Title: Looking After
Rating: G
Summary: A birthday party leaves Merimac to prove his competence in looking after 4-year-old Frodo - with unexpected consequences.
Year: 1372

Special thanks to Ariel for betaing.

Author notes: Fastred Bolger and his family are, again, borrowed from my German story Schicksalsjahre eines Hobbits.

~*~*~

"You brought Merimac?" The words, pressed through tightly closed lips, sounded almost like a hiss. She scolded him through her bluish green eyes. "I told you to bring a responsible girl, not Mac."

"You said I should bring a tween," her husband corrected with a slight smile.

"A responsible one," she pointed out coldly before glancing through the slit of the slightly open door to the dark haired tween sitting in her husband's huge armchair with his legs apart, tapping his fingers lackadaisically. Frowning she shook her head.

"Merimac is perfect," her husband assured, following her gaze. "He has time, he wants some extra coin, and he has agreed. Besides, Frodo adores him."

"That's the problem." Primula sighed helplessly looking at her husband. "Much as I love Merimac, he is a bad influence, and we won't be home until after nightfall. I'm not sure if I can trust him with Frodo."

Drogo put a reassuring arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "He might be a trouble maker, but I'm sure he will be careful. Give him a chance."

Primula did not answer. In her tween years, she had been the one who had looked after her brother's sons most of the time and she had been at the receiving end of young Merimac's pranks more than once. Tomfooleries could be forgiven, but young Mac had a way of finding trouble. Or perhaps it was trouble that found him. His thoughtlessness had got him into danger repeatedly and even now that he was nearing his coming of age, there was no sign of him settling down and becoming a little mature - at least none she knew of.

Giving her husband a last glance, Primula swung the door open and bustled into the parlour. Merimac instantly leapt to his feet and smiled at her, though his eyes searched Drogo's, a fact Primula didn't miss. She dearly hoped her husband's judgement was better than her experience. "I entrust my son to you, Merimac, and I hope you know I will hunt you down should anything happen to him." She made her point quite clear with a threatening stare. Then she placed a hand on her nephew's shoulder, her face almost pleading. "Please, for once, look after yourself and take special care of my lad."

Merimac grinned from one ear to the other. "Yes, Auntie. He is in good hands."

Nodding doubtfully, Primula examined her nephew. He was by far taller than she was, topped even Drogo in height and stature. "Well then," she concluded finally. She was still doubtful about the afternoon, but had decided to give it a try. "Wake him up if he sleeps past two o'clock. Afterwards, keep him occupied however you like. I would prefer it if you took him outside for a while, but," here her eyes turned stern again, "don't take him to river. It's too dangerous this time of year, and besides, I don't know who else might be walking there. You might be distracted."

Mac bit his lip to keep from smiling, but Primula's look was unrelenting. "You won't use him to your advantage again, do you hear me? There will be no flirting this afternoon and you won't attract any lass' attention by showing off your young cousin."

Merimac lowered his eyes slightly, trying hard not to chuckle while remembering a day last summer when he had also looked after Frodo. Violet Grubb had adored his little cousin and inevitably came to adore him as well. It had been quite a pleasant afternoon, until Aunt Primie found out, of course.

"You'll find dinner in the pantry," his aunt went on. "Bedtime is at around eight. If he doesn't sleep at once you may tell him a story or sing him a song, but none of your tweener songs, mind you."

"Yes, Auntie," Merimac repeated dutifully. "I've looked after him before, you know."

Primula nodded. "You have, yes, for an hour or two, never for half a day. Believe me, it's quite different."

With that Primula left for her sleeping son's room, doubtlessly intending to have a last look at him before they departed to the Tunnelly's. Uncle Drogo came to his side, put an arm around his shoulders and smiled contently, his eyes following Primula.

"She worries too much," his uncle observed. "I could barely talk her into going to the Tunnelly's alone. She wouldn't have enjoyed old Ferdy's birthday party if Frodo were hanging onto her skirts all the time."

