Title: An Unusual Remedy, Chapter 2: Arrival
Author: Serpent Satellite
Pairing(s): Merry/Pippin, will also contain Frodo/Sam
Rating: At the moment, maybe PG-13?
Summary: In which secrets are flung about.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I do not make any claim to them. I am not making any money off them. Please don't sue me.
Warning: Pretty slushy stuff. This is slash, AKA M/M relationships; so if this bothers you, don't waste my time or your time reading it. Flames will be used to warm my cold typer's hands. (Have you ever noticed how your hands get could when you type for a long time? Weird.)
Feedback: Yes please! Leave it here or e-mail me.
It seemed to Pippin that it had been ages since he and Merry had returned to the stifling kitchen to complete the morning's washing up. Standing next to the water basin, he hopped from one foot to the other impatiently as he waited for Merry to finish washing a plate and pass it to him to dry. It was an impossibly slow process, and something Pippin didn't fully comprehend the urgency of. Why must dishes be done directly after a meal instead of putting them off until a more convenient time?
"To prevent this grime from setting," Merry said once as he gestured to the leftover foodstuffs caked onto the plate, as if this was a perfectly logical explanation and that crusty supper plates would be the end of the world for all of them.
Recalling this conversation did not make Pippin any more patient. In fact, it only made him antsier as he watched Merry meticulously scrub every dish until it showed no trace of ever being eaten on, and then rinsing it until all the suds had disappeared.
Every time a plate had been cleansed to Merry's satisfaction, he would hand it cautiously to Pippin, knowing all too well his cousin's tendencies in the kitchen. He would resume the washing then, this time peering conspicuously out of the corner of his eye to make sure Pippin didn't drop something. When Pippin would deem a dish dry, he set it on the sideboard to be put away, and Merry would frown, lean over the sink, and inspect the dish for splatterings. Pippin would gape at him as he examined every surface inch of the dish before giving a short nod of satisfaction and turned back to his own job.
Pippin was fully aware that Merry was working at this agonizingly slow pace just to torment him. Merry didn't like chores any more than Pippin did. But Pippin had made a grave error by reveling his impatience, and Merry was getting great delight out of watching the younger hobbit squirm.
Eventually it became all too much for Pippin to take. The morning was half gone, and if they were to reach Bag End by suppertime they would have to move. And Pippin certainly didn't relish the idea of spending a night on the road.
After watching Merry scrub the same dish five times over, so much that Pippin was fearful that the pattern would wear off, Pippin's patience broke. As forcefully as he dared, he yanked the plate from Merry's hand, pushed Merry out of the way, and dunked the plate under water one final time. He waved the dishrag over it a few times and then extracted it from the water, rinsed it quickly with a douse of fresh water, and grabbed the dishtowel, rubbing it dry. He repeated this ritual for each dish and, to Merry's amazement, each came out spotless and shimmering, and in very little time. He smiled appraisingly at Pippin. "If I'd have known you had such a knack for household chores, I'd have stopped doing anything 'round here long ago," he jested.
Pippin glared menacingly at his smirking companion, but then his glare mellowed into a little evil smile. "Oh, but Merry dear, there is one chore I have never been good at that you may have to do."
Merry's smile faltered a bit as he noticed Pippin's expression. "And what's that?" he questioned nervously.
Pippin broke out into a huge grin. "The mopping," he replied, sticking his hand into the dishwater and splashing it at Merry, thoroughly wetting him and the floor.
"Ooh, you're a dead hobbit!" Merry ranted, reaching for the sopping dishrag and advancing on Pippin.
And thus a colossal hobbit water fight ensued, delaying them a further half an hour after they had tired of drenching each other while Merry wiped up the puddles on the floor, Pippin redried the dished they had splashed, and they both changed out of their sopping clothes.
But finally they were on their way. With elevenses rapidly approaching, both hobbits set out with an apple in their pocket and a song on their lips. Clasping hands together, they began their daylong trek to Bag End, with thick grass beneath their toes and the sun at their backs.
* * * * *
The two hobbits made surprisingly good time, despite their late start out, and made it to Bag End just as dusk was beginning to settle. They had no qualms on arriving unannounced, for that was how they chose to do things, and Frodo knew well enough to expect the unexpected from them. They knew that no matter when they arrived, Frodo would welcome them with a warm meal and a comfortable room.
"Oi, Merry," Pippin spoke as they began up the path to Bag End. He pointed towards the hobbit hole. "Why d'you suppose it's so dark and quiet?"
Merry glance up at the house and saw that it was indeed rather deserted looking. "I dunno, Pip. Surely it must be nearly supper? Sam and Frodo should be in there cooking."
"Maybe they had an early supper and Sam's gone home already," Pippin pondered.
Merry smiled wickedly and nudged Pippin in the side. "Or maybe they're having an early night and Sam hasn't gone home at all."
Pippin swatted Merry good-naturedly, but concern shone in his eyes. "If only that were so. You know it's what Frodo wants more than anything."
Merry nodded. It was true. During their last visit, Frodo had revealed his feelings for the Bag End gardener and his best friend to Merry and Pippin out of sheer desperation. The feelings had been building silently inside him for years, Frodo had said, and he simply had to let them out to someone. So Merry and Pippin had been patient, sympathetic ears as Frodo had divulged many of his thoughts, for they both knew all too well what it was like to be lost in the throes of "unrequited" love. But listening was all Frodo would allow them to do. He ignored their suggestions of telling Sam, that maybe there was a chance that he felt the same, and he made them solemnly swear that they would not speak a word to anyone about it. They had sworn of course, wanting to reassure their cousin that his secret was safe with them.
