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Counterpoint, Interfolio
Virtuoso: a person who has great skill in the technique of an art.
A/N: For the ever-fabulous Elanor Gardner, because it's her birthday and I *heart* her. (It's almost always her fault when I get hit with the silly stick. *points* Just sayin'. At least no one's in a dress this time. Oy.) Many thanks to Willow-wode for the once-over.
* * *
Well, Pippin thought, glared up at Merry and rolled his eyes, this is bollocks.
"I assure you, Odo," Merry was saying, "it's only a slight cold and Frodo will be fine. He's having a lie-down right now, but I've no doubt he'll be up and about and ready to welcome young Pip shortly."
Pippin rolled his eyes again. 'Young Pip'. Bah. Stupid Merry. What was he doing here anyway? This was supposed to be Pippin's visit. And where did Merry get off calling him 'Pip'?
"I don't know," Cousin Odo said slowly, peered down at Pippin with a worried glance. "His mum won't be best pleased with me if she learns I've dropped him off in a sickroom."
"Sickroom!" Merry snorted, reached over and set a hand to Pippin's shoulder; Pippin tried to twitch it off, but Merry tightened his grip. "A cold, I tell you, Odo. Honestly, you act as though Frodo's on his last legs."
"I want to see him," Pippin said, set his jaw firmly when Merry shot him a warning glance. He tossed his head, gave Merry a confident stare. "If he's sick, he'll want to see me."
Which… all right, Pippin had no idea if that was true or not, because as far as he knew, Frodo had never been sick before, and some people tended to get rather shirty when they weren't feeling well. Pimpernel once threw a clay pot of hand-cream at his head when he'd gone into her room uninvited -- of course, when it came to Pippin and his sisters' bedsmials, he was always uninvited -- and his mum had said it was because she was feeling poorly, as she had her 'Moon Flow'. Pippin didn't know exactly what that meant, but he knew it was something entirely female and therefore vaguely frightening.
Still, asserting with confidence that he knew exactly what Frodo needed -- and that what he needed was Pippin -- was worth a go. He twisted out of Merry's grip, turned down the tunnel, but Cousin Odo latched onto the strap on his pack and jerked him back.
"I think you'd best come to Budgeford with me," he said. "Your mum will skin me if you end up sick in Hobbiton."
"Oh, honestly," Merry said, rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're making too much of it, Odo, I assure you. It's a sniffle or two and I tell you that Pippin will be just fine." He drew Pippin closer against him, began sliding the pack from his shoulders; Pippin resisted, tried very hard not to growl, but Merry was so pushy! "He's been looking forward to Pippin's visit and will be most distressed if he wakes to find that you've absconded with him. Auntie Eglantine's wrath is nothing compared to Frodo's, of that I can attest quite ably."
Merry tried again to slide Pippin's pack off, and Pippin again shrugged him off, added a bit of a twist this time and 'accidentally' stomped on Merry's big toe. And all right, it wasn't very nice, and it wasn't as though he didn't like Merry, but… well, this was supposed to be Pippin's visit, not Merry's, and Pippin hardly ever got to have Frodo to himself anymore since Merry'd come along, and Pippin never tried to horn in on Merry's visits.
Much.
Except for last Samhain, but that didn't count because Mum and Da were going to Long Cleeve on holiday and were going to have Pearl of all people mind him whilst they were gone and that was just too silly for words (parents sometimes, honestly), so Pippin had threatened to put jam in her bloomers and newts in her powder pots. So, in point of fact, the idea to send him to Bag End had been Pearl's. Pippin couldn't help it if Merry was visiting then, too.
Except for that, Pippin always very generously shared Frodo with Merry.
Really.
Well, and there was that last Rethe when he'd written Frodo to tell him all about how his mum and dad made him live in the cellars with the mushrooms for two weeks, and how his sisters would come down sometimes to hold him down and put braids and ribbons in his hair and call him 'Petunia' and they'd pinch him if he didn't curtsey properly and he was bruised from head-to-toe, and how the servants were only allowed to feed him crusts of mouldy bread and slimy water and oh, how he longed to see the Sun again, and he hadn't done anything to deserve such severe punishment, not anything! It had certainly made a better tale than the reality that he'd been banished to his room for two days with only three meals and no pudding because he'd dressed three of the old sows in his sisters' skirts and re-named them Pearl, Pervinca and Pimpernel. (He might have got away with that last, if he hadn't actually painted the names on the pigs' heads.) Anyway, a return post came back only a few days later with an invitation for Pippin to come to Bag End and stay all the way until Eostre. Pippin made sure he was extra cross and belligerent at supper that night to make sure his mum accepted the invitation. How could Pippin know that Frodo and Merry were supposed to have gone rafting for a week up the Brandywine? Rethe was too cold for rafting anyway.
Merry's hand went around Pippin's nape this time, squeezed, and Pippin clenched his teeth, sent an elbow in the general direction of Merry's crotch. Lucky for Merry he missed. And then Merry gripped Pippin's shoulder until it almost hurt, spun him about and crouched down in front of him. The charming smile he'd sported for Cousin Odo dropped so suddenly that Pippin blinked and Merry leaned in close, said very quietly between his teeth: "If you want to stay, you little demon, you'd best learn to follow my lead or you'll be carted off to Budgeford and I'll stand at the door and wave you goodbye."
Pippin blinked again.
"If Eglantine hears so much as a rumour that I left him here with Frodo ill, she'll--"
"She'll hear not a peep from this direction," Merry answered, stood, smile once again firmly in place, and again tried to strip Pippin of his pack; Pippin let him this time. "Odo, you know Frodo wouldn't dream of allowing the lad to fall ill. You're making too much of a tiny little cold."
Despite the newly-discovered knowledge that stupid old Merry was actually trying to help Pippin, still he just had to roll his eyes. 'The lad'. Yeesh. And he hated it when people talked about him as though he wasn't even here. Sometimes he thought Merry was under the impression that when a person happened to be shorter and younger than he was, it meant they couldn't hear him when he talked. Or understand what he was saying. Of course, Pippin couldn't entirely blame him; some Brandybucks made up for in size what they lacked in sense and perhaps Merry was just used to being smarter than everyone else. Or thinking he was.
"And I'll be here the entire time, so you really have nothing to worry about."
Pippin's mouth dropped open. The entire time?!
Merry was steering Cousin Odo to the door now. "He'll have a wonderful time, Odo, and Auntie need never know about Frodo's sniffles."
