a mite too pale, and felt almost no pity for the poor hobbit. Neither did Sam, though he tried to keep up the pretense of it. He kept his amused smile hidden under a warm blanket.

“One day when he went off in a temper over something and managed to climb into the rafters of the main hall. As Pippin would know, that’s quite an accomplishment.”

Pippin nodded, and said with his Tookish lilt, “I suspect we were the only two in the history of the hall to manage it. Only I managed to stay up there.”

Merry smiled, trying with difficulty not to laugh. “Well, he was up there in one of his odd rages when who happened to come along underneath him? Why, Miss Melilot of course, carrying a pie she had made outside for a picnic.”

“It was a lemon meringue pie,” said Pippin deviously, grinning for the first time since Aragorn had entered the room. Frodo burrowed under the covers that Strider had put over him on the sofa, pain forgotten in his momentary embarrassment, and pulled them over his head.

“Yes, a lovely one. Frodo leaned over on the beam to get a better glimpse of the lady of his affections. And-“ Merry was taken by a fit of laughter, leaving Pippin to finish.

“-He t-toppled headfirst down onto her, landing... f-face first in her pie and accidentally... re-removed her skirt!” howled Pippin clutching at his ribs, unable to contain his mirth.

Every hobbit in the room laughed gleefully besides Frodo, who was doing his best to pretend to be asleep.

“She wasn’t hurt, fortunately, and she was absolutely furious at Frodo. She wouldn’t speak to him for years! The whole hall was at lunch at the time; everyone heard her howling with rage and came to see. Dad had a fit! He towed Frodo into his room and gave him a dreadful scolding. He wasn’t sure if he had gone after the girl or the pie!” Said Merry once he had recovered speech. Pippin gave a delighted chuckle.

“And so ends the story of Frodo’s love life. He never fancied a girl again!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” said Frodo quietly, re-surfacing stiffly. He had been laughing as well, but was now eyeing Merry like a slightly annoyed older brother. Sam chuckled at the look on Merry’s face at this statement and grinned at Frodo knowingly.

“You never told me of another!” said Merry accusingly.

“Just because you cannot find the nerve to speak to Estella Bolger it doesn’t mean all of our loves lives are such dismal failures.”

Merry looked horrified. “Pippin!” he moaned, shaking his good fist at him. “Why did you tell him? He’ll never let me live it down!”

“I’m sorry!” said Pippin shamefaced, “I thought he knew and I started talking about it yesterday, and the git didn’t say a word about it until he said, “He fancies Estella Bolger?” about halfway through my account of Yule.”

Merry sighed, dignity lost. He eyed Sam, swearing to pin him to the wall until he got information about this girl of Frodo’s tomorrow.

“I remember a story about a certain someone at the Yule celebration that involved another de-skirting,” said Frodo quietly still, sounding amused. Pippin paled visibly, knowing which one he referring to.

“You wouldn’t do that to your cousin, would you?” he pleaded, “The one who loves you very much.”

Frodo just smiled sleepily and continued on. “It was Yule about ten years ago, when a certain young Took decided to play a prank on his older cousin, Merry. Afterwards he chased him round the tent, all but livid. The poor Mr. Took went running towards Aunt Hilda who was talking to a Daisy Bracegirdle the Took lad had his eyes on. But I seemed to be in the way,” Frodo gave a snort of laughter in which Merry and Sam shared.

“He tripped over me, knocking me clean into Melilot,” said Frodo.

“Which you didn’t mind in the least bit,” said Merry rather viciously. Frodo ignored him.

“He went skidding clean through Aunt Hilda’s legs, taking her skirt with him.” he burst into fresh laughter, a sound so rare since the quest that Pippin smiled and forgot to pretend to want to hurt him. “Aunt Hilda really is a lovely woman, after she recovered she pulled Pippin up, then her skirt, then she removed Pippin’s trousers and threw them in the punch bowl. Now, that wouldn’t have been so horrid... i-if he hadn’t... been w-wearing those lovely d-d-daisy patterned drawers that his m-m-mum had given him... that m-morning,” he shook with silent laughter.

Merry wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Right in front of Daisy too! Pip didn’t miss a beat. He knelt in front of her and said to the whole tent “Daisies for a Daisy”! She wouldn’t look him in the eye for years! If you wanted to get her blushing, you’d just lean in and say “Daisies for Daisy?” and she’d turn beat red.”

“I seem to remember Frodo and you enjoying that particular trick the Yule after that.”

“Oh, come now Pippin, you enjoyed it with us the year after that,” Frodo giggled, shifting under the covers and looking at Sam. “You haven’t said a word, Sam. I demand to hear one of yours.”

Sam sighed and pondered for a moment, then grinned at Merry with a very mischievous look on his face.

“I remember one time when Merry and Pippin came to visit unexpectedly, sir, that you had to go to market because you didn’t have much in your pantries or larders. They ate a mighty lot, and still do.”

The said Hobbits tried their best to look innocent and failed dismally.

“Well when you where gone Mr. Merry found the remaining flour and baking stuffs and decided to make a cake. They mixed it up carefully, but before adding the wet to the dry Mr. Pippin dumped a whole tin of soda into the mix.”

Frodo chuckled, suddenly remembering the outcome. Pippin flushed red. “I thought it was flour! I thought it couldn’t hurt!”

Merry buried his head under the pillows and sighed.

“Well, they put the cake in the oven and promptly forgot it until about a half hour later. When the came to check on it, the cake had swelled so it had pushed the door open and filled up nearly half the kitchen! I heard them holler from the garden bed and peeked into the window, if you follow me. Just in time to see Mr. Merry fall into the mixture, send Mr. Pippin careening through the sticky mess, into a bag of flour and smack into Mr. Frodo, who dropped all the eggs on him! What a mess that was to clean up!”

When the laughter died down, Pippin looked mournfully at the rest. “I feel like I should have a story about Sam to tell. Do you Frodo?”

“Lots,” said Frodo, half asleep, “But he kindly didn’t tell you a word about the ones he has about me. So... I’ll keep... quiet Sam...”

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam softly.

He and Merry exchanged meaningful looks as Frodo finally drifted off to sleep. Aragorn, who had remained quiet and amused for quite some time sighed.

“You certainly know how to put your cousin at ease and to sleep.”

“We have our way with him,” said Merry sleepily, yawning. “I think we should all take a nap.”

“And I should have left an hour ago.” said Aragorn, lifting the slumbering form of Frodo and putting him to bed. “I expect to see you out and about again, if the rain stops in the morning.”

“Yes, King Strider,” said Pippin, giving him a mock bow and limping to his own bed as Strider blew out the candles and let them rest.

FIN

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A/N: Fluff! Angsty fluff! Just for people who have no clue, this is post-quest Minas Tirth. King Elessar is king! So go rejoice in the streets and praise the Halflings. You know you want to.

This is my first story on Stories of Arda! Hooray! I hope to post many things here. I currently have a WIP at my livejournal... I’ve done my best to edit for mistakes, but I am miserable at grammar. So if I messed something up, just let me know!

Disclaimer: I does not own the Lord of the Rings; I just like to pretend I do. So don’t sue me.