Merimac nodded as if he knew exactly what his uncle was speaking about.

Drogo clapped his back as he heard the door to Frodo's room close. "Make yourself comfortable tonight, lad. I expect we shall be late." Winking his uncle went into the corridor catching his aunt before she could come up to him with another flow of well-meaning advice. Merimac waved his goodbye feeling quite pleased with the day's prospects. Smiling smugly, he sank into Drogo's chair once again and fumbled for his pipe. This was going to be a comfortable afternoon.

~*~*~

Merimac shivered as his foot crushed a frozen puddle and sank into icy cold water. Last week it had seemed as if spring would finally arrive but now winter had obviously reclaimed its reign. The afternoon was as dark and grey as the boulders bordering the lane every few steps. The grass to both sides was covered with ice crystals and a cold wind was blowing. If it had been Merimac's decision he would not have left the warm smial, but since his aunt had insisted on Frodo's getting some fresh air, he had wrapped the child in several layers of thick clothing - much to the lad's annoyance - and taken him onto a short walk up the lane to Bucklebury and back again. It would not take more than an hour. Thirty minutes if Frodo decided to keep riding on his shoulders rather than walk by himself.

The lad was in quite a mood today. Primula had informed her son that someone from the Hall would be here to look after him this afternoon - Frodo himself had relayed that - and the child had been beside himself when Mac had wakened him instead of one of the 'boring lasses' he had expected. To show his joy he had greeted him with so many loud calls and forced him to play various noisy games until Mac's ears rang.

It had taken Merimac quite a while to calm his cousin and convince him that the two of them would have just as much fun as Frodo would have with his parents.

"Ow, Frodo!" Merimac looked upwards as a small hand in mittens struck his nose. "What are you doing up there, scallywag?"

"Catch breath," the child declared gleefully. A moment later the boy hit Mac's brow, looked at his empty hands and grumbled in annoyance. "It's too quick."

"You won't catch any breath, lad, especially if you keep punching your cousin."

A giggle from just above his head, then, as another white cloud of air danced before Merimac's eyes, the small hand hit him again. Mac grabbed it by the wrist. "Stop it, Frodo."

The child seemed to ponder that for a moment before asking in a high voice. "Why?"

"Because it hurts," Mac told him grumpily.

"Why?"

"Because it's cold and," Merimac paused, reconsidering his answer. "You shouldn't hit others."

"Why?"

"It's bad manners."

"Why?"

"Frodo!" Merimac grew increasingly irritated by the child's questions especially since the boy's tone of voice told him that Frodo knew exactly what he was doing.

"Why?" the faunt insisted bouncing up and down on Merimac's shoulders.

That was enough for Merimac. In one fell swoop, he lifted the child and placed him on the ground. With a stern look at the lad, he declared that Frodo could walk by himself if he didn't mind his manners. Frodo glared at him angrily, pouting and crossing his arms in front of his chest, which looked rather ridiculous considering that the child was wrapped in a thick, dark blue jacket that hardly allowed any movement. His scarlet cap reached down to his eyebrows making it almost impossible for him to keep his eyes open.

Merimac waited for a second, then, as the child made no sign of cooperating, he continued to walk up the lane. That got Frodo's attention. The child grumpily declared that he was cold though Mac could hardly believe that. Mac rolled his eyes as he turned back. Frodo kept looking at him sulkily avoiding staying on either foot for very long to make his point clear.

Merimac sighed heavily. This afternoon certainly had not proceeded as he had hoped. He could not remember his cousin ever being this exhausting. Energetic, yes, but not tiring. He shivered as a gush of wind blew his hair into his face. Unlike Frodo, he had neither hat nor scarf with him, but he was quite glad that he covered Frodo with so much surplus clothing, even if it made him look more like a garden gnome than a hobbit child. Bending in front of the boy, he adjusted the child's cap and grinned hoping to lift his cousin's spirits a little. "There now, you look like a little dwarf."