Now, staring at the darkness of Bag End as they continued up the long path, Merry wondered if the desertion of the normally bustling home could have anything to do with the romantic inclinations of its occupant. It had been practically the only thing on Frodo's mind the last time they had seem him, and there was no doubt that his feelings had only increased since then. What if he had confessed to Sam, and Sam had spurned him, thought him vile? No, Merry thought, shaking his head. Even if they feelings weren't returned, there was no way that Sam would have such an adverse response. But what if something even worse had happened, and Sam had simply tried to ignore it? Or had simply felt so uncomfortable that he had stopped tending to Bag End? Merry knew that an event like that would not only bring darkness to the doorstop of Bag End, but darkness to Frodo's heart as well. Merry began to worry a bit about Frodo. He knew that it was probably nothing, that they were probably just both out for an ale, but still he took Pippin's hand in his and began to walk a bit faster.
Reaching the door, both stood uncomfortably, staring at the green painted wood. Upon normal occasions, it would be rare for either of them to stand there for more than a millisecond. They would have burst in with a shout and a laugh and had their arms filled with hobbit before you could say "Frodo Baggins." But on this occasion it seemed highly inappropriate to barrel on in in such a jovial manner.
Finally Pippin couldn't take the pressure any longer. "Knock," he whispered firmly, glancing at Merry pointedly as he nodded his head towards the door.
Merry shook his head. "No, you do it."
Pippin shrugged and took a deep breath, then knocked timidly.
No answer.
After a moment's pause he rapped again, this time more forcefully.
Silence seemed to echo from inside the house.
Pippin scowled at the door as if it were its fault no one was coming. "Guess no one's home."
Merry shook his head, placing a hand on Pippin's arm. "We didn't come all this way to be intimidated by an empty Bag End." With that, he turned the big brass knob in the middle of the door and stepped into the entryway.
"Frodo?" he called, glancing around the darkened room. Pippin stepped in behind him, inches away, as if he was afraid to be left alone.
"Cousin Frodo?" Pippin ventured, and winced as his voice seemed to sound throughout the house.
"Frodo!" Merry persisted, a little louder. "Frodo, where in tarnation are - "
Pippin gasped and gripped Merry's arm tightly, cutting Merry off. He pointed to a doorway down the hallway. Under the door, a slight flicker of light appeared. Merry pulled Pippin's hand off his arm, for it was cutting off the circulation, and held it in his own, squeezing it in reassurance. He couldn't be sure why this feeling of dread had suddenly washed over him. Perhaps it was due to an overactive imagination. Either way, he was bracing himself as the door swung open.
A lone figure stepped out, holding a candle in one hand. As he got closer to Merry and Pippin, the glow sufficed to reveal his face, and the two hobbits breathed a sigh of relief.
"Goodness gracious Sam, where have you been?" demanded Merry. "We've been calling and calling, and now you've gone and given us a start!"
"We thought maybe you'd gone home early for some reason," Pippin quipped. "I was beginning to fear for the state of my supper." He took off his cloak and hung it up, and then plopped into a nearby chair.
Sam stared at the two of the inquisitively. "No, I've been right here. I wouldn't leave early. Especially not now," he said. Pippin yawned loudly, and Sam turned to him. "And would you please try and keep it down a touch!"
Pippin shrank back, slightly intimidated by Sam's sudden out burst, but Merry wasn't perturbed. "What do you mean, 'Especially not now'?" he inquired softly.
Sam sighed and shuffled his feet. "Mister Frodo's a mite poorly as of late," he finally admitted.
Pippin leapt from his chair and took a stand by Merry. "Frodo's ill? Why didn't anyone tell us? Send for us? What's wrong with him?" Merry glanced at Pippin, and the concerned expression that he saw mirrored the way he felt.
"Now, calm yourself Mister Pippin!" Sam exclaimed, holding his hands out, palms down to settle the frantic hobbit. "It's nothing dreadfully serious. Just a slight head cold, maybe a touch of hay fever. I just don't want to have you both come stamping in, creating a ruckus and disturbing his sleep. Goodness knows he needs all the sleep he can get."
Though calming visibly, Pippin still had questions. "Are you sure that's all it is?"
Sam nodded. "Mind you, I figure it's as much in his head as it is in his body."
Merry frowned in thought. "What do you mean?"
Sam shrugged. "He's just worn out. A bit of stress perhaps. Though I do wish I knew what it was from. I try my hardest to make sure he's not doing anything to strenuous." He wrung his hands guiltily.
Merry had a fairly good idea of what was causing Frodo's distress, but he couldn't say anything, not to Sam. He poked Pippin discreetly in the side to warn him to keep his mouth shut as well.
Sam took a deep breath and then turned his face towards the other two hobbits. "All the same, I think it might be better if you two came back another time, if you don't mind."
"They will do no such thing."
"Frodo!" Merry and Pippin exclaimed, launching themselves into the older hobbit's arms. Chuckling, Frodo wrapped his arms around his two friends.
Even with just a quick glance, Merry and Pippin could tell that indeed, Frodo wasn't at his best. He was pale and drawn, and he looked thinner than a hobbit should.
Frodo looked over the top of Pippin's head to Sam. "There's no need for them to go."
Sam looked apologetic and crossed his arms over his chest. "But Mister Frodo! You need rest! Relaxation!"
"And what could be more relaxing than spending a spot of time with my friends?" Frodo inquired.
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed softly. "I can think of a few things that would do more benefit."
Frodo laughed. "Let it go, Samwise. Besides, it's a long walk home for them."
