Chapter Three

"Hissst!" Sam looked about him in bewilderment, his skinning knife lax in his hand as he surveyed the small clearing next to a stream that the Fellowship had chosen for that night’s camp. He was certain something had just hissed at him. He gave the coney he was working on a suspicious look.

"Sam! HissssSSST!"

A shrubbery quivered and Merry’s anxious face peeked out at him. Mystified, Sam started to ask, "Mr. Merry, what are you about?" but got not farther than "Mister -" before Merry hushed him frantically, finger held up to his lips.

With a quick glance around the camp, Merry emerged from the bushes for a better look. Pippin was helping Boromir curry the pony, holding the brushes and combs and handing them to the soldier as called for. The two were evidently discussing something they found humorous – Pippin smirked while the Man threw back his head and laughed. Frodo was bent over the packs, searching for various items Sam had asked for to prepare dinner. Frodo’s light voice asked some question and upon receiving Pippin’s reply, joined them in laughter.

Aragorn drifted over from his post on watch and had a quiet word with them, and the three subsided. Smiling at whatever Boromir had told him, the Ranger resumed his place. Gimli and Legolas were slightly beyond the edges of camp, skinning and quartering the rest of the rabbits. Gandalf sat smoking not far from them, eyes closed, either resting or engaging in some wizardly communication with who-knew-what. Reassured that they would not be overheard, Merry edged closer to Sam and held out his cupped hands.

"Look, Sam. I’ve found a special treat for Pippin." Blue-black berries, freshly washed, gleamed in Merry’s hands. A few glossy bright green leaves were mixed among them. "A little apology for my bad temper, you know. Could I have a little of the sugar and some nutmeg? I’m afraid there aren’t enough for everyone, but Pippin loves bilberries –"

"Shame on you, Mr. Merry," Sam growled. "Bilberries! Oh, they look close enough, they do. Them’s whinberries, or bog blueberries, as you well know, what with studying herb-lore and all. You want that button back mighty fast, then?"

Merry flushed. "Pippin won’t know the difference, Sam! And they won’t hurt him, truly."

"Just clean him out quick as a whistle," Sam replied grimly. "I’ll not be giving you nutmeg nor anything else, Mr. Merry. You can just take them whinberries and -"

"Are those bilberries, Merry?" came an eager voice in Merry’s ear. Merry blanched and Sam jumped. Frodo peered eagerly over Merry’s shoulder at the enticing fruits. "Here’s the salt, Sam. May I have a few of those, Cousin?"

"No!" shouted Merry and Sam both. Frodo looked surprised. Everyone else in camp turned to stare at them. Aragorn swung around, frowning, and Merry cupped his hands close to his chest in panic, hiding the berries from the Ranger’s eyes.

"Why not?" Frodo asked, looking injured. "I don’t want all of them, you greedy hobbit."

"They’re mine!" Merry yelped, backing away from his cousin. "Mine!"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck - " Frodo began but Merry forestalled him. He had no other choice, Merry told himself. He could not allow the berries to be examined. He certainly could not permit Frodo or anyone else to try them. His face contorting, he raised the double handful of potent laxatives to his mouth and crammed them in.

Frodo’s and Sam’s jaws dropped in horror, for entirely different reasons. Merry chomped down and forced the half-chewed mass down his throat. The two he dropped he ground into the dirt with a toe, squishing them to unidentifiable pulp. Purplish juice squirted out of his overfull mouth and ran down his chin to stain his white shirt.

Frodo closed his mouth with an effort. Sam was still staring, his eyes perfectly round. "Well, I never -" Frodo began. "What has gotten into you, lad?"

"Reckon it’ll soon be out of him," Sam said with a grin. Merry glared at him miserably, the first internal rumblings already making themselves felt. He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, then meekly accepted the one Frodo held out to him, wiping the juice from his face. He offered it silently back to his cousin and Frodo shook his head.

Merry’s face paled and sweat bloomed on his brow. He crossed his arms over his stomach and pressed hard, hoping to still the churning. "Merry," Frodo asked, "are you all right?" The young hobbit gave his friends a sickly grin. "Here, sit down, lad," Frodo urged, guiding his younger cousin to one of the logs they had pulled up for a bench. He had just settled Merry down when the young hobbit shot to his feet.

"Excuse me," Merry said shakily, "I’ve… I’ve got to … attend to … something."  Before Frodo or Sam could react, he was fleeing from the clearing. Frodo and Sam stared after him.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Frodo asked, baffled.

Sam grinned. "Don’t worry, sir. No doubt it will come out all right in the end."

* * * * *
Merry was in a foul humour when he finally returned to camp, late into the chilly night. Boromir had gone to check on him and returned grimacing in sympathy, informing the others that Meriadoc would most likely appreciate some privacy. Pippin had waited until he could stay awake no longer, then gave into Frodo’s urgings that he sleep. Sam was standing the watch and greeted Merry’s arrival with a soft, "All right there, sir?"

Merry had groaned then whimpered, sliding down into his blankets and turning his back on their friend. Which left him facing Frodo over Pippin’s blanket-shrouded body. Frodo’s eyes gleamed at him in the darkness. "I got the story out of Sam," Frodo whispered without preamble.

Merry winced. "I’m sorry, Frodo. Truly."

"Yes, I imagine you are," Frodo murmured back. "Are you over it now?"