To his surprise the young face lit up immediately. "Like in Uncle Bilbo's story?"

Merimac furrowed his brow in confusion. It had been a long time since he had heard old Bilbo's tale. And he had never quite liked it. The idea of a dragon and a mountain full of gold struck him as highly dubious. Yet, seeing that his cousin obviously found delight in it, he played along. "Quite like that, yes." With a mischievous grin, he rose to his feet and droned in a menacing voice. "And I am the terrible dragon who likes to have little dwarves for breakfast."

Frodo squeaked in surprise, turned round and, in one swift movement, dashed up the path. Merimac chuckled to himself at the child's awkward movement. Poor thickly wrapped Frodo would roll all the way home if he should fall during his run. For a moment he wondered whether he had dressed him in too many layers, then he took up pursuit.

Frodo had run onto the meadow, half jumping over the frozen blades of grass. Mac was still on the lane but he picked up his pace as the distance between him and the lad grew wider. He had taken no more than three steps, when he suddenly slipped on a patch of ice, and fell face-first onto the ground. His teeth clattered, pain shot through his head and several instants later stars danced in front of his darkening eyes. Dazed, Merimac moaned at the pounding in his jaw, a throbbing that seemed to creep upwards to his ears, then to his temples, to finally come to rest behind his eyes.

"Frodo," he whispered weakly, wincing at the pain speaking caused. A wave of nausea accompanied by an even stronger one of dizziness overwhelmed him as he struggled to get up.

"Frodo!" he called again. Auntie Primie would kill him if he lost the lad. Warm liquid trickled down his neck soaking the collar of his jacket. Merimac blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on one of the rocks near his head. It was covered with dark blood which glistened in the sunlight.

"Ow." Little Frodo expressed Mac's thought quite accurately. The child stood before him, his voice and face as distressed and pained as if it were his hurt.

"I'm all right," Merimac assured in a light voice, wincing again as the throbs grew stronger. Despite his being glad that his cousin had listened to him calling, the child's expression did not encourage him in the least. Carefully he touched his neck, following the line of blood upwards until his fingers touched a deep cut on his chin. He hissed with pain.

Frodo flinched as is sharing it, the child's face a mask of rebellion, wonder and worry. Mac sat up carefully, allowed his young cousin to kneel down beside him.

"Shall I blow?" the lad asked hopefully.

Merimac almost laughed at that, though he was busily considering what to do as well. He could go home and care for himself somehow. Or he could follow the lane down to Bucklebury to Fastred Bolger's house, hoping the healer would be home. Seeing that Frodo looked at him as helplessly as he felt, it didn't take much thought to decide on the latter, especially since he felt still more blood running down his neck.

It took him some effort to struggle to his feet, but once that first barrier was managed he held out his clean hand to Frodo and led the way to Bucklebury. As they neared the town, old Willy Brownlock and his wife came hurrying towards them, both distraught by the look of Merimac. Mrs. Brownlock immediately took charge of Frodo, much to the child's displeasure, while Willy supported Merimac giving him assistance he did not need but which he accepted without protest.

Fastred himself welcomed them into his small house and while his wife Calendula bid the Brownlocks farewell, eighteen-year-old Marigold, the healer's oldest daughter, was ordered to take care of Frodo. Merimac was made to lie down on a sofa in the parlour and moments later the healer sat beside him, a bottle of liquid and a cloth in hand.

"What have you got yourself into this time, lad?" the healer wanted to know, carefully washing the blood away.

"Not into anything," Mac told him numbly. "Onto a rock it was. On the way to the Baggins-smial. I slipped - ow!"

"It's still bleeding," the healer observed thoughtfully, wetting the cloth with the liquid from the bottle and cleaning the wound with even more care than before. "This might hurt a bit."

Merimac hissed as the healer disinfected the wound.

"It will need stitches, I fear."