"And it's so late, and we haven't brought anything for sleeping out," Merry spoke up.
"And we haven't had any supper!" Pippin joined in, and shrank slightly under Merry's sharp glance. "What?"
Sam sighed despairingly and dropped his arms to his sides. "Who am I to argue?" Merry and Pippin grinned. "But you two!" Sam burst out, pointing at Merry and Pippin. "Don't be expecting anything grand for your supper! We're having a nice, simple broth and hot tea. So don't complain! And you!" he exclaimed, pointing to Frodo. "You march right on back to bed. I don't want you to worsen yourself."
"Yes sir," Frodo said, giggling, and took Merry and Pippin by the hands and dragged them down the hallway.
"Shall we get our room ready, Frodo?" Pippin asked, pausing before the door of the room that he and Merry usually stayed in.
Frodo laughed and pushed open the door. "Don't be foolish. This room is always ready for you two."
And Merry and Pippin saw that indeed, the room was made up. Everything was dust free, the bed was made, and there were freshly cut flowers sitting on the table. Smiling, Merry and Pippin allowed Frodo to lead them on to his room. Once inside, Frodo shut the door behind them.
"Now, you must tell me how you two have been getting on," he said, climbing back into his big feather bed and pulling the blanket over him.
Pippin pulled Merry to sit next to him in the armchair close to the bed, squishing them tightly together in the seat. "But what of you, cousin?" he asked, taking Merry's hand and interlacing their fingers. "What ails you?"
There came a few steps outside the door, and then it creaked open. Sam poked his head in, glancing first at Merry and Pippin and then at Frodo. "You quite comfortable, Mister Frodo?" he inquired.
Frodo nodded weakly. "Fine, Sam."
Sam looked back over at Merry and Pippin, a bit apprehensively. "Not too tired, are you? You sure you wouldn't just like to go to sleep?"
Frodo smiled and shook his head. "I'm fine, Sam, really."
Sam stared at him for a moment, then nodded sharply. "I'll just be continuing with the cooking, then," he murmured, and pulled his head out of the door.
As Frodo sighed, Merry nodded slowly. "Aye. I thought it might be something like that."
Frodo pounded the pillow next to him in frustration. "I should have watched myself more!" he scolded. "But I let myself go. I haven't been sleeping much, and sometimes I almost forget to eat because my thoughts are..." He trailed off. "...elsewhere. Eventually it got bad enough that Sam began to notice, and then I fainted one afternoon... and he's had me bedridden ever since. Almost three days now. 'Until you get a bit of color in your cheeks,' he says." Frodo lamented, doing a remarkable impression of Sam. "And he's been staying in one of the other guestrooms during the night. It seems so strange. He thinks that by staying I'll get better quicker, but what he doesn't realize is he's my illness."
Merry watched, dismayed, as a tear trickled from the corner of Frodo's eye and trailed down his pale cheek. He exchanged a concerned glance with Pippin, and then looked back to Frodo. "Please don't cry, cos. It will pass, you know it will. It always does." Merry looked desperately at Frodo. He had forgotten what it was like to suffer from the symptoms of unrequited love. It seemed that he and Pippin had been together forever with their feelings in the open. Sitting there, smushed up against his beloved, he could only try to imagine what Frodo was going through. Merry wasn't sure that telling Frodo it would pass was the right thing to do. Was it good that it would pass? It would just return again, stronger than ever. Was Frodo to live in constant torment by his own feelings?
Frodo wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed softly. "I suppose you're right, Merry. I must try to keep myself in check." He looked up at his fretful cousins and laughed sorrowfully. "But what a dreadful holiday this makes for you!"
Merry shook his head. "It's fine, Frodo. Just to be here is enough." Pippin nodded in agreement.
The door creaked open again, and Sam stepped in, balancing a supper tray precariously. True to his word, all it contained were four bowls of a weak broth, four mugs, and a pot of tea. "We'll sup in here tonight then, shall we Mister Frodo?" he asked. "Keep you company?"
Frodo nodded, and Sam set the tray down, distributing the bowls and cups and pouring the tea before settling down on the low couch along the wall.
Supper was quiet, as all four hobbits seemed deep in thought. The only sounds were that of the utensils clanking against the dishes, and those seemed harsh in the quiet room. Merry noticed that Frodo's melancholy expression had not quite left his face, and throughout dinner he was prone to staring for long periods into the flickering of the fire. He also saw that Sam seemed distracted as well, an unhappy expression gracing his features as he sipped his supper.
When at last the four hobbits were finished, Sam stood up and gathered the cutlery onto the tray. "I'll just go get these taken care of, shall I?" he asked.
Frodo nodded, and then Pippin spoke up. "I'll give you a hand, Sam," he said, and gave Merry a quick glance and a squeeze of the hand. Merry caught Pippin's eye and realized that he too had caught Sam's mood.
Sam shot a curious glance towards Pippin. "There's no need, really, Mister Pippin," he said. "I can manage."
"Why, of course you can Sam!" Pippin declared boisterously as he stood. "I'm simply wanting the opportunity to help you speed things along."
It was obvious that Sam was still apprehensive, but he shrugged. "If you insist," he mumbled. Casting a small smile over his shoulder at Merry and Frodo, Pippin hurried to pull open the door for Sam and then followed him into the hallway. Together they walked to the kitchen where they began to wash the dishes.
As Pippin plunged his hands deeply into the sudsy water, it dawned on him that this was possibly the first time he had ever actually volunteered to do chores. Yet obviously it was not so much of his work ethic or desire to be of service as it was his want to be alone with Sam. Sam's mood over supper was a fair bit unsettling. Pippin couldn't tell whether it was from their intrusion in Bag End, simple worry for Frodo's health, or something else. Either way, his curiosity demanded that he corner Sam and learn the truth, and Pippin could think of no better way than to get the meticulously tidy hobbit in his element, when he would be less suspicious of prying.
