AUTHOR'S NOTES:

"For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer."
J.R.R. Tolkien The Return of the King

"Wake up, Merry, oh, please wake up!" Pippin whispered desperately. He clutched Merry's hand, and caressed his cheek, but there was no response. It is said in old lore: the hands of the king are the hands of a healer. But Strider was hundreds of leagues away and Pippin did not know what to do. The king had saved Merry before, but there was no one now who could. No one in the Shire anyway, for Merry's ailment was not something an ordinary healer could address. It was a sickness of the heart, and it had been growing worse since Frodo's departure last September.

Merry lay on his bed at Crickhollow, breathing in shallow gasps as he fended off some terrible apparition in his mind. The early spring rain tapped gently against the window; a comforting sound usually, but this night the skies seemed to weep the tears that neither Merry nor Pippin could anymore. Pippin sat on Merry's bed, clad only in his nightshirt. He had awakened to the sounds of Merry having a nightmare, and hurried in to his cousin without stopping to put on a dressing gown. He grasped Merry's right hand and drew in a startled breath. His cousin's hand was like ice.

"Shhh, Merry-lad. You're safe in Crickhollow now. Everything is all right," he whispered, brushing his cousin's curls from his forehead. He leaned over his cousin as Merry's eyes blinked and came into focus, settling on Pippin's concerned face.

"Pip?" Merry looked around the dark room without lifting his head from the pillow. "What are you doing in here?" He began to remember the sick terror of his dreams, and he closed his eyes until he regained his self-possession.

"It was another nightmare, Love," said Pippin. He placed his other hand over Merry's and gently rubbed the fingers, hoping to extend some warmth to his cousin's frigid hand. "Just a dream."

"Ah," Merry sighed, and turned his head toward the window. His cold fingers tightened around Pippin's for a moment, and then he let go. Pippin didn't say anything, but he found his cousin's hand again and took it up. Merry drew a trembling breath. "I'm all right, Pip. Don't worry about me. You can go back to bed. I don't want you to catch cold."

"I'm nice and warm," responded Pippin. "But maybe I should stir up the fire, so that you can warm yourself. It's a chilly night outside." Pippin rose from the bed and placed a brick to warm by the hearth, before poking at the coals with a fire iron. Merry continued to stare out the window. Although the rain was steady, moonlight shone faintly through the glass, throwing a bluish cast over everything. "Do you know what you need?" asked Pippin, turning to his cousin. "I'm going to make some cambric tea. That will warm you up and help you get some nice sleep tonight."

Merry smiled faintly. "I haven't had cambric tea since I was twelve, Pip."

"No reason not to have some now though," said Pippin firmly. He picked up a taper from the mantel and held it to the coals until it lit. Then he fitted it in a candlestick and placed it on the table next to Merry. "You stay right there until I get back. I'll just be a moment," he added, tucking the quilt up to Merry's chin. Merry opened his mouth to argue, then reconsidered and settled back into the bed, feeling a trace of warmth sink back into his arm. He watched his cousin bustle out of the room before turning back to stare out the window, stifling a sigh. His arm was aching and his fingers were tingling most unpleasantly.

Pippin was shaking as he darted through the kitchen, swinging the teakettle over the fire, rearranging the logs and stabbing at the coals to coax them into flame. He knee buckled, making him stumble into the table, and he knocked over a pitcher, which he barely managed to catch before its contents could spill. His injuries from the last battle ached this evening and he grimaced, flexing his sore knee while he searched the cupboard for the tea strainer. Then he reached for some mugs for tea, and knocked two of them against each other. He picked one up and examined it: Merry's favorite. Frodo had given it to Merry and now Pippin had chipped it. He leaned against the table and squeezed his eyes shut.

Nightmares. He had them. Merry had them. Frodo had them, or did, at least, until he left. He suspected that Sam also had them, but there was a placid look in Sam's eyes that neither Merry's nor Frodo's held, nor he thought, did his own eyes. No, Sam had returned differently than they had from their adventure. Instead, he had taken his wounding when Frodo left - when he could not protect his beloved friend and master from the pain that was legacy to their journey. That kind of wound Pippin understood well, for he had no idea how to help Merry recover.

