Chapter 6. Mostly Clear, with Occasional Muddles

Some time before dawn, Merry groaned and tried to open his eyes. Pippin gave a glad cry and the other dozing hobbits woke at once. 'Merry?' Frodo said softly. 'Merry, can you hear me?'

'Who turned out the lights?' Merry moaned.

'It's dark, Merry, and you have your eyes closed,' Pippin said. 'Look at me, Mer, I'm right here.'

'Jeepers creepers, open up those peepers,' Frodo said urgently.

Merry blinked, tried to focus on the faces surrounding him, finally met Frodo's eye. 'Hey there, cuz,' he said blearily. 'What's new?'

'Snoo with you?' Frodo answered with a smile. 'How goes it?'

'It goes,' Merry answered. 'At least, I think it does. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking.'

He tried to sit up, and three pairs of hobbit hands helped him. 'Watch that last step,' he said, 'it's a doozy.' Raising one hand to rub his head, he said, 'Whew. I sure could use a mocha latte right about now.'

'A what?' Pippin asked, wanting to be helpful but not sure of what his cousin was saying.

'You know,' Merry said, 'a cup of joe.'

Pippin seized on the one familiar word. 'Cup,' he said brightly. 'Coming right up!' He shook his head; his own speech was yet a bit muddled though his head had been growing clearer through the long night. He rose and went to the fire, where Boromir and Gimli sat warming their hands. 'Merry's awake!' he said cheerfully.

'Is he talking?' Boromir said.

'Well, he's said a few words. I don't know that I would call it talking,' Pippin said cautiously. 'But I think he just asked for a cup of tea.' Soon he had a steaming cup in his hands.

As he handed it to Merry, his cousin murmured, 'Bodacious thanks, Pip.' Merry sipped, then sighed. 'That hits the spot.' He looked up at the staring hobbits surrounding him. 'What's the deal, here?'

'You took us on a real roller coaster ride,' Frodo said.

'I did?'

Frodo nodded. 'Yup. Nearly kicked the bucket.'

'Almost snuffed, eh?' Merry said.

Pippin looked at Sam. 'Are you getting any of this?'

Sam shook his head. 'Hardly a word,' he answered, then turning back to Merry, he said, 'Are you hungry, Mr Merry? I could bring you some breakfast.'

'I wouldn't turn down an offer of chow,' Merry said pleasantly, then put a hand to his head and winced.

'What is it, Merry?' Pippin asked anxiously.

'I got a migraine like you wouldn't believe,' his cousin answered.

'Migraine? What's that?'

Frodo put in helpfully, 'Excedrin headache number fifty-seven, no doubt.'

'You got that right, cuz,' Merry said.

Pippin seized on the one word that made sense. 'Your head hurts?'

'Give the man a cigar,' Merry answered. He took a deep breath and said, 'And why does my nose feel numb?'

'Gandalf had to blow some medicine into your nostrils, Mr Merry -- it was the only way he could get it into you,' Samwise said softly.

'Up my nose with a rubber hose, eh?' Merry said. 'Okey dokey, works for me.' He moved his shoulders and winced.

'Stiff and sore?' Frodo asked.

'Yeah. Feel like I was rode hard and put away wet,' Merry answered.

'Me too,' Frodo said. 'Just take two aspirins and call me in the morning.' He and Merry chuckled whilst the other two hobbits looked on, mystified.

Aragorn had joined the little group while they were talking; now he crouched on his heels to address the hobbits. 'How stiff are you?' he asked.

Pippin rotated his own arms. 'Not bad,' he said. Samwise wasn't stiff at all, and only sore where the club had connected during the battle. But Frodo was significantly stiff, and Merry was in misery.

'Frodo,' the Ranger said, 'I think the muddlewort may have affected you more than we thought. Did you have feelings of uncontrollable rage during the battle?'

Frodo thought deeply. 'Not uncontrollable,' he said, 'but yes, I was honkin' mad.'

Samwise said apprehensively, 'Does he need medicine... like Mr Merry did?' Frodo unconsciously put a protective hand to his nose.