After several minutes of pregnant silence, Pippin mustered up enough courage to speak to Sam. "And how have you been managing, Samwise?" he asked cautiously, as if making simple casual conversation, though he was sure the hesitance in his voice would betray his true meaning.
A few seconds went by before Sam glanced up from the cup he was sudsing. Upon meeting Pippin's inquisitive look, he gazed back into the greasy water basin. He immediately began splashing about again. "It's not I who's been sick," he murmured barely about a whisper. "Shouldn't it be Frodo you're wondering about?"
"I think you show enough concern for all of us put together," stated Pippin simply.
Sighing, Sam dried the cup and put it on the sideboard. "I can't help it. I wish I could believe that all it is is a typical summer ailment, but I know it's not. I've seen Frodo when he's ill. This isn't like that."
Startled, Pippin nearly dropped the bowl he was soaping. "Well, what do you think it might be then?" he asked breathlessly, not daring to believe what he was interpreting from Sam's words.
A short silence proceeded Pippin's question and then, to his dismay, Sam's face fell into the most devastated expression Pippin had ever witnessed. Sheer helplessness seemed to radiate from the hobbit, and Pippin knew that any second the tears would start falling. "Maybe..." Sam started, and the first tear dropped. "Maybe he's found out. Maybe he knows why I find it hard to leave him alone here and go back home, even just for one night. Maybe he finds me horrid and is disgusted by the mere sight of me!" Pippin flinched slightly as Sam's voice rose in volume. But it only lasted for a few moments, and then Sam seemed to return to his normal, soft-spoken self. "But still I cannot bear to be away."
Realizing what Sam was confessing to willingly to him, Pippin gaped openly at Sam. "Are you saying - "
"Yes," Sam cut in with a wave of his sudsy hand. He shot a quick glance at Pippin's astonished expression, and he smiled ruefully, miserably. "Yes, Pippin, I am saying what you think I'm saying. I've felt this way for some time now. But I'm starting to wonder if Frodo has began to catch on."
Pippin shook his head insistently. "But you must realize that he would never hate you, Sam. He couldn't!" Pippin searched frantically for a way to reassure his friend without giving away Frodo's own secret. This was between the two of them, and he couldn't interfere and play the matchmaker. "You're his dear friend. You always have been, and you always will be."
Wiping his cheeks on his sleeve, Sam sniffed softly. "I suppose," he muttered, unconvinced. He seemed exhausted, as if the revealing of his secret had drained him. But suddenly he was animated again, and panic inflamed his eyes. "But you mustn't tell Frodo, Mister Pippin, not ever! Even if that's not why he's ill, even if he wouldn't hate me, he mustn't know!" He gripped Pippin's arm. "Promise me!"
Pippin realized how important it was to Sam that he heard those words. "Of course; I promise you Sam. I won't breathe a word of it to Frodo."
A slight flash of relief crossed Sam's face, and he let go of Pippin. "Thank you," he mumbled and turned back to the dishes. "I can manage from here now. Thank you for your help."
Pippin left the kitchen, still shaken up by Sam's confession. He nearly ran down the hall to the room he and Merry shared, hoping that Merry would have returned to the room by that point. Sure enough, Merry was lying on the sofa, eyes closed, arms crossed. Pippin crossed the room to him and sat down, shaking him softly. "Merry," he whispered desperately. "Merry, wake up! This is no time for after-supper naps!"
Cracking one eye open slightly, Merry yawned and looked at Pippin. "And when, my dear, would you say is a more suitable time for after-supper naps?"
Pippin shook his head frantically. "Oh, you great sack of potatoes, this is serious!"
Merry sat up, fully waking quickly. "What is it, Pip? What happened with Sam?"
Pippin rested his head on Merry's shoulder, calming slightly. "Sam feels the same for Frodo," he murmured.
Pushing Pippin's head up, Merry gawked at him. "You're quite sure? Why Pip, this is bloody brilliant! Is he going to tell Frodo?"
Pippin shook his head. "He doesn't want Frodo to know."
A flabbergasted expression on his face, Merry seemed to be at a loss for words. "What? Why?"
"I couldn't tell him!" Pippin burst out. "Don't you see? We can't be the ones to bring them together. Both of them have to be sure enough of their selves that they are prepared to take the chance on their own. Like us," he finished softly, a fond smile evident in his features.
Merry smiled back, giving in. He knew that Pippin was right, that blatantly coming out and telling the other two hobbits about their feelings for one another would be more of a hindrance than a help. "You are right, of course," he conceded. He pulled Pippin into his lap, cradling him and kissing the top of his mop of unruly curls. "But you most certainly cannot blame me for wanting our friends to have as much happiness as we do."
"Why Meriadoc," Pippin said softly, with mock shock. "I would be disappointed in you if you didn't want the same for them as for us."
"And you can't really blame me if, during our visit, through some unforeseen circumstances, Sam and Frodo end up spending a bit more time together face to face. You know, bonding of some sorts." Merry grinned wickedly. "After all, that would really have nothing to do with us..."
Pippin chuckled softly and captured Merry's lips for a quick kiss. "I would expect nothing less from you," he whispered, and buried his face in Merry's shirt. "Now, take me to bed," he mumbled. "I'm very sleepy."
And so Merry picked his beloved up and carried him to the bed, where the two of them fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, forgetting temporarily about the tension Bag End was facing.