"Well, but what if--"
"And it would be rather awkward if Uncle Paladin came to collect him next week and found him not here."
"There's always the Post, and it wouldn't--"
"And Pippin's at that age where lasses are icky, so it's best we don't inflict him upon your Estella. I have every confidence Pippin's sisters would back me up on that one."
Pippin frowned; he was pretty sure that was insulting. True, but insulting.
"Well, Rosamunda would certainly--"
"Frodo asked me to thank you kindly for allowing Pippin to tag along with you and to give you his regards. He's quite grateful to you."
All right, Pippin did have to grudgingly hand it to Merry: Cousin Odo didn't even seem to realise he was on his way out before Merry had him on the porch and was pushing him towards the walk.
"But--"
"I'd offer you something for the road, but as I said, Frodo's kipping and I'm afraid I've neglected to put the kettle on."
"No, but--"
"But Budgeford's only another hour, I'm sure you'll be fine. Please give Freddy our best, won't you?"
Merry was backing through the door now, pleasant smile still firmly planted on his mouth.
Poor Cousin Odo -- he'd been so nice to Pippin on the road and now he looked like he didn't even remember his own name. "Yes, well… that is--"
"Leave Pippin's pony tethered there at the gate, yes? We'll take care of it after I've got him settled in. Bye, now! Safe trip!"
And he closed the door with a firm snick. A deep, long sigh and Merry closed his eyes, thumped his forehead to the door.
"I want to see Frodo," Pippin demanded.
One eyelid slid up halfway and Merry shot a narrow glance at Pippin out the corner of his eye. "Frodo is sick, Pippin," he said into the door. "He's sleeping right now and you will see him when he wakes."
"If he's sick," Pippin countered with a haughty lift of his chin, "he'll want to see me." And then he smirked. "I'm his favourite cousin, you know. He told me so."
"Mm," said Merry, rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door. "Be that as it may, he'll not want to see you when he's sleeping, will he? Let him rest and you'll see him when he wakes."
Pippin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How d'you know he's even still sleeping?" he wanted to know. "P'raps he's up now. I can sneak down the tunnel and surprise him. I can be very quiet."
What an excellent idea, and Pippin spun on his heel, started down the tunnel to do exactly that. His dad always said he was full of ideas. Of course, his dad also always said that he was full of piss and vinegar, too, but his dad was a little old and sometimes said things that made no sense.
Unfortunately, it took at least two steps for Pippin to realise that Merry had snagged at his collar this time; he gagged, flailed, but Merry gripped his shoulder, too, and shook him a little.
"If Frodo was awake," Merry said, again through his teeth, and Pippin was beginning to wonder if Merry even knew how to talk normally, "he would have been at the door, telling Odo to take you to Budgeford with him because he wouldn't want you catching sick!"
Pippin gave Merry his very best glower, even snarled a little. "He wouldn't either! He wants me here! It's my visit, not yours! You're not even supposed to be here! Why are you here? Why don't you just go home?"
Merry shook again. "Keep your voice down!" He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, blew it out slowly. More calmly, he said, "I am here because Frodo is sick, Pippin, and he needs someone about to see to him." He shook his head, rubbed at his brow. "Look, Pippin, I know we don't always get on, but I promise -- this is still your visit, all right? And it would be a lot easier for us to take care of Frodo if you're not stomping on my toes and trying to relieve me of my stones. He's sick, so why don't we just pretend we're friends until he's better, all right?"
Now Pippin frowned. "You told Cousin Odo it was a bit of the sniffles."
A lift of an eyebrow and then a shrug. "I lied."
"But…"
Pippin slumped a bit, peered at Merry a little more closely. His clothes were clean and neat and his hair was combed, but now that Pippin was paying attention, he could see the half-moons beneath Merry's eyes, and his stomach dropped a little.
"Really sick?"
Frodo couldn't be really sick. Really sick people sometimes didn't get better.
"Don't look so worried," Merry told him, even gave him a small smile. "His head's all stuffed up and he's a bit of a cough, but that's all. Honestly. He only needs rest and tea and soup." He stood, scooped Pippin's pack from the floor behind him and started to lead him down the tunnel towards the bedsmials. "He probably won't feel up to playing much for a few days, but he'll be back to normal before the end of your visit."
"Are you sure?" Pippin wanted to know. "Has the doctor been? What did he say? Did he leave medicine or something? Because I can help with medicine. If you take it with something sweet, it isn't nearly so bad. Once I put a stomach powder into buttermilk and mixed in peach jam and four spoons of sugar and I couldn't taste it at all. I still threw up, but it didn't taste so bad coming back up."
Merry snorted, put a hand to Pippin's shoulder; Pippin let him this time.
Pippin," he said with a grin, "that is one of the more disgusting things I've ever heard you say. I think you've put me off buttermilk for life."
Pippin grinned back but quickly turned serious again. "Are you sure that--"
"Yes, I'm sure and yes, the doctor's been by and yes, there is medicine, but Frodo won't take it. Perhaps that should be your job, mm? Making sure he takes the medicine? Only, I'd leave out the jam. And the buttermilk. Sugar might do the trick."
Pippin grinned, nodded firmly. "Oh, aye! He'll take it for me. I'm his favourite, you know."
"Yes," Merry agreed with a sideways smile as he pushed Pippin through the door of his guestsmial. "So you said." He dropped Pippin's pack on the bed. "Can you unpack by yourself or do you need help?"
Pippin wasn't even insulted by the stupid question. He tilted his head with a small frown.
"Did Frodo really not want me to come?"
Merry sat on the bed, shrugged. "Frodo didn't want you to get sick, so he asked me to tell Odo that you should have a visit with him instead, if he wasn't awake to do so himself."
Pippin thought about that one for a moment. "So, he wanted me to come, but he thought I shouldn't?"
"That's right."
Well, that made sense, but…
"Then why did you fib to Cousin Odo so that I could stay?"
Merry shrugged again. "Because he's been looking forward to your visit for weeks, though I can't say I know why." He smirked a little, lifted an eyebrow. "You're a bit of a bother, you know." Surprisingly, Pippin failed to explode into an offended snit. "But if Frodo wants something," Merry went on, "I want to give it to him, and this time, that something was you. If we're very careful, we can keep you from getting sick and cheer Frodo up at the same time. Though, he's likely to be rather in a strop with me, so we may have to work doubly to keep him from skinning me." He paused, peered at Pippin warily. "That is, if you want to eat and such for the next few days; I'm afraid I'm all you've got for preparing meals for now."
