Title: Milk and Honey
Rating: G
Summary: When young hobbits are ill milk mixed with a little honey is the best remedy.

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing.

~*~*~

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Nonsense!"

"But I'm feeling so weak and my head is heavy. The room is spinning too. Surely I must die. I will dehydrate and die from," the child thought hard for a moment, "prostration."

Menegilda frowned in confusion as she tucked yet another blanket around her lad. "Who told you that?"

"Pal said so," Merimac told her, clearly admiring his older cousin's superior knowledge. "He said I will dehydrate from the fever. It was so with his aunt. She could only wheeze in the end, before she died from," the lad made another thoughtful pause before carefully pronouncing his next word, "prostration. What does that mean, Ma?"

"It means that your cousin is pulling your leg," Menegilda told him earnestly. She shook her head. It really did not do that Paladin should frighten her son with all those tales, true as they might be. Merimac believed too much of what his cousin said and she really did not like him thinking about dehydration and death. "You should not believe everything Paladin tells you, love. His head is full of mischief."

Merimac grinned. "So is mine, isn't it, Ma?"

"I'm afraid so," Menegilda nodded with a smile and went to the fireside to put another log into the flames. Merimac had come down with a bit of a cold the last night and she thought it best to keep him in bed for a day, which did not prove to be an easy task. The Great Smials, where she and her family stayed while Rorimac discussed some business with the Thain, was an even more interesting place for her boy to explore than Brandy Hall and its immediate surroundings. Especially since his cousin Paladin and his family were visiting as well. Twice this morning she had had to bring him back to bed because he had 'felt up to going for a tramp' with Paladin and Saradoc. Never mind that he had been on wobbly feet or that he was now going to die - again. Merimac tended to be overdramatic when ill, especially when she kept him in bed.

A rather unhealthy sounding cough caused Menegilda to glance worriedly at her son. During this visit it seemed that bad luck was always at Merimac's heels. On the first day he fell from a tree. Thankfully no harm came from it except for a fright which had not sufficed to teach him a lesson. The next day he had been happily sitting in that same tree with Paladin close at his side. Soon after that the lads had gone mud-digging in one of the smaller streams close to the farm. Unfortunately Merimac had been the one to discover stones instead of mud and cut his foot on one of them. And now, after getting drenched yesterday night, he lay listlessly in his bed, looking at her glumly.

"I really don't think it's fair," Merimac whined. "Why can't Sara be the one who's ill? He always gets to have all the fun."

"Don't wish for such things," Menegilda gently rebuked him. She tilted her head and studied her son. "Besides, I don't think you've missed all that much fun."

"And what about that other time?" Merimac insisted, clearly upset. Menegilda walked over to the bed awaiting further information but after a long silence her lad finally concluded with, "It just isn't fair!"

Menegilda kissed his too warm brow and gently brushed some curls back. She knew her son too well not to mistake his anger for the sadness it truly was. Merimac's cheerless eyes were fixed on her, his lips trembling a little. "Can't you make them stay inside - with me?"

She shook her head while continuing to stroke his cheeks. Being her second born Merimac took rather badly to being alone. He had always been one to enjoy company more than solitude. All his life he had scrambled along after Saradoc, and usually both children happened to fall ill at about the same time - or had one of their distant relatives to share a sickroom with. Here at the Great Smials Mac had neither and was struggling to face his fate alone.

"I don't want to stay here, Mammy," Merimac sniffed, his voice growing ever scratchier. "I don't want to be sick."

Menegilda could feel him fighting his tears and it tore at her heart to see her son so miserable. Thankfully she knew just the remedy for that, even though she could not keep Paladin and Saradoc inside to entertain him. "What do you say to a nice hot cup of milk and honey to stem that dehydration Paladin spoke of?" The child looked up at her in confusion. "And then a good long story to fight prostration from tears?"

"I didn't cry!" the lad protested but then his face lit up. "A story would be great. You can begin with prostration and how it can be fought. Do you think I could give it to Cousin Pal for pulling my leg? I'm sure a bit of prostration wouldn't do him any harm."

Menegilda chuckled, happy to see a smile brighten her son's face again. "I'm sure it wouldn't. But for the moment I'm glad you're the one needing a little rest," she grinned, her eyes twinkling. "This way I have you all to myself to hug and kiss and snuggle."

She punctuated her words by nuzzling his cheek and pulling him close. Merimac gasped a protest that swiftly turned into a giggle, then a squeal as he tried to push her away and voice an indignant "Ma-ma!" Menegilda only laughed at that, ruffled his curls and hurried out of the room to put her plan into action.

~*~*~

The light in the nursery was low. The air was just a little too hot to be comfortable. It smelled of sickness. Merimac wrinkled his nose as he entered the room to check on the lads. He was welcomed by the noisy but peaceful breathing of little Meriadoc. Merimac heaved a sigh of relief. At least one had stopped complaining.

"It's not fair!" Berilac cried out instead of a greeting and broke into a coughing fit the moment the words were out. Merimac nodded placidly. The other, obviously, had not. "It's all his fault! He started that sneezing!"

He, of course, was Frodo who lay in the furthest of the three beds. Said tween turned his back on them and croaked something between a curse and a plea.

Merimac chuckled. "Nice first visit, isn't it?"

"I wish he hadn't come," Berilac grumbled, glaring at his cousin though a stern glance from Merimac sufficed to silence further accusation. His lad was very much like he himself used to be. Very crotchety when ill and annoyed with everyone who wasn't - or the one who had started the nasty business. He remembered many an argument in the sickroom that had left him and Saradoc more exhausted than their respective illnesses.

"For once I'm of the same opinion," Frodo said hoarsely. "I was in perfect health at Bag End." His voice faded into an unhealthy sounding cough as if to prove the opposite.

"But you missed us," Merimac smiled. "You just don't want to acknowledge it."

Frodo made no reply but snuggled deeper into his blankets and snuffled. The poor lad had caught the illness only a few days after his arrival in Buckland. It was his first visit since he had left for Bag End and everyone had been delighted to welcome him and the old Baggins, especially the children which proved to be their downfall. Frodo had suffered the worst of all. His fever had been up and down no matter how many mugs of chamomile tea they fed him. Fastred, however, had assured that there was nothing to be concerned about and that hopefully the illness would pass in a couple of days.

"And you really should admit that you're glad he's come," Merimac told his son, placing a hand on his forehead to check for fever. To his relief it was cooler than it had been in the morning. Berilac leaned into the touch and crawled closer, resting his head in his father's lap when Mac sat down on the bed's edge.

"Can I have some milk and honey?" the child asked hopefully.

Merimac smiled, combing his fingers through his son's soft curls. "Mama is getting us some this very moment." That said he pushed the boy a little to one side, flung his legs over the edge and made himself quite comfortable in the bed. "I think I shall be ill today as well. 'Tis quite comfy here."

Berilac giggled and immediately hugged him close, when all of a sudden a pillow hit Merimac on the head. When he looked up in confusion he discovered Frodo leaning on his elbow and shaking his head at him. "You're a git, Mac."

Merimac smiled impishly. "Thank you." He threw the pillow back. "And I do love you too, lad."

~THE END~