TBC
Author: Serpent Satellite
Pairing(s): Merry/Pippin, will also contain Frodo/Sam
Rating: At the moment, maybe PG-13?
Summary: In which secrets are flung about.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I do not make any claim to them. I am not making any money off them. Please don't sue me.
Warning: Pretty slushy stuff. This is slash, AKA M/M relationships; so if this bothers you, don't waste my time or your time reading it. Flames will be used to warm my cold typer's hands. (Have you ever noticed how your hands get could when you type for a long time? Weird.)
Feedback: Yes please! Leave it here or e-mail me.
It seemed to Pippin that it had been ages since he and Merry had returned to the stifling kitchen to complete the morning's washing up. Standing next to the water basin, he hopped from one foot to the other impatiently as he waited for Merry to finish washing a plate and pass it to him to dry. It was an impossibly slow process, and something Pippin didn't fully comprehend the urgency of. Why must dishes be done directly after a meal instead of putting them off until a more convenient time?
"To prevent this grime from setting," Merry said once as he gestured to the leftover foodstuffs caked onto the plate, as if this was a perfectly logical explanation and that crusty supper plates would be the end of the world for all of them.
Recalling this conversation did not make Pippin any more patient. In fact, it only made him antsier as he watched Merry meticulously scrub every dish until it showed no trace of ever being eaten on, and then rinsing it until all the suds had disappeared.
Every time a plate had been cleansed to Merry's satisfaction, he would hand it cautiously to Pippin, knowing all too well his cousin's tendencies in the kitchen. He would resume the washing then, this time peering conspicuously out of the corner of his eye to make sure Pippin didn't drop something. When Pippin would deem a dish dry, he set it on the sideboard to be put away, and Merry would frown, lean over the sink, and inspect the dish for splatterings. Pippin would gape at him as he examined every surface inch of the dish before giving a short nod of satisfaction and turned back to his own job.
Pippin was fully aware that Merry was working at this agonizingly slow pace just to torment him. Merry didn't like chores any more than Pippin did. But Pippin had made a grave error by reveling his impatience, and Merry was getting great delight out of watching the younger hobbit squirm.
Eventually it became all too much for Pippin to take. The morning was half gone, and if they were to reach Bag End by suppertime they would have to move. And Pippin certainly didn't relish the idea of spending a night on the road.
After watching Merry scrub the same dish five times over, so much that Pippin was fearful that the pattern would wear off, Pippin's patience broke. As forcefully as he dared, he yanked the plate from Merry's hand, pushed Merry out of the way, and dunked the plate under water one final time. He waved the dishrag over it a few times and then extracted it from the water, rinsed it quickly with a douse of fresh water, and grabbed the dishtowel, rubbing it dry. He repeated this ritual for each dish and, to Merry's amazement, each came out spotless and shimmering, and in very little time. He smiled appraisingly at Pippin. "If I'd have known you had such a knack for household chores, I'd have stopped doing anything 'round here long ago," he jested.
Pippin glared menacingly at his smirking companion, but then his glare mellowed into a little evil smile. "Oh, but Merry dear, there is one chore I have never been good at that you may have to do."
Merry's smile faltered a bit as he noticed Pippin's expression. "And what's that?" he questioned nervously.
Pippin broke out into a huge grin. "The mopping," he replied, sticking his hand into the dishwater and splashing it at Merry, thoroughly wetting him and the floor.
"Ooh, you're a dead hobbit!" Merry ranted, reaching for the sopping dishrag and advancing on Pippin.
And thus a colossal hobbit water fight ensued, delaying them a further half an hour after they had tired of drenching each other while Merry wiped up the puddles on the floor, Pippin redried the dished they had splashed, and they both changed out of their sopping clothes.
But finally they were on their way. With elevenses rapidly approaching, both hobbits set out with an apple in their pocket and a song on their lips. Clasping hands together, they began their daylong trek to Bag End, with thick grass beneath their toes and the sun at their backs.
* * * * *
The two hobbits made surprisingly good time, despite their late start out, and made it to Bag End just as dusk was beginning to settle. They had no qualms on arriving unannounced, for that was how they chose to do things, and Frodo knew well enough to expect the unexpected from them. They knew that no matter when they arrived, Frodo would welcome them with a warm meal and a comfortable room.
"Oi, Merry," Pippin spoke as they began up the path to Bag End. He pointed towards the hobbit hole. "Why d'you suppose it's so dark and quiet?"
Merry glance up at the house and saw that it was indeed rather deserted looking. "I dunno, Pip. Surely it must be nearly supper? Sam and Frodo should be in there cooking."
"Maybe they had an early supper and Sam's gone home already," Pippin pondered.
Merry smiled wickedly and nudged Pippin in the side. "Or maybe they're having an early night and Sam hasn't gone home at all."
Pippin swatted Merry good-naturedly, but concern shone in his eyes. "If only that were so. You know it's what Frodo wants more than anything."
Merry nodded. It was true. During their last visit, Frodo had revealed his feelings for the Bag End gardener and his best friend to Merry and Pippin out of sheer desperation. The feelings had been building silently inside him for years, Frodo had said, and he simply had to let them out to someone. So Merry and Pippin had been patient, sympathetic ears as Frodo had divulged many of his thoughts, for they both knew all too well what it was like to be lost in the throes of "unrequited" love. But listening was all Frodo would allow them to do. He ignored their suggestions of telling Sam, that maybe there was a chance that he felt the same, and he made them solemnly swear that they would not speak a word to anyone about it. They had sworn of course, wanting to reassure their cousin that his secret was safe with them.