Oooh, tempting. He really did have Merry by the… what was it Pearl said? The small and curlies? No, the short and curlies, that was it. Whatever those were. If Pippin played it just right, Frodo would be angry with Merry for days and Pippin could have him all to himself. Even if he was sick and didn't feel up to drafts or cards, they could still read together and tell each other stories, and Pippin was perfectly capable of seeing to Frodo by himself.
Still, Merry had made it so that Pippin could stay and he was taking care of Frodo. Pippin supposed he could put in a good word. If he had to.
Pippin nodded firmly, unbuckled his pack and dumped his vests and underdrawers onto the bed. "I'd like custard for afters," he said.
Merry blinked. "Er… custard."
Pippin's brow drew down. "You do know how to make custard, don't you?"
Merry only stared for a moment then he took a deep breath, slapped at his knees and abruptly stood. "So, do you need help with unpacking or not?"
He probably thought Pippin didn't notice that he didn't answer the question; Pippin allowed him to continue thinking it.
"I can do it," he said, slid out his sack of toys; he'd packed them in the middle so nothing would get broken.
"Right then." Merry practically ran to the door. "Get yourself settled in; tea is ready in the kitchen and when we've finished that, we'll go and curry your pony."
Pippin frowned. "You told cousin Odo that you'd forgotten to put the kettle on."
"I lied," Merry told him and quit the room.
Pippin sighed, stacked his shirts neatly then placed them in the press.
Well, then. This was going to be interesting.
* * *
"You're doing that wrong, you know."
Merry paused, dipped his head and sighed. He had quite a chokehold on that chicken; good thing it was already dead.
"Kitchen rule number one," Merry said to the cutting board then he turned, held up his right hand. "Don't try to boss the hobbit with the big knife."
Pippin shrugged, dipped his biscuit in his tea. Right, like he was the bossy one.
"All right," he answered, shook his head. "But you're supposed to cook the chicken before you put it in the water." Then he opened wide and shoved the whole biscuit in his mouth. His mum never let him do that at home.
Merry frowned, looked at the chicken in his hand. "But the water cooks it," he said.
Pippin swallowed some of the biscuit, but had to tuck most of it in his cheeks in order to answer; his mum never let him do that, either, and Pervinca always told on him if he did it while she wasn't looking.
"No, the water cooks the vegetables," he told Merry. "You have to cook the chicken in the oven first and then you use the slime in the pan and the bones to make the broth."
Now Merry looked confused. "But the chicken is on the bones."
Stars above, the hobbit was hopeless. Did they not let him near the kitchens at the Hall? Surely they'd taught him something. After all, what good was a hobbit who didn't know how to make chicken soup?
Pippin took a gulp of his tea so he could swallow his biscuit. Carefully, he placed his cup on its saucer, said patiently, "You have to cook the chicken first. Then you take it off the bones and chop it up into little pieces. Then you fill a pot with water, dump in the slime and the bones and boil it up."
Merry again peered at the chicken in his hand, said dubiously, "I've never had chicken soup with bones in it."
Pippin stared. Good glory, for all that Merry was one of the smartest hobbits he knew, it was all too obvious that he was a complete dolt in the kitchen. Pippin frowned, peered at Merry curiously.
"Have you been in a kitchen before?"
That made Merry glare, and Pippin hadn't really meant it the way it sounded, but at least it got rid of that look of blank confusion.
"Yes, I've been in a kitchen before," Merry retorted crossly then he turned about, slapped the chicken onto the cutting board and hacked off its head. "I know how to make… things, just…" waved the knife about, "you know, other things."
"What things?" Pippin wanted to know.
"Things that are not soup!" Merry snapped.
Pippin raised an eyebrow. He'd believe that when he saw it. Or, heaven forefend, tasted it.
"Merry, what are you doing in my kitchen? You're not cooking, are you?"
Pippin turned to the doorway, saw Frodo leaning against the frame, looking pale and drawn, nose all red and sore-looking and eyes a little over-bright. A thick, brown robe was wrapped about him, belted in a sloppy knot about his waist, but even with that, he still looked as though he were shivering a little. He coughed -- a wet, miserable sound that nearly bent him over with the force of it before it tapered off into wheezes. His hazy glance landed on Pippin, stared blankly for a moment, before he frowned.
"Pippin!" A brief smile then he turned, sneezed into a soggy-looking handkerchief. He turned back, shot Merry a suspicious look before looking again to Pippin. "What are you doing here, lad? You were supposed to go on to Budgeford with Odo."
Merry gave Pippin a panicked, sideways glance, cleared his throat. "What are you doing out of bed, Frodo? Doctor Grubb said you were to rest until at least tomorrow. Off with you, now. Back to bed and we'll bring you tea and toast."
Well, Pippin certainly recognised distraction when he saw it. And it appeared that so did Frodo; the crease in his brow grew deeper and his eyes narrowed.
"Merry, didn't you tell Odo to--"
"Cousin Odo didn't come to the door, Frodo," Pippin piped in and he rose, crossed the kitchen and took hold of Frodo's arm. "He was in a bit of a rush, so I told him he could just drop me at the gate and I'd come up on my own." He nodded with a bit of a grin. "He said I was a big lad now and that would be just fine. Merry said I was a big lad, too, and that I should help take care of you." He paused, peered at Merry and now his grin was probably a bit on the devilish side. "Didn't you, Merry?"
Merry was having a bit of a staring contest with a carrot. "Mm," was all he said.
Pippin peered back up at Frodo. "Socks is still down at the gate. Merry's going to help me curry him after we've started the soup. And Merry says he's going to let me make the soup while he watches." Another sidelong look. "Aren't you, Merry?"
Now Merry sighed, slumped down a bit. "Mm," he said again.
Poor Frodo. He looked a little fuzzy about the edges, as though he was almost following the conversation, but not entirely. He just sort of shook his head, mussed at his hair then sneezed again.
"You shouldn't be here, Pippin," he said into his handkerchief then he snuffled and pulled his arm out of Pippin's grip. "Perhaps I should write your mum and have someone come and collect you. I don't want you getting sick."
"Well, you aren't going to sneeze on me, are you?" Pippin wanted to know.
A wet snort from Frodo. "I hadn't planned on it."
