They're not mine. If they were you could call me JRR Brighid. Please read and review.
"Mer?" Merry was roused from slumber by Pippin's hand, gentle upon his forehead. He blinked sleepily, then squinted against the glare of the sun-dappled room. "I'm sorry to wake you, but Gandalf says it is time that you had something to eat, to keep your strength up," said Pippin, not sounding overly apologetic. He wrapped an arm around Merry's shoulders and hoisted him up against the headboard, then plumped a pillow and shoved it behind the small of his back. He plopped a serving board across Merry's legs to serve as a table, and placed upon it a spread of food fit for a king's banquet.
"Heaven save us, Pippin, did you leave any food for the rest of the city?" cried Merry. With effort, he lifted his right arm and let it fall across the board with a thump. He grasped awkwardly at a spoon, his fingers fumbling clumsily, managing to nudge the silver but not capture it. He bit at the corner of his lip in frustration, then gave a bellow of annoyance. "Blast it!"
"Now, now, Merry, it will do you no good to shriek at it. You have to be patient," proclaimed Pippin. He brushed Merry's flailing hand aside and spooned up some broth. He motioned it toward Merry's face, but the scowl he found there made him lower the spoon. "What ever is the matter now?" he asked in exasperation.
"I can't even bloody well feed myself," snarled Merry. "I'm nothing but an invalid who has to be fed like an overgrown foundling!"
"Well, you're certainly behaving like one," retorted Pippin. Merry's jaw dropped and he gaped at his cousin with a mixture of rage and disbelief. "I know you're sick and you're tired, but complaining and shouting like a bad-tempered tweenager won't change that at all. You sound like your father!" Pippin stopped suddenly, the words hanging heavy in the air. The look on Merry's face softened from anger into hurt. "Oh my dear Merry, I'm so sorry," stammered Pippin, chagrined. "I didn't mean that!" Merry dropped his gaze to his lap, staring at his fishbelly-white hand. Pippin's voice went a little frantic. "I didn't mean it, please don't be angry, please forgive me!"
Merry lifted his eyes, ashine with tears, and replied, "I'm not angry, Pippin, I'm not. You're right, you know. Throwing tantrums is not going to help me get better any more quickly." He sought Pippin's gaze and affected a smile. "Now, mumsy, are you going to feed me my dinner or not?" Pippin grinned and dropped his eyes to butter a thick slab of bread. Merry smiled at the top of Pippin's head. The lad had a sunny disposition, no mistake, and was always quick to forget a quarrel. Pippin drizzled the bread with honey and placed it in Merry's left hand. The taste of the hearty bread made Merry give a little sigh of pleasure, and he crammed his mouth full. It seemed as if all the hunger he had felt during the long journey had come back all at once, and that he would never, ever feel sated again. Occasionally the strength in his hand would fail, and a piece of fruit or a sliver of meat would go bouncing from his fingers and rolling down the front of his tunic. Pippin didn't comment, but picked up the morsels and placed them back on Merry's plate, then stood and began to gather up the dirtied crockery of several meals. As he tidied up the room, his mind began to wander.
"Buckwheat griddle cakes...with fresh raspberries..." The rasping mumble startled Pippin and he twisted slightly against his bonds, turning his head toward the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his orc guard seated cross legged in the grass, his great ugly head nodding as he dozed in the twilight. Assured that he was in no imminent danger, Pippin rolled over quietly and tucked himself against his cousin. The wound on Merry's forehead had stopped bleeding, crusted over with dirt and scab, but his eyes were bruised and swollen shut. He inhaled sharply, and Pippin ducked his head to hear his cousin's words. "Strawberry scones with clotted cream and brown sugar," he mumbled.
"What are you talking about?" whispered Pippin, nudging Merry with his shoulder. Merry's brow furrowed and he managed to force one eye open. The white of his eye was marred with a bright red clot of blood, the result of a sound cuffing he had taken from one of the orcs. He smiled grimly at Pippin, burrowing closer so as to not awaken the guard.
"I'm so hungry, Pip, I was thinking about what I should like to eat when we get out of this muddle," he replied. At the very thought of a hearty meal in a warm, dry kitchen, Pippin's mouth began to water.
"Oh, yes, Mer, that's a lovely thought," he said quietly. He thought hard, trying to recall the last hot, real home-cooked hobbit meal he had eaten. "Mmm, I think I would start with a plate of fruit from the Smials' orchard, with some fresh sprigs of mint and slices of lemon. Then a nice bit of brisket, with boiled new potatoes and some fresh flour biscuits, and a mug of ale, of course." Merry made a distressed sound, half a groan of hunger and half a whimper of longing. "Then a lovely raisin tart and a cup of hot plum tea."
Merry muffled a giggle and whispered, "I should never have even brought it up. You've managed to make me even hungrier than I was before!" Pippin started to laugh aloud, but remembered their situation and swallowed it. A large gulping snort escaped him as he tried to quell the tide of hysterical giggles that threatened to overcome him. He ground his face against the dirt as he saw their guard jolt awake and fix them with his frightful yellow eyes. He tried to inch sideways away from Merry, but as the orc lumbered over, snarling curses, Merry rolled atop Pippin, shielding Pippin's face with his chest. Pippin heard rather than felt the first blow fall across Merry's back, and he cringed as Merry's body shuddered.
"Get off of me, Mer," Pippin grunted, trying to push his cousin away. Merry clamped his arms over Pippin's chest, pinning him against the dirt.
"Stop squirming, Pippin," ordered Merry. His voice cracked with pain as he said Pippin's name, and he convulsed again under the blows of the guard.
"They think it's funny, do they, that we've had to tramp over hill and plain to drag them back to Orthanc?" snarled the orc. "They think it's funny that we've been without fresh meat, without sleep, forced to march under the blasted sun, and for what?" The creature raised his braided cat tail whip again and Pippin heard it whistle through the air, then connect against Merry's neck with a sickening, wet snap. A spatter of hot blood splashed across Pippin's face, and rage rose in him. He pulled his fists to his chest, and shoved against Merry with all his strength. Merry lurched, and the orc caught him by the nape of the neck, snatching him into the air. As he dangled Merry six feet above the ground, he stared down at Pippin with malice-filled eyes. "The old wizard may want you unspoiled, lads, but he didn't say nothing about undamaged," he warned. With that, the orc flung Merry down into the dirt, launched a stunning kick to Pippin's stomach, and stalked back to the tree where he had been dozing.
Pippin curled in on himself and wrapped his arms around his stomach, coughing and gagging violently. His pulse was pounding in his head and he felt as though his eyeballs were about to pop out and roll away. Retching, he forced his eyes open and spotted Merry crawling toward him. Pippin rolled onto his side and held his arms out for Merry, who collapsed against them.
"Are you all right?" asked Merry in a barely audible whisper. Blood was dribbling down his chin. "Pippin?"
"Pippin?" Merry was staring at him with a worried furrow in his brow. "Are you all right, lad?" Pippin jiggled his head, trying to clear the fuzz of memory from his mind.
"I'm fine, of course. Just thinking about what I should like to have for second breakfast." Merry's face creased into a smile, and the dark memory faded, for a time, from Pippin's recall.