Now, staring at the darkness of Bag End as they continued up the long path, Merry wondered if the desertion of the normally bustling home could have anything to do with the romantic inclinations of its occupant. It had been practically the only thing on Frodo's mind the last time they had seem him, and there was no doubt that his feelings had only increased since then. What if he had confessed to Sam, and Sam had spurned him, thought him vile? No, Merry thought, shaking his head. Even if they feelings weren't returned, there was no way that Sam would have such an adverse response. But what if something even worse had happened, and Sam had simply tried to ignore it? Or had simply felt so uncomfortable that he had stopped tending to Bag End? Merry knew that an event like that would not only bring darkness to the doorstop of Bag End, but darkness to Frodo's heart as well. Merry began to worry a bit about Frodo. He knew that it was probably nothing, that they were probably just both out for an ale, but still he took Pippin's hand in his and began to walk a bit faster.
Reaching the door, both stood uncomfortably, staring at the green painted wood. Upon normal occasions, it would be rare for either of them to stand there for more than a millisecond. They would have burst in with a shout and a laugh and had their arms filled with hobbit before you could say "Frodo Baggins." But on this occasion it seemed highly inappropriate to barrel on in in such a jovial manner.
Finally Pippin couldn't take the pressure any longer. "Knock," he whispered firmly, glancing at Merry pointedly as he nodded his head towards the door.
Merry shook his head. "No, you do it."
Pippin shrugged and took a deep breath, then knocked timidly.
No answer.
After a moment's pause he rapped again, this time more forcefully.
Silence seemed to echo from inside the house.
Pippin scowled at the door as if it were its fault no one was coming. "Guess no one's home."
Merry shook his head, placing a hand on Pippin's arm. "We didn't come all this way to be intimidated by an empty Bag End." With that, he turned the big brass knob in the middle of the door and stepped into the entryway.
"Frodo?" he called, glancing around the darkened room. Pippin stepped in behind him, inches away, as if he was afraid to be left alone.
"Cousin Frodo?" Pippin ventured, and winced as his voice seemed to sound throughout the house.
"Frodo!" Merry persisted, a little louder. "Frodo, where in tarnation are - "
Pippin gasped and gripped Merry's arm tightly, cutting Merry off. He pointed to a doorway down the hallway. Under the door, a slight flicker of light appeared. Merry pulled Pippin's hand off his arm, for it was cutting off the circulation, and held it in his own, squeezing it in reassurance. He couldn't be sure why this feeling of dread had suddenly washed over him. Perhaps it was due to an overactive imagination. Either way, he was bracing himself as the door swung open.
A lone figure stepped out, holding a candle in one hand. As he got closer to Merry and Pippin, the glow sufficed to reveal his face, and the two hobbits breathed a sigh of relief.
"Goodness gracious Sam, where have you been?" demanded Merry. "We've been calling and calling, and now you've gone and given us a start!"
"We thought maybe you'd gone home early for some reason," Pippin quipped. "I was beginning to fear for the state of my supper." He took off his cloak and hung it up, and then plopped into a nearby chair.
Sam stared at the two of the inquisitively. "No, I've been right here. I wouldn't leave early. Especially not now," he said. Pippin yawned loudly, and Sam turned to him. "And would you please try and keep it down a touch!"
Pippin shrank back, slightly intimidated by Sam's sudden out burst, but Merry wasn't perturbed. "What do you mean, 'Especially not now'?" he inquired softly.
Sam sighed and shuffled his feet. "Mister Frodo's a mite poorly as of late," he finally admitted.
Pippin leapt from his chair and took a stand by Merry. "Frodo's ill? Why didn't anyone tell us? Send for us? What's wrong with him?" Merry glanced at Pippin, and the concerned expression that he saw mirrored the way he felt.
"Now, calm yourself Mister Pippin!" Sam exclaimed, holding his hands out, palms down to settle the frantic hobbit. "It's nothing dreadfully serious. Just a slight head cold, maybe a touch of hay fever. I just don't want to have you both come stamping in, creating a ruckus and disturbing his sleep. Goodness knows he needs all the sleep he can get."
Though calming visibly, Pippin still had questions. "Are you sure that's all it is?"
Sam nodded. "Mind you, I figure it's as much in his head as it is in his body."
Merry frowned in thought. "What do you mean?"
Sam shrugged. "He's just worn out. A bit of stress perhaps. Though I do wish I knew what it was from. I try my hardest to make sure he's not doing anything to strenuous." He wrung his hands guiltily.
Merry had a fairly good idea of what was causing Frodo's distress, but he couldn't say anything, not to Sam. He poked Pippin discreetly in the side to warn him to keep his mouth shut as well.
Sam took a deep breath and then turned his face towards the other two hobbits. "All the same, I think it might be better if you two came back another time, if you don't mind."
"They will do no such thing."
"Frodo!" Merry and Pippin exclaimed, launching themselves into the older hobbit's arms. Chuckling, Frodo wrapped his arms around his two friends.
Even with just a quick glance, Merry and Pippin could tell that indeed, Frodo wasn't at his best. He was pale and drawn, and he looked thinner than a hobbit should.
Frodo looked over the top of Pippin's head to Sam. "There's no need for them to go."
Sam looked apologetic and crossed his arms over his chest. "But Mister Frodo! You need rest! Relaxation!"
"And what could be more relaxing than spending a spot of time with my friends?" Frodo inquired.
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed softly. "I can think of a few things that would do more benefit."
Frodo laughed. "Let it go, Samwise. Besides, it's a long walk home for them."
"And it's so late, and we haven't brought anything for sleeping out," Merry spoke up.