Merry nodded miserably. Pippin snuffled and turned over in his sleep, burrowing his head into Merry’s chest. Merry looped his arms over the small back automatically, and saw Frodo’s face soften in the starlight. "Pippin has been worried sick. I wouldn’t let him look for you, telling him you needed some thinking-time."

Merry nodded again, too spent to reply.

"Let that be a lesson to you, my lad," Frodo continued quietly. "Ill intent rebounds on the ill-wisher. You only got what you deserved."

"I know," Merry whispered back, hugging Pippin tighter.

With a sigh, Frodo reached an arm over Pippin and stroked Merry’s face. Merry leaned into the gentle caress gratefully. "Get some sleep, Merry-lad," Frodo whispered. "I think you paid for your mistake. We’ll speak no more of it."

After he was certain his elder cousins were asleep, Pippin opened his eyes and eased away from Merry. So that’s how the wind blew, was it? And here he had been so concerned over Merry’s being ill! Pippin chewed the inside of his cheek and stared at the soft planes of his sleeping cousin’s cheek.

He did feel just a little sorry for Merry, mixed with no small amount of amusement. Younger and smaller than Merry, it was rare that Pippin got the upper hand over his cousin… even unknowingly. Pippin’s superior smile faded. Merry really was upset about the ridiculous button, then. Pippin would have to do something about that.

The obvious answer made him wince. Surely there was another route he could take? Another route … another… Of their own accord, Pippin’s eyes moved to his cousin’s treasured waistcoat, gleaming a pale gold in the moonlight. One button looked exactly like another, didn’t it?

Pippin raised himself up on his elbows and peered into his cousin’s face. Then very carefully, he blew on the side of Merry’s temple. Merry’s brows drew down and he muttered something in his sleep. Another gentle puff of air drew a swat. A third and Merry grumbled and turned over in his sleep, his back to Pippin. The tweenager sat back with a grin. Perfect.

It was difficult to ease his hands under the back of Merry’s jacket without waking his cousin but Pippin managed it. Merry giggled slightly as Pippin’s fingers trailed over that ticklish spot at the base of his spine and Pip hastily pulled back. With a snore, Merry settled. Pippin waited a moment longer just to be sure, then small, nimble fingers sought for and found the single button that anchored the tie at the back of Merry’s waistcoat.

Twist and pull, twist and pull. Pippin began to curse Merry’s tailor. His buttons never seemed so securely fastened. At last the button popped free and Pippin withdrew his hand, the little piece of carved horn safe in his grasp.

* * * * *
"Merry?" asked Pippin hesitantly the next morning.

Merry finished rolling his blankets and straightened with a groan, his hand pressing against his stomach like it hurt. Pippin looked at him worriedly. He sidled up to his beloved elder cousin and caught the hand, spreading Merry’s palm. Then he put his over it and dropped in the button.

Merry stared at it in shock. "Pip! How did you -?" Abruptly his face reddened as he realized the (seemingly) only possible answer.

"I washed it and boiled it and everything," Pippin assured his cousin.

Then he was swept into Merry’s arms and thoroughly hugged. Pippin revelled in the embrace and hugged Merry back just as hard. "It hardly hurt at all, Merry," he murmured into Merry’s neck. "Truly."

"Oh, Pip," murmured Merry, tears in his eyes. "My dear Pip."

This tender scene had not gone unnoticed by Aragorn. Nor had the tattered threads at the back of the young hobbit’s waistcoat, revealed when Merry had taken off his jacket to kneel at the stream for his morning wash. The Ranger paused in accepting a bundle from Sam and tying on the pony. A jerk of his chin drew the others’ attention to the young hobbits. Frodo sighed in relief and Gandalf patted his shoulder before joining Boromir at the edge of the clearing, discussing their day’s march in soft voices. "Well, that’s finished with," Aragorn muttered in relief. "Until Meriadoc sees the back of his waistcoat, at least."

"Hobbits are devious creatures," Legolas returned contemplatively. "They seem adept at misdirection."

"Also mischief, misbehaviour and misconduct," Aragorn added heavily. "Really, Legolas, you have no idea."

Frodo joined them, grinning cheekily. "We may be small compared to Big Folk," he said, "but it is a mistake to underestimate us." Aragorn rolled his eyes at the hobbit’s wordplay but Legolas only smiled with amusement. Frodo narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the Elf’s patronizing attitude. "That just might earn you more sap in your soap, Legolas."

For the first time in Aragorn’s memory, Legolas seemed at a loss for words. "You…" the Elf tried. "You… You?"

"Oh, it wasn’t that difficult," Frodo said breezily. "It was much harder to tie all those ribbons in Gimli’s beard as he slept -"

"What?" a gruff voice roared behind them.

Frodo leaped into the air and came down in a half-crouch. Intent on the discussion before him, he had missed Gimli’s heavy tread as the dwarf came up behind him. Frodo’s eyes widened as he realized he had given himself away. He held up his hands in a placating gesture as he fell back a step. Aragorn and Legolas advanced on him, their expressions grim. Gimli cut off his escape to the rear. "Wait," the Ring-bearer pleaded. "I can explain. Things were so dull -" he leaped sideways and crashed into Merry, Pippin beside him, who were blocking his retreat. "Eeeeep!"

Gandalf sighed and leaned on his staff to wait it out. "Hobbits," he muttered resignedly. Sam looked away, grinning, and continued to load the pony.

The End