"Then I'm sure I'll be fine. Merry hasn't got sick, has he, and he snogs you all the time, so if you don't sneeze on me or snog me--"
"Pippin, why would you…?" Frodo trailed off, pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Never mind, I really don't want to know."
Pippin lifted his chin. "I'm not a bairn, you know. I know what sex is."
A sharp clatter as Merry's knife fell to the cutting board. Pippin ignored it, only kept looking at Frodo; Frodo looked blankly back then gave his head a sharp shake.
"Have I missed something? How did we start talking about sex?"
Pippin held back a self-satisfied grin. Merry wasn't the only one who knew how to use distraction. And with Frodo sick and slightly befuddled already, it was almost too easy.
"I said I'm a big lad now, Frodo, weren't you listening? I know all about sex, you know."
Frodo was staring at him with something between horror and amusement. "Do you, then?"
"Oh, yes," Pippin replied seriously. "I know it's how you have babies and I know there's lots of snogging and rolling about and it's very noisy, at least when you and Merry do it, and I--"
"Pippin!"
"What? I haven't watched or anything." Pippin kept his sober expression, explained, "You always put me in the smial next to yours. I can hear everything, you know."
Pippin blinked innocently and pretended he didn't hear the choking noises coming from Merry's direction while Frodo stared at him with his jaw hanging open. Frodo only shook his head slowly, let his fuzzy gaze drift to Merry. Blinked.
Merry straightened, cleared his throat and very cleverly busied himself with chopping an onion -- it would help explain the tears in his eyes. "Frodo, why don't you go on back to bed? We'll bring you some tea on a tray as soon as we get this chicken in the stove." He placed the chicken in a roasting pan, added the onions, all the while smiling calmly at Frodo.
Frodo nodded slowly, rubbed a hand over his face. "I think that might be best," was all he said then he turned and made his way slowly down the tunnel to his room, coughs echoing behind him.
It was several moments after they heard the snick of the door closing before Merry turned to Pippin with a knowing little grin. "You know how you told Frodo all those things I never said about you being a big lad?"
Pippin grinned back, nodded. "I lied," he answered smugly.
And Merry snorted. "Not if I wish I'd said them," he replied. He dragged a chair away from the table, pulled it up to the counter and patted the seat. "Climb on up," he told Pippin. "You can have a look and make sure I did it right before it goes in the oven."
Pippin trained his expression into one of gravity; he would not grin like an idiot and spoil his Grownup Moment. He hoisted himself up onto the chair, peered into the pan.
"You did take the guts out, right?" he asked Merry.
Merry's smile fell. He turned his eyes slowly to the pan. "Guts?"
* * *
All right, so this wasn't turning out to be nearly as horrible as Pippin had been thinking it might. Merry was actually being rather nice to him and more, he was actually listening to the things Pippin said and taking them seriously. Well, mostly. Pippin thought he'd looked a little too amused when they were brushing down Socks and he'd told Merry about how he'd got caught out in the wilderness after dark and had to race wolves to keep from being eaten alive and how Socks had kicked two of them and sent them howling. But seeing as how it had actually been mid-afternoon and he'd been with his dad and they'd passed through a herd of sheep and Socks got a little spooked when one of them butted his leg and he bucked a little, Pippin supposed he could let it pass.
And anyway, Merry might be a gigantic failure in the kitchen, but he did know ponies. He would have scored more marks if he'd just curried Socks himself and let Pippin sit back and watch, but he did help quite a lot and he'd shown Pippin how to stroke the finishing brush over Socks' neck in a way that nearly made the pony swoon in ecstasy. Plus, he let Pippin pick the hoofs all by himself and didn't once say that he was too small and might get kicked if he did it wrong. And he said he was going to be buying a new pony come spring and he'd promised to let Pippin name it.
Now, Merry placed a small glass of apple juice on the tray, and gave Pippin an expectant nod. "Anything else?"
Pippin looked the tray over with a critical eye. There was tea, naturally, and the juice, of course; that would feel good on a sore throat. There was the soup, which had turned out wonderfully, if Pippin did say so -- he and Merry had each had two bowls -- and crackers to go with it. Merry had even found a jar of pears down in the cellar, and they'd added a small cup of them to the tray, as well.
"What about the medicine?" Pippin wanted to know.
"Ah!" Merry went to the sideboard and retrieved a bottle that looked suspiciously like liquor to Pippin. "He's to take two spoonfuls of this every four hours. Shall we try to sneak it into the juice, or do you think you can sweet-talk him into it?"
Pippin grinned with confidence. "Sweet-talk," he said. "Frodo always tells me yes."
Sceptical, Merry lifted an eyebrow. "I'll warn you: I've already tried every trick I know, but once he got a whiff of the stuff, nothing has swayed him."
"Is it that bad?" Merry said nothing, only uncorked the bottle and waved it under Pippin's nose. Pippin jolted back so hard, he nearly toppled off the chair. "Bugger all, that's nasty!" He flapped a hand in front of his nose, grimaced. "It smells like old fish! I wouldn't want to put that in my mouth, either, and I once swallowed a worm on a dare."
Merry was peering at him with a little smirk. "I'll forget that 'bugger all' if you can get him to take it."
Oh, bollocks, had he said that out loud?
"Not sure I want to, now," Pippin told him. "I mean, I like Frodo."
"As do I," Merry assured him as he slipped the cork back into place. "But this is supposed to ease that cough and help him sleep so he can get better. It gets worse at night and he hasn't been sleeping well."
Pippin peered at the bottle dubiously. "I suppose I could try."
"Good!" Merry placed the medicine on the tray. "Now, you wait here for a moment or two, all right? I want to have a quick talk with Frodo before you bring him the tray."
"I'm to bring it?" His mum had once let him carry a roast to the table on a crystal serving-dish, but she'd hovered over him the whole time, hand outstretched and ready to catch if he suddenly turned clumsy and bobbled it; she'd never trust him with a whole tray.
Merry's eyebrows went up. "Well, you said you wanted to take care of him and this is your visit, right?"
"Right," Pippin agreed with a grin.
"Right," Merry echoed. "So, you just wait here for a bit and I'll give a yell when it's time to bring it, all right?"
Pippin smiled, nodded, and watched as Merry turned and left the kitchen. And then, because he was Pippin, hopped down from his chair and followed. He peered about the kitchen doorway, waited until Merry made his way up the tunnel and turned into Frodo's room, then he darted quietly down after him, pressed himself to the curved wall of the tunnel just outside Frodo's room.
