Title: Merry's Great Idea

Author:  Daffodil Bolger

Pairing: Aw, just go a long for the ride, eh?
Rating:  PG

Summary: Merry needs help with a plan.  The other hobbits are bored.

* * *

MERRY'S GREAT IDEA

* * *

“You’re going about it all wrong,” Frodo said placidly.

Pippin frowned. “Well, how else are we to go about it, then?” he wanted to know. He plonked himself beside his cousin on the big rock. “Have you a better suggestion?”

Frodo just smiled softly and patted Pippin’s head. Pippin might have objected but it was just at that moment that Sam came pushing through the brush, swearing softly and muttering under his breath.

“Bugger,” Pippin murmured then, more loudly, “No luck, Sam?”

“Well, plenty of luck,” Sam answered crossly, “though none of it a lick of good! Of all the dang-blasted, ruddy bad Brandybuck ideas, this has to be the worst.”

“Oh, no, I'm afraid you've got it wrong there,” Pippin protested. “The time when he thought it might be a good idea to prove to all and sundry that, not only does Pimpernel not wear bloomers, but that her… how did he put it?”

“The carpet doesn’t match the curtains,” Frodo prompted.

“Yes! That was it!” Pippin gave Frodo a wide grin before turning back to Sam. “He was sure that she dyed her hair, though she hotly denied it for months - insisted it was all lemon juice and sunshine, until Merry put that fishing pole to very strategic use. Almost lost four teeth as a result of that brilliant idea. How long was he in bed, Frodo, do you remember?”

“Four days.”

“Four days! And he never did get that excellent fishing lure back, did he?”

Frodo shook his head. “That was such a good lure, too. Worked almost every time. A shame, that.”

“Mm,” Pippin answered, nodding.

Sam sighed. “So then, why are we doing this again?”

Pippin and Frodo blinked at Sam. They turned to each other, blinked some more before turning back with matching looks of bewilderment.

“I’m afraid we don’t know what you mean,” Frodo said.

“I’m just wondering; if Mr. Merry’s notorious for his bad ideas, why exactly are we trying to help him find out…” Sam blushed, “…what we’re trying to help him find out?”

“Oh!” The cousins looked at each other and smiled with knowing nods.

“Well,” Pippin answered, “you have to admit that there hasn’t been much by way of entertainment on this journey, thus far.” He pulled his collar out and scratched at a midge bite to illustrate his point. Sam nodded. “And,” Pippin furthered, “he’s been patting himself on the back over the success of his conspiracy for just a bit too long, if you ask me.”

“Honestly,” Frodo put in, “if I have to hear one more time how lucky I am that he’s so very clever and how this redeems every bad idea he’s ever had…” He turned to Pippin. “Do you know that he actually thinks this should nullify the time he thought it a brilliant notion to teach you archery?”

“No!” Pippin exclaimed. “He wouldn’t!”

“Oh, but he does,” Frodo assured him with a sage nod of his head.

Sam frowned. “Excuse me, sir, but why would teaching Master Pippin to handle a bow be a bad idea?”

“Well, it’s not, on general principle,” Frodo told him. “Unless, of course, you consider that Pippin was only six, at the time, and that, since it was very cold outside, Merry decided the main bedroom tunnel of Bag End would be the proper place to do so.”

“Inside?” Sam cried.

“Inside,” Frodo replied. “Which still wouldn’t have been so bad, had I not just finished bathing and emerged into said tunnel just as Pippin was letting fly his first attempt.”

“So that’s how you got that nasty gash on your leg all those years ago!”

“Lucky it didn’t go right through his calf,” Pippin put in.

"Lucky you weren't a little taller," Frodo muttered.

"Oh, it wouldn't have done any real damage," Pippin offered. "It only grazed you, after all."

“Well, that’s only because your stance was entirely wrong and it didn’t have the velocity it should have.”

“My stance is perfectly fine!”

“You’re always off-center, Pip, and your draw has always been weak.”

“I resent that! It was that awful bow you’d made.” Pippin looked to Sam. “Who makes a bow out of maple, I ask you? Honestly!”

“It was beautiful!” Frodo defended.

“Beautiful, maybe, but I’ve never seen a less-accurate weapon in all my life. Everyone knows you make bows from ash, for pity’s sake.”

“You were six-years-old!” Frodo snapped. “How much experience with accuracy could you possibly have had? You couldn’t even be accurate with your aim in the privy!” He sniffed, lifted his chin. “Besides, ash doesn’t buff up as nicely as maple. One can make adjustments for accuracy in favor of beauty.”