Upon their return to the Shire, the problems of trying to mend the damage to their homeland had occupied all of their waking hours. There were new crops to plant, homes to restore and families and friends to help. Then the spring had burst forth with riotous wonder and it had been a time to celebrate. Initially they had made a game of it, riding around in their knightly outfits and basking in the admiration. It had seemed to Pippin that they had furiously, frantically gamboled about, wresting whatever laughter they could from every situation. Sam and Frodo had withdrawn, but both Merry and Pippin plunged into the Shire with their hearts open and ready for merriment. True, their bodies were still hurt from the Quest. Pippin's aches from the Battle of the Black Gate acted up every time it rained, and his sharp eyes had noticed that Merry was favoring his injured arm, especially lately. But during the warm weather, riding over the green lands of the Shire made them forget about the horror, at least for a time. As those happy months had passed Pippin had seen, but not truly understood, the pallor that clung to his cousin Frodo after his return. Frodo had grown more slender and quiet than ever, until it seemed to Pippin that perhaps Frodo's body was turning into a shadow, as his spirit refused to relinquish its light.

Since Frodo had sailed away, however, Merry's nightmares had taken a stronger hold and Pippin grew frightened by the melancholia that was settling on his cousin. Losing Frodo had devastated both of them, but it seemed like Merry was sinking further into the shadow with every passing day. He opened his eyes and glared down at his hands in frustration. He couldn't surrender both Merry and Frodo.

The teakettle began to hiss and Pippin hurriedly put together the cambric tea, adding an extra dollop of honey to his. Then he took a few biscuits and put them on a tray with the mugs - no sense in tea without something to fill up the corners, he thought. He padded through the dark house feeling the draft more keenly than in the snug holes of Tuckborough and Buckland, and found his way back to Merry.

His cousin hadn't moved from where he lay in bed, and Pippin placed the tray as quietly as possible on the table next to him, picking up the candle and replacing it on the tray. "Merry?" he asked softly.

"Still here, Pip," said Merry, rolling over to face his cousin. "There's quite a lot of rain coming down outside." He sat up in bed slowly and took the cup of tea his cousin offered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Pippin. He felt his cousin's eyes on him and knew that Merry was studying him, searching for any signs of affliction.

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Merry, taking a sip of tea.

"I'm feeling fine." Pippin settled into the rocking chair next to the bed and put his feet on the edge of the mattress, pushing himself back and forth. He casually rested his mug on his knee, enjoying the warmth that it transferred to him. "It's a little warmer in here now that the fire is going again." Merry nodded. Pippin felt the awkwardness in the silence and took a sip of tea, relishing the sweetness. "Would you like a biscuit?" he asked, picking one up and holding it out. Merry shook his head. "Come along, Merry - just one. They're your favorite - with the dried bits of strawberry in them."

"No thanks, Pip. You go ahead."

Pippin frowned, but took a bite of the biscuit. Merry's lack of appetite wasn't right at all. He chewed silently, looking around the room; it was much tidier than his own room. Merry always kept his clothes neatly folded and laid in the press, and arranged his things with great care on the shelves. The shield that he had carried home from his travels hung on the wall above the highly polished table holding Merry's most treasured books. Frodo had written two of them. Bilbo had written one. A fourth book - one on the history of the Oldbucks - was so old that the worn leather cover was held together with strips of new leather pasted on top of it, and the fifth book, a treatise on farming, held bits of wisdom collected over the years by the Brandybuck family. "Just one biscuit, Merry. You didn't eat very much dinner - and hardly any pudding. You're going to have no belly at all if you don't start to fill it up with something."

"No biscuit," yawned Merry. "I'm getting sleepy again. I'm sorry I woke you. You should know by now not to bother worrying about it. It's just a silly nightmare."

"It's always a silly nightmare," said Pippin. "But maybe if you talked about them, they might start to go away."