"I'm not speaking to you," he heard Frodo say. His voice was rough and he sounded very tired.
"Then I suppose I must not have heard what you just didn't say," Merry replied.
Pippin had to think about that one for a second before it made sense. Then he snorted a little.
"Go away, or I'll…" A pause while Frodo coughed. "I'll throw a pillow at you."
"Mm, that'll teach me," said Merry.
And then a pillow came sailing out into the hall.
"Hoy! That almost hit me!"
And another.
"Frodo, will you--"
An explosion of coughing and Pippin almost decided to go into the smial and see if Frodo was all right, but when he poked his head around the doorframe, Merry was sitting on the bed, holding onto Frodo until the fit subsided. Frodo wheezed, wiped at his mouth, slumped and leaned into Merry.
"I can hear how the cough is," Merry said after a moment, "but how is your head?"
A dull snort from Frodo. "About eight sizes too big and filled with thorns, I think."
Merry rubbed a hand up and down his back. "I'll add a powder to your tray. Shall I mix it into the tea?"
Pippin's eyebrows drew down. He was supposed to be taking care of Frodo. If anyone should be rubbing backs and handing out headache powders, it should be Pippin. Sod all, if Merry had been fibbing to him…
"Tray?" Frodo's eyes were closed, but now he was frowning. "You didn't cook me something, did you?"
Pippin almost snorted out loud. Apparently, Frodo was well aware of the dangers of letting Merry loose in a kitchen.
"In fact I did," Merry answered as he pushed Frodo back down to what was left of the pillows.
Wait, Merry had cooked? Now Pippin's teeth clenched. It was rather a shame that he and Merry had only just recently agreed to be friends, because now Merry was going to have to suffer. Horribly.
"Well, I don't know if what I did can actually be called cooking," he went on. "It was more like standing about and doing what Pippin told me."
Oh. That was all right, then.
Merry put a hand to Frodo's forehead. "Still no fever, which is good," he said and Pippin had to agree. "How do you feel?"
"I feel a warm, sweaty sensation on my brow," Frodo replied. "Like the touch of an over-eager nursemaid." And then he opened his eyes, smirked. "Oh, it's you!" Then he sneezed.
Merry rolled his eyes. "Nursemaid," he growled. "Here I am, sort-of-slaving over hot soup and having pillows hurled at my head and all for what?"
"Yes," Frodo agreed, the smirk still very present. "Soup and tea and compresses and trying to force-feed whatever swamp-water Grubb is trying to pass off as medicine." The smirk turned into a grin. "When all else fails, turn into your mother."
"Oh, har," Merry retorted then crawled over Frodo until he was lying beside him, his head resting on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo wrapped an arm about him, closed his eyes. "I never get to take care of you," Merry told him. "And now that you're too weak to fight me and completely at my mercy, you will suffer through my tender care if it kills you."
Frodo started to snort, but it tried to turn into a cough, so he choked it down. Merry lifted his head, peered up at him in concern until Frodo managed to control it; he gave Merry a reassuring smile and Merry peered at him suspiciously for another moment before laying his head back down and closing his eyes again. His arm tightened about Frodo's middle as Frodo's eyes drifted shut.
"Pippin will be bringing you your swamp-water very shortly," Merry said sternly. "And since he was kind enough and talented enough to make you some fantastic chicken soup -- glory, the child's a savant in the kitchen -- you'd best take it this time. That cough is getting worse."
Frodo ignored the order, said instead, "Pippin shouldn't be here, Merry. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that you love the little rotter and wanted to see him."
Pippin chose to ignore the 'rotter' part.
"Of course, but I don't want him to catch whatever I've got."
"He won't."
"Merry, if he gets sick--"
"He won't."
"But he could and--"
"He won't."
A weary sigh. "How can you know that?"
Merry grinned into Frodo's shoulder. "Because I haven't and I snog you all the time." A low snort from Frodo and Merry's smile curled wider into a grin. "And have sex."
Pippin could see Frodo's chest quivering as he tried to hold back a laugh. "Loud sex," he amended. "Lots of moaning and groaning."
"Well, that's just you," Merry retorted.
Frodo swatted weakly at Merry's arm, grinning, and then the laughter won, but turned quickly into coughing. Frodo turned his head to the side and Merry again lifted up, watching Frodo with concern as Frodo hacked and wheezed, until he managed to get the spasm under control. The coughs tapered off, subsided, and Frodo sank down into the bedding, sighed.
Pippin didn't realise he'd stepped into the doorway until both Frodo and Merry were blinking at him in mild surprise.
Pippin blinked back, said, "Um…" Caught spying, for pity's sake, how childish was that? So much for being a grownup. He cast about, looking for an excuse -- any excuse would do -- and he turned his eyes to the floor. "You've pillows in the hall," he said rather stupidly. "I was just going to collect them and… well, and you know, put them back, and… just…"
And then he ran out of things to say. He only stood there, peering at his two older cousins miserably, and waiting for the chastisements to start coming.
Except they didn't; Frodo smiled at him, waved him into the room.
"I was wondering where those went," he said, and Pippin didn't know if Frodo was pretending that he hadn't thrown them or that he didn't know Pippin had been spying from the hallway when he had. "Bring them in, won't you? Merry tells me you've made some lovely soup and I'll need those so I can sit up and eat it."
Pippin picked up the pillows, started into the room then stopped short. "The tray."
He hadn't brought the tray. He was supposed to be taking care of Frodo and he hadn't even brought him his stupid sodding tray!
"Let me," Merry said as he carefully hoisted himself up from Frodo's side and stepped over to Pippin. "Why don't you help Frodo with those pillows and climb on in with him to keep him warm and I'll go get the tray, all right? Did you check it over? Everything's as it should be?"
Pippin only nodded, peered at Merry closely, looking for a patronising smirk or a cheeky glint in his eye; there was neither. Merry only nodded back, gave Pippin a pat on the shoulder as he went by and quit the room.
"The headache powder!" Pippin called before he realised that he'd just further tattled on himself; he wouldn't have known about the powder if he hadn't been spying.
But Merry only kept going, said, "Right, powder," from the hallway as he made his way to the kitchen.
Pippin blinked at Frodo for a moment; Frodo smiled again, pointed to the pillows.
"Would you help me with those, please?"
"Of course."