Aragorn smiled. 'No, Sam,' he said. 'Enough time has passed that I think I can safely say the worst is over. It will take time for the effects to wear off completely, of course.' He picked up two of the leathern flasks, shaking them to ascertain the contents. 'More than half full,' he said to himself. He extended one to Merry and the other to Frodo. 'Here,' he said. 'This should help the stiffness.'

Merry shot him a questioning look as he unstoppered his flask. 'Somebody go to the mall?' he said.

Only Frodo seemed to understand. 'No,' he answered, 'We had a party yesterday; it was a B.Y.O.B. This got left over.'

Merry took a pull at the flask and his face brightened. 'I wonder why,' he said. 'This is good stuff, nectar of the gods.'

'It's the real thing,' Frodo agreed, taking a generous swig from his own flask.

'Why are you looking at us like that?' Merry asked Pippin. 'You look as if you think we've lost our marbles.'

'Bats in the belfry,' Frodo added, and then in an attempt to clarify, said, 'Elevator doesn't go all the way to the top.'

'I admit I'm not running on all four cylinders right now,' Merry added, 'but aside from the jackhammer in my head and a serious Big Mac attack I'm sitting pretty.' He sipped again. 'Ahhh,' he said, 'that's just what the doctor ordered.'

'Big Mac attack?' Pippin said, mystified. 'No, you slept through the battle.'

'He means he wants you to round up some chow,' Frodo explained. The explanation didn't seem to explain anything, though.

Aragorn said, 'I expect you're hungry, Merry; you've missed a few meals. I'll go see what I can find.'

'Good man, you do that,' Merry said appreciatively. He looked again at Pippin. 'What?'

'I can't understand a word you're saying,' Pippin said sadly.

'O you were just as bad, earlier, cousin,' Frodo said cheerfully.

'I cannot believe that,' Pippin shook his head.

Frodo nodded solemnly. 'O yeah, indubitably. You even called Gandalf "Grampa".'

'I didn't!' Pippin said hotly. As the other hobbits nodded at him, he collapsed in horror, hands to his head. 'I didn't,' he repeated softly, 'I couldn't have-- he's going to turn me into a toad for sure!'

'He'll probably wait until we get back to the Shire,' Frodo said comfortingly. 'After all, a toad couldn't carry many supplies, could he?'

Aragorn returned balancing two plates heaped with food for Frodo and Merry, telling Sam and Pippin that their own food awaited them by the fire.

Merry took the generous plate with a broad grin; this was much more than the scanty trail rations they were used to getting, but Aragorn believed that the food would help them fight the effects of the poison. Merry took a bite of stew and sighed. 'You da man!' he said to Aragorn.

'Indeed,' the Ranger said dryly. 'I'll leave you to your meal,' he said. 'Just call if you need anything.'

'I know how to whistle,' Merry said irrelevantly. 'You just put your lips together and blow.' He and Frodo dissolved in laughter, while the Ranger retreated with as much dignity as he could muster.

Pippin was very cautious and polite as he sat himself down with his plate. When Gandalf looked over with a smile, he cringed. 'Is there anything I can do for you, G-Gandalf?' he said.

'No, Peregrin, I have all I need. How are you feeling?'

'Just fine, G-Gandalf,' the young hobbit stammered.

'Eat your food, then, before it gets cold,' the wizard said gently. Pippin fell to immediately, keeping his eyes for the most part on his plate.

From the blankets where Frodo and Merry were sitting, a song arose. It sounded a bit different from the usual hobbit fare, and as it went on it became evident that this particular song would be annoyingly repetitious. Boromir had not been paying much attention at first, but the song ate into his consciousness until he could not avoid listening. '...there'll be seventy-nine bottles of beer on the wall. Seventy-nine bottles of beer on the wall, seventy-nine bottles of beer...'

'What in the world?' Legolas said, sitting down by the fire to take his own meal as Aragorn took over the watch.

'You have to admit it's a catchy tune,' Boromir said.

'Catchy?' Gimli grumbled. 'Impossible to avoid, to my way of thinking.'

'How long will it go on?' the Elf said.

'O, another seventy-five bottles or so, I'd say,' Boromir said, taking another bite of his stew.