I don't own LOTR. I wish I did. This is a fanfic. Not intended to make any money from JRR Tolkien's work but a homage to it in my own small way.

PEACE

Chapter 1

The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. But Strider was hundreds of leagues away in Minas Tirith and Merry did not know what to do. The king had saved Frodo before, but there was no one now who could help.

00000

When Sam had written to his friend in October, telling him of Frodo's indisposition on the anniversary of his wounding at Weathertop, Merry had wondered. Gandalf had made veiled reference to Frodo's body remembering its injuries and something had nudged Merry. He knew that Sam and Rosie were expecting the birth of their first child any day now and decided it would be a good excuse to come visiting. What could be more natural than to want to be around when one of his best friends was expecting his firstborn?

But Merry's main concern was his cousin Frodo. Sam and Rosie were too wrapped up in their own worries and Merry was quite certain that Frodo would not wish to let them know, if he did fall ill. And so Merry had written to Sam and Frodo asking if they could use an extra pair of hands around the place in March. It was Sam who had written back. Frodo had apparently been a little reluctant and Sam and Rosie had needed to reassure him that they could cope with the extra visitor.

Merry's unease had grown. Frodo would not usually have put up any objections for he was quite able to look after the entire household when necessary. He may be used to being waited upon by Rosie and Sam but he had lived alone in Bag End for several years after Bilbo left and was perfectly capable of cooking a decent meal and keeping the place ticking over. Merry had decided to ignore any of Frodo's protests and had arrived, whistling, on the fifth of March.

To his surprise, it was Rosie who answered the door, her face wreathed in smiles. "Welcome, Mr Brandybuck. Come in and get warm. It's a bit of a wild day. Seems like March is still playing at lion instead of lamb. Although it's been a lovely spring, for all that." She led him into the parlour, where Sam was kindling a small fire in the grate.

Merry laughed. "Well, maybe we need a good blow to dust off the last cobwebs of winter."

In his chair by the hearth Frodo winced, but then Merry watched him gather a smile and jump up. "Merry. You came!"

Soon Merry's arms were filled with the familiar shape and smell of his older cousin, as he was hugged tightly. Only the hug was not as tight as it once was and the figure in his arms was too slender. Trying not to hug too tightly in return, for fear of crushing the frailer form, Merry glanced over Frodo's shoulder, to catch a strange, wistful expression on Sam's face.

Frodo released him and turned him towards another chair by the hearth. "Take off your cloak and come and toast your toes. I believe that wind is what Bilbo would call, "brisk"."

Merry chuckled as he unfastened the clasp and handed his cloak to the waiting Sam. "You mean it's strong enough to blow over a grown hobbit and as cold as Lobelia's gaze."

"I've got some chicken soup on the hob," announced Rosie. I'll bring in some and you can have your luncheon in here while you chat." Merry smiled fondly as he watched Sam hold the door open for his rather gravid wife.

Turning, Merry was surprised by a strange look in Frodo's eyes. Sadness? Loss? Realising that he had been caught out, the Master of Bag End leaned forward and poked the fire unnecessarily. His usually soft and melodic voice sounded forced as he leapt into the sudden silence. "So, how are things in Buckland? I hear the harvest was good."

"Yes. It's been a good harvest everywhere . . . thanks largely, I think, to our good Sam and the Lady Galadriel's gift."

Frodo laid the poker aside and leaned back in his chair, one hand fingering a fine silver chain about his neck. "I'm glad things are getting back to normal." His voice had dropped to its usual softness but there was a hint of pain within it.

Merry could only imagine the agony Frodo had felt when he returned to their beloved Shire, to find it under Sharkey's rule. The one thing that they had all struggled to protect had been over-run after all. But Frodo had fought the greatest battle to spare the Shire and its marring must have cut him the deepest although as always, he had never let anyone into his grief.

Reaching forward to warm his hands against the glow of the fire, Merry tried to make light of it. "We Bucklanders are a tough lot. We're used to dealing with trouble and I think we have everything coming back to normal. We've cleared the drainage ditches. Sharkey's lot had filled most of them with rubbish. So the smials closer to the river have dried out now and the pressure is easing off Brandy Hall. I'm convinced we could not have fitted one more hobbit in there, although we took in all who came."

Finally satisfied that his fingers were no longer going to drop off from the cold, Merry leaned back and propped his feet on the hearth. "At one point we had a family of five living in your old bedroom."

Frodo's brows rose in amazement. "Five! There was hardly room for me in that little cupboard. You were that full? You wrote of the overcrowding but I had no idea it was that bad. However did you manage to feed them all in that first year?"

Merry turned to gaze into the flames. "We did the best we could and shared out what we had. Even so, we lost a lot, especially those who had been in the lockup. Most of them were half-dead when we brought them out. You saw them."

"Yes, I did. Poor Lobelia."

Merry cursed himself silently for his earlier comment. There had been little ice in Lobelia's gaze when Frodo lead her out and no fire either.

The solemn mood was lifted by the return of Sam and Rosie, bearing trays filled with chicken soup and fresh baked bread, still warm from the oven.

0000000000

Merry looked down at his cousin, pale as the alabaster figures on the tombs of the kings in Minas Tirith. One trembling hand clutched a jewel hanging from a silver chain about his neck but his eyes were closed and there was no sign of the peace that was to be found in those statues.

To comply with his cousin's wish to keep this from Sam and Rosie, he would have to keep Frodo in the study. But although the small couch was comfortable enough, Frodo needed blankets and other supplies.

Slipping off his jacket, Merry spread it over his cousin, then tiptoed to the door. He need not have bothered for Frodo did not stir.