Pippin smiled back, stepped over to the bed. Frodo sat up slowly, moving gingerly to avoid stirring up a coughing-fit, Pippin guessed, but it didn't help: wet, whooping barks rumbled low from his chest, almost like he had a thunderstorm in there, and Frodo bent over his knees as it shook him. It sounded awful, and painful, and Frodo's face was getting redder with every violent expulsion of air forced from his lungs. And for all that Pippin had, just five minutes ago, been considering himself a big lad and certainly more capable than Merry of taking care of someone, in the face of Frodo's spasms, he suddenly felt very young and completely helpless. It was with some surprise that he found himself wishing that Merry were here.
He dropped the pillows, tried patting Frodo on the back, but that only seemed to annoy him a little, so Pippin settled for rubbing up and down as he'd seen Merry doing. It took a moment, but the hacking eventually tapered down to rough gasping, and then to wheezing whistles, and finally to even breathing.
Frodo blew out several long breaths, wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his nightshirt then lifted his head, gave Pippin a weary smile.
"Did I scare you?"
Pippin only stared for a moment, probably looking more like a coney in a hawk's shadow, rather than the big lad he'd been thinking himself, he thought with not a little disgust. And then he set his jaw, took a deep breath and smiled.
"Of course not," he told Frodo then picked the pillows back up and began arranging them at Frodo's back. "It does sound rather nasty, though. Does it hurt awfully?"
"Some," Frodo admitted, waited until Pippin was done fluffing before settling back. "It's not nearly as bad as it sounds, I promise."
"Oh, I'm not worried," Pippin lied. He climbed up on the bed and over Frodo as Merry had done, settled in carefully beside him and laid his head down. "But Merry is, you know."
Frodo snorted a little. "Merry's always worried about something or other."
Pippin had to grin; Merry was a bit high-strung. Still…
"He'd feel better if you took your medicine, you know." So would Pippin, but he'd only pull that out if this tack didn't work.
"Maybe he would, but I don't think I would," Frodo replied and Pippin could hear the weariness in his voice. "I've enough problems without adding an upset stomach to the bill."
Pippin couldn't help the grin. "I know, I smelled the stuff," he told Frodo. "I don't know why medicine always has to taste like poison. Why can't it taste like peppermints or cherry pie or something?"
"Wouldn't that be lovely?" Frodo sighed and patted at Pippin's arm.
"Still, you should take your medicine, Frodo." Pippin sat up, looked seriously at his cousin. And went in for the kill. "Merry's very worried and I don't think he's sleeping well. He's got big circles under his eyes, you know."
"Has he?" Frodo frowned, looked towards the door and then back again to Pippin with a guilty flush. "I hadn't noticed."
"Well, you've been sick," Pippin told him. "Hard to notice something like that when you're hacking up a lung every five minutes."
A crooked little smile from Frodo. "You make it sound so glamorous."
Pippin snorted. "Mm, yes, that red nose is all the fashion now, you know."
"So, I'm a trendsetter, am I?"
"With dirty, tangled hair. Have you lost your comb, Frodo?"
Frodo scowled, ran his fingers through his hair. "It isn't dirty," he defended. "Just… not entirely clean." And then he crossed his arms over his chest. "Your fuss-pot cousin wouldn't let me have a bath yesterday. And I begged!"
"Fuss-pot," Pippin snorted.
"Bossy fuss-pot," Frodo amended.
"I'll tell you a secret," Pippin said, shot a quick glance to the doorway to make sure Merry wasn't about. "If you just pretend you know more about something than he does, he gets all confused and lets you do it your way."
Frodo lifted his eyebrows with a little smile. "Is that so?"
"It is," Pippin told him. "I've never made chicken soup in my life, but I've seen Cook do it hundreds of times -- if I'm very quiet and stay out of her way, she lets me taste everything and gives me all the broken biscuits -- so when I just made like I knew what I was doing, Merry thought I did and then he listened." A sage nod. "And the soup turned out wonderful, wait 'til you taste it."
"I find that hard to believe," Frodo said.
A frown bordering on indignant slipped to Pippin's face. "It's true, Frodo. You'll see when Merry brings it."
"No, I mean that you can be quiet." And he tweaked Pippin's nose.
Pippin tried not to grin, failed, then rolled his eyes. "Anyway, most times he knows about things, but sometimes he doesn't and it makes him all arsy, because he doesn't like it when he doesn't know something."
"Language," Frodo told him.
Pippin's mouth snapped shut with a small pop. Bollocks. He really had to be more careful about letting everything in his head spill out his mouth.
"Sorry," he said with a grin that he hoped was endearing; Frodo didn't grin back, but Pippin could tell it was only because he was trying not to. "Well, anyway -- he's worried about you because he doesn't know what to do for sick people, and I think he'd worry a lot less if you took your medicine so you can get better. I know it's awful, but mum always says that you never get anything good without having to endure something bad." Pippin shrugged. "And anyway, Merry can't cook to save his life and I don't know how to make breakfast, so you need to get better so I don't starve." He placed the back of his hand to his brow, flopped back on the bed. "I'm dying for some custard."
Frodo snorted, caught a cough and swallowed it back. "Custard for breakfast?"
Well, Pippin hadn't thought of that, but…
"Why not? It's got eggs in it, hasn't it?"
There was a bit of a clatter from the hallway then: "Blast!" and Merry angled around the doorway, balancing a tray on each hand. "Pippin, help a fellow out, would you? This tea's about to go over."
Pippin climbed over Frodo then leapt off the bed, carefully centred the over-balancing teacup back into its saucer then relieved Merry of one of the trays. Merry indicated with a nod that Pippin should place his tray on top of the chest at the foot of the bed, while he slid the one he was holding onto Frodo's lap.
"I wasn't sure if you prefer chicken or ham," Merry said to Pippin, "so I gave you some of each.
Pippin blinked down at the tray. "This is for me?" A plate piled high with both chicken and ham, with two thick slices of brown bread and a large dollop of butter on the side, along with a tall glass of milk.
"Well, it's a little early for afternoon tea," Merry said as he steadied the tray on Frodo's lap then turned to Pippin, "but I don't think I've ever known you not to be hungry."
Pippin started to grin then stopped, cast a wary glance at Merry. "Did you cook it?"
Frodo coughed a bit and Merry turned an anxious look on him until Frodo cleared his throat, dipped his head and made himself busy with stirring his soup. Merry looked back at Pippin, frowned a little.
"The ham is leftover from a few nights ago," Frodo volunteered to his tray; his voice was a little wavery and his shoulders were shaking. "Merry helped me with the glaze." He cleared his throat again, smiled up at Merry. "Didn't you, love?"