"And we haven't had any supper!" Pippin joined in, and shrank slightly under Merry's sharp glance. "What?"
Sam sighed despairingly and dropped his arms to his sides. "Who am I to argue?" Merry and Pippin grinned. "But you two!" Sam burst out, pointing at Merry and Pippin. "Don't be expecting anything grand for your supper! We're having a nice, simple broth and hot tea. So don't complain! And you!" he exclaimed, pointing to Frodo. "You march right on back to bed. I don't want you to worsen yourself."
"Yes sir," Frodo said, giggling, and took Merry and Pippin by the hands and dragged them down the hallway.
"Shall we get our room ready, Frodo?" Pippin asked, pausing before the door of the room that he and Merry usually stayed in.
Frodo laughed and pushed open the door. "Don't be foolish. This room is always ready for you two."
And Merry and Pippin saw that indeed, the room was made up. Everything was dust free, the bed was made, and there were freshly cut flowers sitting on the table. Smiling, Merry and Pippin allowed Frodo to lead them on to his room. Once inside, Frodo shut the door behind them.
"Now, you must tell me how you two have been getting on," he said, climbing back into his big feather bed and pulling the blanket over him.
Pippin pulled Merry to sit next to him in the armchair close to the bed, squishing them tightly together in the seat. "But what of you, cousin?" he asked, taking Merry's hand and interlacing their fingers. "What ails you?"
There came a few steps outside the door, and then it creaked open. Sam poked his head in, glancing first at Merry and Pippin and then at Frodo. "You quite comfortable, Mister Frodo?" he inquired.
Frodo nodded weakly. "Fine, Sam."
Sam looked back over at Merry and Pippin, a bit apprehensively. "Not too tired, are you? You sure you wouldn't just like to go to sleep?"
Frodo smiled and shook his head. "I'm fine, Sam, really."
Sam stared at him for a moment, then nodded sharply. "I'll just be continuing with the cooking, then," he murmured, and pulled his head out of the door.
As Frodo sighed, Merry nodded slowly. "Aye. I thought it might be something like that."
Frodo pounded the pillow next to him in frustration. "I should have watched myself more!" he scolded. "But I let myself go. I haven't been sleeping much, and sometimes I almost forget to eat because my thoughts are..." He trailed off. "...elsewhere. Eventually it got bad enough that Sam began to notice, and then I fainted one afternoon... and he's had me bedridden ever since. Almost three days now. 'Until you get a bit of color in your cheeks,' he says." Frodo lamented, doing a remarkable impression of Sam. "And he's been staying in one of the other guestrooms during the night. It seems so strange. He thinks that by staying I'll get better quicker, but what he doesn't realize is he's my illness."
Merry watched, dismayed, as a tear trickled from the corner of Frodo's eye and trailed down his pale cheek. He exchanged a concerned glance with Pippin, and then looked back to Frodo. "Please don't cry, cos. It will pass, you know it will. It always does." Merry looked desperately at Frodo. He had forgotten what it was like to suffer from the symptoms of unrequited love. It seemed that he and Pippin had been together forever with their feelings in the open. Sitting there, smushed up against his beloved, he could only try to imagine what Frodo was going through. Merry wasn't sure that telling Frodo it would pass was the right thing to do. Was it good that it would pass? It would just return again, stronger than ever. Was Frodo to live in constant torment by his own feelings?
Frodo wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed softly. "I suppose you're right, Merry. I must try to keep myself in check." He looked up at his fretful cousins and laughed sorrowfully. "But what a dreadful holiday this makes for you!"
Merry shook his head. "It's fine, Frodo. Just to be here is enough." Pippin nodded in agreement.
The door creaked open again, and Sam stepped in, balancing a supper tray precariously. True to his word, all it contained were four bowls of a weak broth, four mugs, and a pot of tea. "We'll sup in here tonight then, shall we Mister Frodo?" he asked. "Keep you company?"
Frodo nodded, and Sam set the tray down, distributing the bowls and cups and pouring the tea before settling down on the low couch along the wall.
Supper was quiet, as all four hobbits seemed deep in thought. The only sounds were that of the utensils clanking against the dishes, and those seemed harsh in the quiet room. Merry noticed that Frodo's melancholy expression had not quite left his face, and throughout dinner he was prone to staring for long periods into the flickering of the fire. He also saw that Sam seemed distracted as well, an unhappy expression gracing his features as he sipped his supper.
When at last the four hobbits were finished, Sam stood up and gathered the cutlery onto the tray. "I'll just go get these taken care of, shall I?" he asked.
Frodo nodded, and then Pippin spoke up. "I'll give you a hand, Sam," he said, and gave Merry a quick glance and a squeeze of the hand. Merry caught Pippin's eye and realized that he too had caught Sam's mood.
Sam shot a curious glance towards Pippin. "There's no need, really, Mister Pippin," he said. "I can manage."
"Why, of course you can Sam!" Pippin declared boisterously as he stood. "I'm simply wanting the opportunity to help you speed things along."
It was obvious that Sam was still apprehensive, but he shrugged. "If you insist," he mumbled. Casting a small smile over his shoulder at Merry and Frodo, Pippin hurried to pull open the door for Sam and then followed him into the hallway. Together they walked to the kitchen where they began to wash the dishes.
As Pippin plunged his hands deeply into the sudsy water, it dawned on him that this was possibly the first time he had ever actually volunteered to do chores. Yet obviously it was not so much of his work ethic or desire to be of service as it was his want to be alone with Sam. Sam's mood over supper was a fair bit unsettling. Pippin couldn't tell whether it was from their intrusion in Bag End, simple worry for Frodo's health, or something else. Either way, his curiosity demanded that he corner Sam and learn the truth, and Pippin could think of no better way than to get the meticulously tidy hobbit in his element, when he would be less suspicious of prying.