"I don't want to talk about them," said Merry. "It's bad enough experiencing them when I'm sleeping. I don't want to worry about it when I'm awake." A tremor went through his shoulders. "Besides, you've told me some about yours. Has that made them go away?"

Pippin winced, but didn't respond, staring down at his cup instead. "Best drink your tea," he said finally. "It will help you to sleep."

"I like holding it," said Merry. "It feels good on my hands."

"I've got a brick warming by the fire," said Pippin. "I'll wrap it in flannel and that will keep you warm until morning."

"What happened to my mug?" asked Merry, noticing the chip.

"I'm sorry, my dear," said Pippin. "I chipped it when I was getting the tea." Merry stared at the mug. It was light green with a band of wildflowers painted around the center. It had been a gift to him on the occasion of Frodo's fortieth birthday long ago, and it had greeted Merry every morning ever after. He liked it because the handle was wide enough to comfortably rest all of his fingers - even after the Ent-draughts. "I think I can get it fixed so you won't notice it though," continued Pippin anxiously, knowing how particular Merry could be about his things.

Merry looked up. "Oh Pip, it isn't important." His face brightened. "Look, now I have the mug to remind me of Frodo and I have the chip to remind me of you." He ran his finger over the missing fragment of crockery and inspected his hand, frowning.

Pippin was about to point out that Merry didn't need to be reminded of him - that he was right next to Merry day and night - but instead watched Merry's hand as he ran his finger over the chip. As he lifted his fingers from the mug Pippin saw that they were trembling. "I always liked that mug," he said hastily. "What are those flowers? They grow wild all over the fields at Buckland."

Merry examined the pale white flowers circling the mug. "Those are fieldvinca. They're really quite a nice little plant. You can use the flowers to make a tea that eases aching muscles. And if you chop up the roots very fine and steep them for several days, you can extract a thick syrup that soothes a sore throat. My mother used to make it every spring - it lasts a long time."

"Is that the stuff my mother used to make me take all the time? It tasted good. She used to put a lot of honey in it for me."

Merry studied the mug. "It probably was. Poor Pip. You were always getting sick."

"I wasn't always getting sick. I just didn't have an absurdly strong constitution like someone I could mention." The two sat in silence, Pip rocking back and forth and Merry staring at the flowers on the mug. Maybe there was some kind of herb that Merry might take - perhaps a healer would have some ideas. No, thought Pippin. Merry was usually quite stubborn when it came to his kin's concern for his welfare, and refused any kind of medicine if he could help it. And besides, Merry didn't need potions. Merry needed to take an interest in life again - Pippin was sure of it. He needed something that would remind him of old times; something to reassure him that the beauty of carefree days could still come back. Merry needed to remember in his heart that the summer sunshine would always come back to shimmer on the Brandywine and that apples were crisp and good in the fall - something to remind him of the pleasure of his own hearth on a chilly day and that every spring promised new growth in the warm earth. He needed to know that in time, berries would cover the briers and young hobbits would gather them for pies, stuffing as many as they could into their mouths. He glanced at the flowers circling Merry's mug and finally spoke up. "Do you remember in the late spring when all of the children were sent out to gather the roots and herbs to make all of those concoctions? Our mothers would make it into a picnic and we would spend days outside searching for the best patches of weeds and moss?"

"Weeds and moss?" asked Merry, his eyebrows rising. "That's you all over, my Pip. You never could tell the difference between a bunch of lambpetal and a sack of sweetroot. You only ever went for the picnicking afterward. Do you remember when you picked an entire bag of poison ivy?"

"I was only six," countered Pippin, with dignity. "I couldn't possibly remember. But I do remember, my dear ass, when you and Fatty Bolger sneaked off to smoke what you thought was pipe-weed and it turned out to be fillboil. You were both sick for a week. And Fatty broke out in spots."

Merry threw back his head and laughed. "I remember. You'd think we would have been bright enough to know the difference between pipe-weed and something they use to make soap. It tasted terrible." Pippin grinned, distracted by the sound of Merry's laughter - something he hadn't heard in much too long. "Do you remember finding all that dried sap from the boca bushes, grinding it up and powdering the seats of the bathhouse with it?"