"Well, I would have done," Merry answered, "but you sent me out to the garden to cut some salad greens and by the time I got back, you'd already finished it."
"Oh!" Frodo nodded slowly and went back to stirring his soup. "That's right, I remember now." And he shot a sidelong smirk at Pippin.
Pippin looked from Frodo and then to Merry, hid his own smirk by inspecting his tray again. It seemed distraction ran in the family. Some were just better at it than others.
The smell of the food was making Pippin's stomach grumble. Merry was right: Pippin did always seem to be hungry, even when he didn't know he was. And Frodo had cooked the ham and Pippin himself had supervised cooking the chicken, so at least he knew it was safe.
"I see the medicine is back." Frodo picked the bottle up from his tray, peered at it dubiously. "Like a bad penny, this."
Merry sighed, slumped a little. "Frodo, you know--"
"Did you bring a spoon?"
"--that your cough isn't getting better on its--" Merry blinked, frowned. "Um… what?"
"Well, you don't expect me to use the same one for the soup, do you? I'll meet you halfway with the medicine, but I draw the line at polluting the spoon."
Merry blinked again, turned to Pippin and blinked some more. He stared blankly for a moment then a small smile turned up his mouth and he puffed out a tiny laugh. With the air of someone who was having a difficult time believing his own good luck, Merry reached into his breast-pocket and withdrew a spoon.
Frodo sighed dramatically, rolled his eyes, but he took the spoon, uncorked the medicine and poured himself a dose. He took a deep breath, held it then closed his eyes and downed the medicine. There was a bit of gagging and for a moment, Pippin thought Frodo might actually retch, but Merry quickly brought the juice to his mouth and Frodo gulped down half of it.
"Augh," said Frodo, then: "Ack! I swear he puts old fish in it."
"That's what I said," Pippin agreed.
"I hate to be greedy," Merry said with a hopeful lift of his eyebrows, "but he did say two spoonfuls."
Frodo slumped his shoulders. "So he did."
The second spoonful went down a little less dramatically, and Pippin was glad that he'd opted for sweet-talk, because he didn't think they could have snuck that awful stuff into anything.
Merry was just about floating on a cloud. His grin was wide and his eyes were bright as he collected the spoon and the bottle from Frodo, and he didn't even flinch when Frodo almost threw the latter at him. He turned the grin on Pippin, gave him a wink, and Pippin wouldn't have been able to withhold his return grin, even did he want to.
"All right, then," Merry said with a nod. "You're in charge, Pippin. See that he eats all the soup, will you? He'll need his strength for the dose that's coming in another four hours."
"If I wasn't afraid I'd spill the soup," Frodo growled, "there would be another pillow sailing at your head right now. Or perhaps an anvil."
"You're not having a bite with us, then?" Pippin wanted to know.
Merry shook his head. "This is your visit, isn't it?"
And then he reached over and gave Pippin a pat on the shoulder; Pippin didn't mind it at all anymore.
* * *
Merry had been right when he'd said that the medicine would help Frodo sleep; Pippin ended up having to rescue the tray from his lap, as he drifted off before he'd got to his tea. That was all right, though, because he'd finished the soup.
And four hours later, when Pippin and Merry had both stood in the doorway to Frodo's bedsmial, trying to pretend they weren't afraid to wake him to give him another dose, it was Merry who finally took a deep breath, said, "Well, I've had a good life. You can save yourself, if you want to -- you're still too young to die."
Pippin went with him anyway, though he opted to hold the juice and left spooning the medicine down a very cranky and foul-mouthed Frodo's throat to Merry. Pippin had been a little shocked, in truth; he'd never heard Frodo use that kind of language around him before and could only assume that he was too groggy from the medicine to realise that Pippin was hearing every coarse word of his small tirade. But he really did have to smirk a little -- just wait until Frodo tried to chastise Pippin for language again.
Frodo slept through that night and most of the next day, only waking long enough to have a bite and take his medicine and grouse at Merry for making him take it. But he did take it, and Merry had said that it would probably be a good idea if Pippin slept with Frodo that night, just in case he woke and needed something. It was, after all, Merry said, Pippin's visit. Merry probably thought Pippin didn't know that the half-moons beneath his eyes were because he himself had been doing exactly that for days; Pippin let him go on thinking it.
And on the third day of Pippin's visit, Pippin woke to find Merry passed out on the couch in the parlour, snoring like he had a growly old bear in his throat, and Frodo up and clattering about in the kitchen. He grinned, wished Pippin a good morning.
And handed him a bowl of custard.
* * *
Pippin wasn't spying this time. Really. Well, at least he hadn't meant to be spying. It wasn't his fault that no one bothered to check inside the cupboard to make sure no lads had decided it was an ideal cave in which his knights might trap the dragon they were hunting. And he'd been minding his own business, after all, arranging his small legion into attack formation, when Frodo and Merry had decided to settle into the parlour and have a bit of tea. So, in reality, they were disturbing him, because he'd been there first, hadn't he, and if someone wanted to get picky about the fact that he'd cracked open the cupboard door just a little -- had to make sure it really was Frodo and Merry, after all, and not robbers or brigands or something -- well, Pippin certainly couldn't help it if other people were just suspicious by nature, could he?
"…just confounds me sometimes," Merry was saying. Pippin was surprised to see that it was Merry with his head in Frodo's lap and not the other way 'round; Frodo still wasn't completely well, after all. Pippin wondered if he should feel indignant on Frodo's behalf, but Frodo looked quite content, running lazy fingers through Merry's hair as he was doing. "I mean, one minute, he absolutely bloody hates me and the next--"
"He never hates you."
Which was true. He didn't even really ever dislike Merry anymore. It was just that he really was rather bossy and Pippin got enough of that from his sisters. And it wasn't Pippin's fault that it was so easy to baffle Merry and then get him all worked up so he had no idea what to make of Pippin. Merry was fun to play with… it was just that he didn't always know when Pippin was playing with him.
"Frodo, the child wrote 'Merry is a booger-snot' on the garden wall."
Pippin had to choke down a snort. In all fairness, Merry was being a booger-snot that day, making a giant to-do about Pippin being too far up the old oak that shaded the lane. When Frodo climbed up there with him, Pippin thought Merry might actually go into apoplexy.
Frodo was snickering and trying not to, and Pippin was pleased to note that there were no creeping coughs lurking beneath the laughter.
