Pansy reached the house at a turtles pace. The snow was up to her ankles and was still steadily falling. All of this snow and the cold made it rough traveling. She heaved a sigh when she finally did reach Merry's home. Shifting Elanor slightly, Pansy knocked on his door.

Merry groaned when he heard a soft knocking at his door. Had he locked it? He did not think so, but he could have; he could honestly not remember the last few hours. "I'm coming," he wheezed, which almost sent him into another coughing fit. That was something he did not want right this moment. He was stiff, so moving was hard, and coughing would make it impossible.

Slowly, Merry heaved himself up from his chair. His body protested, but he paid it no heed. Sluggishly, he trudged to the door, though every few feet he had to stop and rest, because he felt as if he might fall over from exhaustion. "I am coming," each time he would stop. Merry said that about ten times before he actually got to the door and opened it. A cold, nippy wind blew in and Merry shielded his face with his right arm. When the wind died down, he removed his arm. "Pansy," he panted.

A sudden fit of coughing took him when Merry had said her name. His whole body shook as he hacked his lungs out. Merry wrapped protective arms around his waist, letting the door handle go. He bent double and let the fit take its course. It lasted a good five minutes and when it was done, he felt, if it was possible, worse then he had. Slowly, Merry straightened and leaned against the door, trying to regain some of his strength. After a moment, he stood as tall as he could and placed a hand again on the door handle so that he could steady himself.

Merry looked at Pansy and Eleanor who stood at the door. Merry thought he saw two of them. He shook his head and blinked again. Merry saw just one of Elanor and Pansy.

The hobbit did not look well. He was pale and his skin was clammy. His eyes were red rimmed and watering and his honey curls were plastered to his head from the feverish sweat. He had a flush to his face and his chest rose spastically as he inhaled and exhaled. A funny sound came from his chest as he did so.

Shifting Elanor to her hip, she turned to Merry and the hobbit lass slowly walked him to his bed, helping him down the hall. He felt rather light from his ailment she noticed. The hobbit woman was worried about Merry. In fact she was so worried that thoughts of Frodo were gone. When Merry and Pansy finally made it to his bedroom, there was a nock on the door. "Just a half second!" she called as she led Merry to his bed and placed him in it. Pansy puffed his pillows up and then covered him. After making sure he was as comfortable as possible, she went to the door to see who it was.

Pansy opened the door and gasped. A fragile looking young hobbit stood there shivering from the wet and cold. His locks of hair were plastered to his head and his big green eyes looked frightened. "I-is Mr. Merry here?" the young lad stammered as Pansy ushered the boy in.

"Merry is ill with the winter flu, Dairmack…"

The young lad stood there shivering and sniffing. He grew quite pale and he looked at his face. "Oh," he whispered absently.

"Mack are you all right?" Pansy asked alarmed, "What happened." The she-hobbit led the young hobbit boy into the house.

"Me parents fell sick with the winter flu an' died. The healer couldn' come in time, Miss Pansy," he whispered as he placed his hands in his pockets of his frazzled pants, "I was comin' to let Mr. Meriadoc of this." The tween-aged boy sniffed and shuffled.

"Oh Dairmack, I am terribly sorry. Come in…come in an' get warm," Pansy said, ushering him to the kitchen and sitting him down. "I'll be back I need to check on Merry. If you leave before I return, do take care."

As Pansy left, Mack nodded. He saw parchment and quill lying on the table. Mr. Merry told me that King Aragorn can heal anyone. He can help, Dairmack thought as he took up the writing equipment. The servant hobbit was glad Merry had taught him to write and read books and maps.

King Aragorn, We are in desperate need of your help here in the Shire. The winter weather is terribly cold and many of the hobbits are coming down with the winter flu especially because tis only September and the winter is too early. Our town doctor cannot see them all, nor does he have the skills needed to heal them. Mr. Merry an' countless others have fallen ill. Some are dyin' as we speak – includin' me parents. Haste is needed. We beg you to help. Sincerely, Dairmack. The young hobbit closed up the letter and left the home. He would take this letter himself to Gondor.