After several minutes of pregnant silence, Pippin mustered up enough courage to speak to Sam. "And how have you been managing, Samwise?" he asked cautiously, as if making simple casual conversation, though he was sure the hesitance in his voice would betray his true meaning.
A few seconds went by before Sam glanced up from the cup he was sudsing. Upon meeting Pippin's inquisitive look, he gazed back into the greasy water basin. He immediately began splashing about again. "It's not I who's been sick," he murmured barely about a whisper. "Shouldn't it be Frodo you're wondering about?"
"I think you show enough concern for all of us put together," stated Pippin simply.
Sighing, Sam dried the cup and put it on the sideboard. "I can't help it. I wish I could believe that all it is is a typical summer ailment, but I know it's not. I've seen Frodo when he's ill. This isn't like that."
Startled, Pippin nearly dropped the bowl he was soaping. "Well, what do you think it might be then?" he asked breathlessly, not daring to believe what he was interpreting from Sam's words.
A short silence proceeded Pippin's question and then, to his dismay, Sam's face fell into the most devastated expression Pippin had ever witnessed. Sheer helplessness seemed to radiate from the hobbit, and Pippin knew that any second the tears would start falling. "Maybe..." Sam started, and the first tear dropped. "Maybe he's found out. Maybe he knows why I find it hard to leave him alone here and go back home, even just for one night. Maybe he finds me horrid and is disgusted by the mere sight of me!" Pippin flinched slightly as Sam's voice rose in volume. But it only lasted for a few moments, and then Sam seemed to return to his normal, soft-spoken self. "But still I cannot bear to be away."
Realizing what Sam was confessing to willingly to him, Pippin gaped openly at Sam. "Are you saying - "
"Yes," Sam cut in with a wave of his sudsy hand. He shot a quick glance at Pippin's astonished expression, and he smiled ruefully, miserably. "Yes, Pippin, I am saying what you think I'm saying. I've felt this way for some time now. But I'm starting to wonder if Frodo has began to catch on."
Pippin shook his head insistently. "But you must realize that he would never hate you, Sam. He couldn't!" Pippin searched frantically for a way to reassure his friend without giving away Frodo's own secret. This was between the two of them, and he couldn't interfere and play the matchmaker. "You're his dear friend. You always have been, and you always will be."
Wiping his cheeks on his sleeve, Sam sniffed softly. "I suppose," he muttered, unconvinced. He seemed exhausted, as if the revealing of his secret had drained him. But suddenly he was animated again, and panic inflamed his eyes. "But you mustn't tell Frodo, Mister Pippin, not ever! Even if that's not why he's ill, even if he wouldn't hate me, he mustn't know!" He gripped Pippin's arm. "Promise me!"
Pippin realized how important it was to Sam that he heard those words. "Of course; I promise you Sam. I won't breathe a word of it to Frodo."
A slight flash of relief crossed Sam's face, and he let go of Pippin. "Thank you," he mumbled and turned back to the dishes. "I can manage from here now. Thank you for your help."
Pippin left the kitchen, still shaken up by Sam's confession. He nearly ran down the hall to the room he and Merry shared, hoping that Merry would have returned to the room by that point. Sure enough, Merry was lying on the sofa, eyes closed, arms crossed. Pippin crossed the room to him and sat down, shaking him softly. "Merry," he whispered desperately. "Merry, wake up! This is no time for after-supper naps!"
Cracking one eye open slightly, Merry yawned and looked at Pippin. "And when, my dear, would you say is a more suitable time for after-supper naps?"
Pippin shook his head frantically. "Oh, you great sack of potatoes, this is serious!"
Merry sat up, fully waking quickly. "What is it, Pip? What happened with Sam?"
Pippin rested his head on Merry's shoulder, calming slightly. "Sam feels the same for Frodo," he murmured.
Pushing Pippin's head up, Merry gawked at him. "You're quite sure? Why Pip, this is bloody brilliant! Is he going to tell Frodo?"
Pippin shook his head. "He doesn't want Frodo to know."
A flabbergasted expression on his face, Merry seemed to be at a loss for words. "What? Why?"
"I couldn't tell him!" Pippin burst out. "Don't you see? We can't be the ones to bring them together. Both of them have to be sure enough of their selves that they are prepared to take the chance on their own. Like us," he finished softly, a fond smile evident in his features.
Merry smiled back, giving in. He knew that Pippin was right, that blatantly coming out and telling the other two hobbits about their feelings for one another would be more of a hindrance than a help. "You are right, of course," he conceded. He pulled Pippin into his lap, cradling him and kissing the top of his mop of unruly curls. "But you most certainly cannot blame me for wanting our friends to have as much happiness as we do."
"Why Meriadoc," Pippin said softly, with mock shock. "I would be disappointed in you if you didn't want the same for them as for us."
"And you can't really blame me if, during our visit, through some unforeseen circumstances, Sam and Frodo end up spending a bit more time together face to face. You know, bonding of some sorts." Merry grinned wickedly. "After all, that would really have nothing to do with us..."
Pippin chuckled softly and captured Merry's lips for a quick kiss. "I would expect nothing less from you," he whispered, and buried his face in Merry's shirt. "Now, take me to bed," he mumbled. "I'm very sleepy."
And so Merry picked his beloved up and carried him to the bed, where the two of them fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, forgetting temporarily about the tension Bag End was facing.
TBC