Merry trailed aimlessly about. Everyone was terribly busy preparing for Théoden's funeral; he alone was at loose ends, an esquire with no king to attend.

A man stumbled over Merry as the hobbit abruptly turned; a grip on his shoulder saved both from falling. "Your pardon, Master Bag. I see you have returned to trip me up once more."

"Marshall Elfhelm! I feel more like an unwanted parcel than ever," Merry admitted. "I have nothing to do until the funeral."

The Rider bowed. "Perhaps you would ride out with me, and talk of Théoden King with another who served him."

[For Nickey, who wanted drabbles about Merry for her birthday. Title suggestions gratefully accepted.]