"Stitches?" Mac's eyes widened. "What for?"

"It's still bleeding," the healer repeated. "Quite an impressive hole you've got yourself there."

"Hole?" Merimac breathed, almost fearful now.

"Indeed," Fastred winked then patted the tween's chest good-naturedly. "Couldn't stop your fall with something else besides your face, eh?"

"I--" Whatever words he had wanted to say remained stuck in his throat as his eyes were drawn to the needle the healer produced from his satchel. Knowing that he had no chance of avoiding whatever procedure might follow, he leaned back only to look up into a pair of blue eyes. "Hullo," he greeted miserably.

Frodo grinned down at him, a line of milk froth coating his upper-lip. "Better?" he asked and without waiting for an answer went on babbling. "Mrs. Healer made me milk and honey. You get some too, after you're done. Mrs. Healer's very nice. The girls are not. They don't let me play."

Merimac allowed himself to be carried away by his cousin's words. He felt a tingling in his chin and inevitably shuddered, desperate to focus his attention on Frodo's face which, to his dismay, bore an absolutely fascinated and curious expression which did not help to lessen his discomfort in the least. Closing his eyes helplessly, Merimac concentrated on the sounds surrounding him. He could hear Frodo's breathing just above his head. At times he could even feel the child's warm breath tickling his cheeks. There was the crackling of fire and he tried unsuccessfully to remember whether he had seen a hearth on entering the room. He could hear girls' laughter, probably the healer's daughters, playing in one of the other rooms. He heard the clutter of dishes and a voice humming of a soft, familiar tune he could not quite place. The smell of cake wafted past his nose and made his stomach grumble.

The healer laughed hearing it and then announced that he was done. Merimac suddenly realised that he was desperately clutching the sofa's cushions with muscles as tense as bowstrings. His eyes, which he thought he had only lightly closed, were squeezed shut. He hastened to open them again, not willing to let Fastred know just how unnerved the procedure had made him.

"Quite an ordeal, wasn't it?" Fastred teased, patting Merimac's chest once more and winking at Frodo who looked on, utterly spellbound. "I might need to show you the needle more often, if only to keep you still."

Merimac sat up, giving him a challenging glare while inwardly shuddering at the thought. "Don't even consider it."

Fastred simply grinned and kept him from feeling his chin. Just then, Calendula peeked into the room and announced that tea was ready. The healer's face lit up even brighter. "I think that was an invitation."

~*~*~

Merimac was glad when he could finally tuck the blanket around his cousin. The afternoon had been a lot more exciting than he had expected. To his relief, there had been no more difficulties after a lovely tea at the healer's house. He even managed to warm the dinner properly without Frodo getting his fingers burnt. The lad was constantly after him wanting to help in one way or another. In the end, Merimac had allowed him to stir the soup which had not been the best idea he had had that day, but hadn't been the worst either.

His chin was swollen and still aching, but at least the throbbing had eased. His mother would be 'delighted' to learn that he had had to pay Fastred yet another visit, but would be beside herself when she saw his jacket. It was ruined, covered with blood as it was. Not even Lila, head of the washerwomen, would get it clean again.

"Mac?" Frodo's face was partly illuminated by a candle, his dark blue eyes glancing pleadingly up at him. He could barley keep them open; Merimac had put him to bed a little later than his aunt had told him to.

"What is it, scallywag?" he asked plopping down on the edge of the bed.

"Stay," the child begged.

"I'll stay right outside in the parlour," Merimac told him looking forward to a quiet evening.

Frodo shook his head and patted the mattress. "Stay here."

"No, Frodo."

"Please." A huge yawn claimed the chubby face and Merimac, feeling himself respond to it with a yawn of his own decided to give in. The child was so tired he would fall asleep quickly and Merimac would still have enough time to clean up and rest before his aunt and uncle returned home.

