Title: A Merry Life: Ale
Author: Anso the Hobbit
Beta: Marigold

Characters: Merry, Frodo (Fredegar)

Timeline: Bag End, SR 1404, so Merry is 22, Frodo is 36 and Fredegar 24

"Merry?"

Dimly you heard Frodo´s voice as he opened the door to your room. Feet shuffled closer and a hand was put on your brow, stroking your hair in the process. "Merry? Are you not feeling well? Wake up now, it´s past second breakfast." A hand shook your shoulder and you came awake reluctantly.

You didn´t think it was possible to feel so very, very sick and have such a terrible headache after drinking a little ale. Or wait, had it been just a little? The cask you and Fredegar had got your hands on wasn’t actually that little... When your foggy mind cleared up a little and you had emptied all the contents of your stomach - twice, Frodo placed a wet cloth over your forehead and firmly told you that it was quite possible to feel like this after indulging and that it was your punishment for obviously drinking too much. You just had to learn not to drink that much in the future and where had you come by the ale anyway?

"Ale?" You croaked, feigning innocence.

"Meriadoc," Frodo said, sternly. "You reek of ale, and if you don`t tell me how you came by it, you`re on your way home this very minute."

"Frodo..." You weren´t prepared for this, and your stomach made a dreadful lurch and before you knew it you were once again heaving into the basin Frodo held in front of you.

"You can just be glad that Bilbo or your father is not here, Merry, or they would have given you a lecture you´d never forget. But fortunately for you I found Fredegar in the same state as you are in, and he was too miserable not to give up the details about your misdeed." Frodo said, brushing your hair away and muttering something about not learning a lesson as he set the basin on the nightstand.

*****

Gimli had enthusiastically introduced you to dwarwen ale, and you had sampled it with zeal. Once you almost fell into the large barrel while getting yet another mug for yourself and your companions. Gimli laughed at you then, and took hold of your ankles and braces as you nearly tipped headfirst into the barrel with mugs in hand.

“Now, I know you hobbits are fond of ale, but no one benefits from you drowning yourself in it Meriadoc,” he had harrumped and hauled you up