“Yes,” replied Pippin, “and I’m sure any wild animals stalking you would step an inch or two to the right, so as to allow for your ‘accuracy’. In the interests of beauty, of course.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, as interesting as all of that is, I still say this were a bad idea from the get-go and I’m about done with Mr. Merry’s plans, if you want to know.” He squirmed, adjusted his trousers. “Got prickers in places best left not thought about,” he muttered.

“I agree,” Pippin said. “It was yet another bad idea, in my own opinion.”

“I don’t think I’d go that far,” Frodo mused. “The idea itself wasn’t bad; you’re just all going about it in the wrong way.”

Pippin lifted an eyebrow. “And what would a good--”

“Bugger all!” Merry came stumbling out of the brush, winded with his blood high in his cheeks. He shoved Pippin over into Frodo to make room for himself on the rock and immediately began prodding at the bottom of his foot. “Why didn’t you tell me about those prickers, Sam?” He pulled a spiney bit out of a toe, hissing.

“Did you find out?” Pippin asked excitedly.

Merry gave a morose shake of his head. “No,” he spat. “He nearly caught me, in fact. I had to make a quick dash into the undergrowth because Sam here abandoned me to my fate.”

“I said as you were on your own, if he looked like to spot us,” Sam defended.

“Well, he wouldn’t have turned around, had you not barreled away, as you did!” He turned his attention back to his foot and extracted another pricker. “Where were you when they were handing out the ability to stalk prey silently?” he wanted to know. “Hobbit stealth, my arse,” was the muttered furtherance.

“Oh, don’t get shirty with Sam, just because your great clod-hoppers almost got you caught,” Pippin chided. “You’re just put out because your ‘Great Idea’ didn’t pan out.”

“It was a Great Idea!” Merry cried. “It is! It's just that... well, who knew Rangers had such good hearing? I just need to figure out a better way to approach it, is all.”

“Frodo seems to think he knows a better way.”

All eyes turned to the eldest. Frodo looked back with a small, knowing smile.

“Well?” prompted Merry. “Do you know a better way, Frodo?”

“I believe I do, yes,” was the calm reply.

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense, for pity’s sake! What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t think I should tell,” Frodo answered. “But I will consider getting you your answer… depending, of course, upon what there might be in your pack that you’d be willing to part with.”

Merry was shocked. “You want a bribe?”

Frodo shrugged. “’Bribe’ is such an ugly word,” he said. “I prefer to think of it as payment for services rendered. You want a service – information – and I can render it. All that’s missing is the payment.”

Pippin snorted and Merry shot him a dark glare. He turned back to Frodo.

“And you won’t do it just out of familial considerations, eh?”

“Merry,” Frodo replied calmly, “If I won’t let Pippin tie me to the bedposts out of familial considerations when he begs so prettily,” and here he stopped, patted Pippin’s cheek and smiled, “what makes you think I’d do this for you, when I’m not the one who wants the information in the first place?”

“You know you really should let me sometime,” Pippin told Frodo quietly. “I let you do it to me, after all, and it’s all sorts of fun to be on the receiving end.”

“Will you be quiet,” Merry ground out. “I’m trying to think!”

“What sort of tether do you use, Master Pip?” Sam put in. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Not at all, Sam!” Pippin answered. “Been practicing your knots, have you?”

“Well, it’s only that Mr. Frodo gets out of the silk too easy and I’m afraid to go to something stronger, like rope or sommat.”

“Frodo!” Pippin looked hurt. “You let Sam--”

“Stone me, will you two shut your gobs!” Merry turned to Frodo. “Fine. I’ve some pipeweed left that Pippin hasn’t got his grubby paws on yet. Will that do?”

Frodo grinned. “Very nicely.” He stood. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

* * *

It took a little longer. The sky was beginning to give way with a tentative touch of rose-blue light and the first morning birds had begun to stir sleepily when Frodo finally ambled back to the other hobbits.

Pippin had dozed on Sam’s shoulder and was woken by Frodo’s soft humming. He looked up to see Frodo making his way quietly toward them, buttoning his waistcoat and adjusting his trousers. He seemed to glow. Pippin poked at Merry.

Merry sprang to his feet, wide-awake. “Well?”

Frodo just smiled softly, tilted his head. He reached up, pinched Merry’s cheek then pulled out a very large pair of underlinens from beneath his cloak.

“Boxers,” he said then went to make tea

* * *

END

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