He had put Frodo very close to the wall to insure that he wouldn't fall out over the course of the evening so there was enough room left for him to slip under the covers as well. Frodo snuggled close immediately, leaving Merimac slightly uncomfortable, he not being accustomed to such open affection. It didn't take long to get used to though, especially when Frodo's breathing slowed, becoming deep and even in a matter of moments. Merimac, leaning on his elbow, watched the peaceful face drowsily and allowed himself to stroke back a stray curl from Frodo's brow. It was an odd gesture and though he wondered why he had done it, it felt strangely fulfilling. He smiled a little, partly at the child before him, partly at his own peculiar behaviour, and yet he still found himself unwilling to leave. He laid his head onto the pillow and kept watching his cousin. The dishes and Frodo's toys could wait another minute.

~*~*~

It was shortly after midnight when the front-door of the small smial opened and Primula and Drogo Baggins stepped into the dimly lit entrance hall. Her husband blew out the lantern while Primula rubbed her hands together and slipped out of her cloak. They had enjoyed the feast at the Tunnely's and soon even she had forgotten her doubts about Merimac though she was quite curious to learn how the afternoon had gone for her nephew. Knowing her son, he had probably been quite a handful to manage and being welcomed by such a quiet smial only confirmed her belief that Merimac would have fallen asleep from exhaustion after getting Frodo to bed.

On her way to Frodo's room, which was always her first destination when she returned late at night after her lad had been in someone else's care, Primula noted with some disappointment that Merimac hadn't managed to clear away Frodo's play things that evening. They were scattered all over the parlour. Shaking her head, she peeked into the darkness of her child's chamber.

The hall's golden light illuminated a sight Primula could at first hardly believe. Not only was her son curled up in his bed but so was her nephew. Seemingly sound asleep, Merimac lay on his right side, one arm lovingly laid across Frodo's chest. Her heart warmed at the sight and a fond smile lit her face as she silently approached the bed. Merimac did indeed look spent but there was something else that shocked her. A red and blue bulge blemished her nephew's chin. Obviously the afternoon had not been without any inauspicious incidents. Sighing heavily, she touched the tween's shoulder gently and shook him awake.

"Aunt Primie?" The lad frowned trying to blink sleep away. "What time is it?"

"About midnight," she whispered. "Come outside with me."

Merimac looked at her somnolently before casting a surprised glance at Frodo, cognizance brightening his face but very slowly. He slipped out of bed carefully and followed her as she led him into the parlour where Drogo was placing the last of Frodo's toys in a huge wooden box.

"So?" Primula asked her nephew after greetings were exchanged and everyone had taken a seat.

"Frodo is all right," Merimac quickly assured looking at least somewhat awake.

Primula smiled. "Yes, that I saw. But didn't I suggest you should look after yourself as well."

"That's quite a nice bump. Where did you get it from?" Drogo asked.

Merimac shrugged and shook his head. "I had a little accident. Nothing worth telling." With a smile he turned to Primula. "I think, Auntie, that your boy kept me so busy, I didn't have time to look after myself as well."

"I told you as much," Primula answered with a smile of her own. It didn't seem Merimac was going to tell her what had happened, but his smile did not falter. She would not press him. In the morning, Frodo would tell her everything anyhow. Over all, Primula was quite impressed with her nephew. The wound had been stitched and though Merimac still hadn't managed to keep out of trouble, he had at least proved that he could handle the consequences. Perhaps there was a little hope he would grow up after all.

"I'll ready the guest room for you," she announced feeling a pleasant weariness creep into her bones. "It's too late to send you home."

Merimac nodded his thanks and as Primula left the room she caught sight of her nephew and her husband exchanging meaningful glances. Indeed, perhaps she had misjudged Merimac. She was glad that the tween had proven her wrong. Mac was a fine young hobbit, though he knew how to hide it. Frodo might find better examples but in Merimac he had a friend and a protector. Yes, perhaps she would be able to entrust her son to him again, at least as long as he kept on the course he seemed to finally have set upon.

~THE END~