"And when I called down to ask him what he was doing," Merry went on, "he actually looked me right in the eye and said, 'I'm not writing on the wall!'"
Well, that had been over a year ago. He'd only been a little lad then and really no good at all at deception. He was getting better.
Frodo couldn't stop the chuckles now. "At least it was only in charcoal," he said. "Imagine if he'd painted it. All of Hobbiton would have known that you're a--"
"Don't say it!"
Frodo snorted but kept his mouth shut.
"Anyway," Merry went on, "I actually like the little sod, I really do. He's bloody brilliant -- clever enough to match wits with Gandalf, I'd wager, and he says the funniest things sometimes that I almost don't know whether to laugh or swat him."
"I'd stick to laughing," Frodo told him. "You swat him and you're likely to wake up one day with your hair pasted to your pillow."
A sharp puff of breath from Merry. "And that's no lie," he agreed. "Nor an exaggeration. I've no doubt he's quite capable of it."
Pippin hadn't a doubt, either. They could just ask his cousin, Everard. Pippin's black eye had faded after a week, but Everard had to wear a hat for months!
"Anyway," Merry continued, "you are glad he's here, right? It's only that I knew you were starting to feel glum and I thought Pippin was just the one to--"
"Relax, love," Frodo said and tugged at Merry's hair. "I'm not angry over it and you were right: Pippin was just the thing. I'm very glad he's here and I'm very glad you stayed. And I'm very, very glad that neither of you took sick." And then he bent down and gave Merry a quick snog.
Ugh. Didn't they ever quit? It was bloody nauseating.
"Although I am rather sorry that I'm not up to his energy level just yet," Frodo went on. "He must be getting restless and bored."
No, not really. He could do without Merry constantly checking on him to make sure he didn't drown himself in the washbasin or set himself on fire, but other than that, he was having a lovely time.
"Hm," Merry said thoughtfully. "You may be right. Why don't I take him outside for a bit, let him run about and roll in the dirt?"
Frodo stared. "You want to mind Pippin."
A shrug. "Well… yes. You could use a bit of a lie-down and I could…" Merry shook his head, waved a hand about. "Well, I don't know, but there must be something out there that Sam hasn't got to yet. Dusting the rocks or something."
Frodo kept staring. Opened his mouth. Closed it. "You want to mind Pippin," he repeated slowly. Furthered, "By yourself."
Merry frowned, peered up at Frodo and then sat up and looked behind him. "Unless you've a nanny stashed about here somewhere, but if you have, you don't utilise The Help to the fullest potential, because she certainly would have come in handy earlier."
Frodo narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and now he looked rather suspicious. "You want to take Pippin outside by yourself and let him roll about in dirt."
Merry lifted an eyebrow, cocked his head to the side. "You say that as though I'm planning to dig a hole and bury him up to his chin in the garden and then pour honey on his head and leave a trail to the nearest anthill." Merry widened his eyes, shrugged innocently. "I assure you, the thought never crossed my mind."
Hoy, no fair. Merry had got that idea from Pippin. See if Pippin ever let Merry in on his fantasies about The Things One Could Do To Bothersome Sisters If One Had A Mind again.
"Paladin will be expecting to have him in one piece when he arrives in a few days, you know," Frodo told Merry sternly. "That means he'll need a head."
"Head," Merry answered, nodded. "Got it."
Frodo's eyes narrowed, but he was grinning. "And arms and legs and everything else that came with him."
Merry looked thoughtful for a moment, then: "Hair?" he asked hopefully.
Frodo snorted and thwapped him on the forehead. Merry only grinned, gulped down his tea and stood. He held out a hand and Frodo took it and allowed Merry to help him to his feet.
"Let me take care of the tea things and then I'll find Pippin," Merry said as he led Frodo to the door. "You should have a good couple of hours to yourself and by the time you wake, it'll be time to start supper."
Frodo stopped at the door. "You won't start it without me, will you?"
Merry smiled, sighed. "You know, you're bloody amazing." Frodo frowned a little, tilted his head, and Merry went on, "You're still not even fully well and here you are, worrying about me having to make supper."
"Oh, well…" Frodo sputtered a bit, dipped his head and cleared his throat. "It's only that--"
"Hardly seems fair," Merry told him.
Frodo frowned again. "Fair?"
Merry shrugged, looked down. "Well, I get you and all you get in return is me."
Oh, glory, if they didn't leave pretty soon, Pippin was going to upchuck all over his soldiers. And the dragon.
Frodo leaned in, kissed Merry. "I don't know why I deserve you," he said.
"You don't," Merry answered, kissed him back. "You deserve more."
"Oh, stop it," Frodo said, and swatted him on the arm.
Yes, Pippin thought, covered his mouth so he wouldn't gag, please stop it.
"Off with you," Frodo went on. "Find Pippin and…" He shoved Merry out the door. "Well, just don't bury him or anything."
"Not even a little bit?"
"No."
"Only a very shallow hole, I promise."
"No."
"I'll leave air-holes."
"Merry--"
"You always were a bit of a wet blanket."
"I should be warning you not to let him bury you."
"That's probably more like it."
Their voices tapered off down the tunnel, and then finally stopped. Pippin heard the door to Frodo's bedsmial close and shortly after, the sounds of dishes clattering in the kitchen.
He unfolded himself from his nook in the cupboard, collected his toys and made his quiet way out of the parlour then down the tunnel to his guestsmial. After he'd put the toys safely atop the press, he flopped down onto the bed, stared at the ceiling.
All things considered, it was a good visit so far. He'd got to take care of Frodo and finally proven that he was the big lad he kept telling everyone he was. And Frodo was getting better all the time; he might even feel up to drafts after supper tonight. Or at least a story. Merry had stopped treating him like he was just a short halfwit and started to actually listen to him like he was a real person. And he'd had custard for breakfast. His mum would probably have a seizure if she ever knew.
A short burst of sneezing -- three in a row in rapid-fire succession -- came from the other side of the wall and Pippin sat up, listened for a moment, but Frodo had gone quiet again. "Everything all right, Frodo?" he called.
A brief moment of silence, then: "Um…" Frodo said, "yes, thank you, Pippin."
Pippin relaxed, laid back down and waited for Merry to come and collect him. Yes, he thought with satisfaction, except for the snogging, all in all, this visit was turning out rather well.
* * *
When Pippin next came to visit Frodo at Bag End, it was to discover that his guestsmail had been moved to the one three doors down.
* * *
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