Chapter 2. More Muddled

Pippin awakened to the unpleasant sensations of someone slapping at him, feet kicking him, and Merry's voice muttering incoherently. He pulled out of the group of sleeping hobbits, eliciting a protest from Frodo as the covers were pulled away.

'Merry! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!' He shook his older cousin, but Merry didn't open his eyes, just kept up a stream of incomprehensible gibberish.

Sam sat up, regarding them blearily. 'He's about as confused as a woodpecker in a concrete forest,' he said. Nudging Pippin, he added, 'You'd better go get the head honcho, I'll hold down the fort.' Sam jerked his chin towards Aragorn's sleeping form, and Pippin divined his meaning.

Slipping from the blankets without further disturbing Frodo (and at that, he saw Sam smooth the blankets carefully over his master again) Pippin crept to where the Ranger was sleeping. From the shapes on the ground, he worked out that Legolas was somewhere on watch, probably in one of the trees above him. Standing well back from the blanketed form, Pippin hissed, 'Strider!' Aragorn instantly rolled to his feet, knife in hand.

Seeing Pippin before him, he sheathed his knife. 'What is it, Pippin?' he asked.

'Something's wrong with Merry,' Pippin gulped.

The Ranger said something under his breath, then tapped the mound of fur-lined cloak covered by blanket that was Boromir. As the Man of Gondor surfaced, the Ranger whispered, 'More muddlewort trouble, I fear.'

'The others showed no sign...' Boromir said slowly.

'Yes, but can it not affect people at different rates?' Aragorn asked.

Boromir shook his head slowly. 'We know so little of the herb... mainly to avoid it.' He considered a moment, then met the Ranger's eyes. 'We'd better assume all of them to be affected.'

Looking to Pippin, he said, 'You all ate of the mint, did you not?' The youngest hobbit nodded nervously. At a cry from Merry, Boromir strode quickly to the huddle of hobbits.

Aragorn fixed Pippin with a piercing gaze; he could see its intensity even in the pale moonlight. 'How are you feeling?' the Ranger asked.

'Fine!' Pippin said. 'You're not going to feed me soap, are you?' At the Ranger's sober nod, he sighed. 'Let's get it over with, then.'

Quickly the Ranger mixed another frothy cup, and Pippin, holding his nose, gulped it down. Just drinking the brew was enough to make him want to spew, and gagging at the vile taste, he said, 'Whoa, that was really gross.' His eyes widened, and he said, 'So it's got me too?'

'I fear it must be so,' Aragorn nodded. Just then, the soapy water did the trick and Pippin found himself disgorging the contents of his stomach.

The Ranger supported him through the fit, and then gently lifted the limp and miserable hobbit in his arms. 'Let us wrap you warmly and get some tea into you,' he said. 'The muddlewort has had time to work, and we have a fight ahead of us.'

Boromir had mixed more of the soap solution and was forcing it into Merry, who fought him as well as a Halfling could fight a warrior twice his size. Boromir was constrained by his desire not to hurt the little one, but Merry felt no such compunction, and several of his blows and kicks landed to good (or bad, as it were) effect before the Man of Gondor got the whole of the mug into the hobbit.

'Why, Boromir, you're bleeding like a stuck pig!' Pippin exclaimed as the man turned from his task. One of Merry's fists had apparently connected solidly with the man's nose.

Boromir pinched his nose shut with his fingers and tilted his head back. 'I'b all right,' he said rather nasally. He quickly staunched the bleeding, then let go his nose and nodded carefully to Aragorn. 'We must not delay,' he said. 'Every moment is precious.'

As the Men turned to Frodo, Sam grasped his master protectively. 'Hey,' he said. 'None of that! Let sleeping dogs lie!'

Aragorn knelt to address the little gardener-turned-bodyguard. 'Samwise,' he said urgently. 'We can't take any chances. I was foolish earlier, assuming that you were the only one who ate the anachronos because you showed early effects and the others didn't.'

Frodo awakened reluctantly. 'Is it time to get up already?' he said, then saw the cup Boromir held out. 'O good,' he said, 'some tea. I really need it. For some reason I feel as if I haven't slept at all.'

'You haven't,' Sam said, and Aragorn began to hope that as far as Sam was concerned, the worst was over.

Frodo, not paying attention, took the cup and started to drink eagerly, only to gag. 'Who made this tea, was it Pippin?' he said. 'Must've been brewed with the water not properly on the boil, or something.'

'I didn't make it, and it's not tea,' Pippin retorted. 'And Merry's as sick as a dog, you ought to know.'

Frodo turned worried eyes to Aragorn. 'Pippin, too?' he asked. The Ranger nodded. 'And Merry?'

'Merry's the worst affected, thus far,' Aragorn said soberly. 'Muddlewort can be deadly, Frodo. You must be prepared for the worst.' He sighed. 'I only wish I'd had the foresight to treat you all at the same time I treated Samwise. How could I have been so careless?'

'Yeah,' Samwise growled. 'When you're up to your ass in alligators, it's a little late to remember the original objective was to drain the swamp.'

Muddlewort or no, the others looked at him in astonishment, but then Pippin looked to the Ring-bearer with a frown.

'Bottoms up, Frodo,' Pippin said, pushing at the mug, noticing that most of the contents remained. 'I know it tastes pretty gnarly, but it's really not too bad...'

'You lie like a rug,' Frodo answered, and shook himself. 'Uh-oh. I had better chug-a-lug, hadn't I?' he said soberly.

'Bottoms up!' Pippin repeated cheerily, and then he giggled.

Boromir shook his head. 'We're in for a time of it,' he said.

Samwise began to sing. There'll be a hot time! in the old town! Tonight!

Pippin perked up. 'What's that, Samwise?' he said brightly.

Samwise blushed to the tips of his ears and dug a toe into the dirt. 'Just something that came to me,' he said shyly.

 'It's catchy!' Pippin said. 'Teach it to me! We'll sing it to Merry and help him feel better.'

Sam brightened. 'Heckovan idea, there, Pippermeister!' he said. Seeing that Frodo had choked down the contents of the cup, he joined arms with Pippin and sauntered towards Merry, as he taught Pippin the words to the little ditty that had sprung full-formed in his head.

One night dark, when bed we all were in,
Old Leary's mother lit the shed, the lantern in
And when the kick cowed it over, she eyed her wink and said,
There'll be a time hot, in the town old, tonight!

 'That's not the way he just sang it,' Gimli said, sitting up in his blankets.

 'Why do you think they call it muddlewort?' Boromir answered, and shuddered.

Frodo merely groaned. The soapy water was having the desired effect.