"Brilliant," chuckled Pippin. "I heard Old Rory complaining about still sticking to the seats two years later. How did you ever think of that?"

"Actually, that one came down to me from my father," giggled Merry. Pippin nudged a biscuit toward Merry and watched with great satisfaction as his cousin picked it up. Merry continued talking about their childhood escapades, chuckling at the idea of raiding farms, and frowning occasionally as he called to mind some of the more disastrous pranks. Pippin observed him discreetly. The seeds of an idea were beginning to take root in his mind.

The sun was threatening to rise when Pippin tucked the warm brick in with his cousin and wandered back to his own room, yawning. As they had talked and laughed, it seemed that the sun broke out in the darkened room and they were again two young hobbits - the worst of the rascals of both Buckland and Tuckborough. Merry was happy again, and Pippin was determined to keep him that way.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," said Pippin, pouring tea into two cups. "I was about to take a tray into your room - I didn't think you would ever wake up." Merry yawned and wandered into the kitchen, tying the belt of the warm woolen dressing gown that he had brought in from Bree. Pippin was already dressed, having been out in the gardens earlier. There wasn't very much in the way of greenery from the earth yet this spring, but there was enough to suit Pippin's purpose. "I was hoping that you might want to take a ride today - perhaps visit the Bolgers. They always put out a grand spread. It might shake off this headache of mine."

"You have a headache?" asked Merry. He picked up a piece of toast and took a bite without buttering it. Pippin frowned. "I'm sorry. You probably have it from sitting up with me. I wish you had gone to bed instead."

"No matter. I made some tea for it. Here - you should probably have some too. You always get a headache when you're up too late."

Pippin handed him a cup and Merry absently took a sip. He spat it back in the cup immediately. "Pippin! This is terrible. What in the world did you put in it?"

"Nothing odd, Merry. I picked some of the herbs from the garden - like your mother used to do when I would have a headache while at Buckland."

Merry put down the cup. "Pippin, she didn't just throw in any herbs she happened to find outside. She used ones that would specifically help a headache - like fairy's glove. But you have to know how to harvest it and use it properly."

"I know that," replied Pippin, exasperated. "But there was no fairy's glove in the garden. I did find some feverfew there, and thought that it might do just as well. Didn't your mother used to make feverfew tea?" He picked up the cup and put it to his lips.

"Don't you dare drink that, you silly Took!" said Merry, jerking the cup away from Pippin. It splashed onto the table. "You can't just pull some feverfew from the garden when you have a headache. It has to be harvested in the summer, when the plant is in flower. And the leaves have to be cured before you use it. You never, ever drink it straight from the garden. Why in the name of wonder would you try to put something together like feverfew tea? You know better." Pippin glanced down at the tea spattered across the table and wiped it up with a towel. "You are looking a bit pale, though," said Merry in a gentler voice. "Wait a moment. I think I have something that will help." Merry disappeared from the kitchen and returned a few moments later holding a small dark bottle. He uncorked it and dashed a drop across his fingertips, putting down the bottle and applied it gently to Pippin's temples.

"Mmm... that's nice. What is it?" asked Pippin.

"It's just a little lavender oil. My mother sent it when we first opened the house here. It ought to help your head."

"What does she do - soak the lavender in water?"

"No - oil. That's why they call it lavender oil," said Merry patiently. He wiped his hands on the towel. "You have to steep it and - oh, never mind. What's all of this sudden interest in herbs? You're not feeling poorly, are you?" Merry was suddenly anxious.

"No - not at all," said Pippin in a hurry. The last thing Pippin wanted was for Merry to start worrying about the state of Pippin's health. "I just had a headache, and I thought that was what you did for it."

"Well please don't start messing about with putting plants in your stomach that you don't know anything about," said Merry. "Now what's this about riding off to the Bolgers?"

"We might visit the Bolgers today, if you like. It would be nice to get outside and the air is so fresh after last night's rain and I thought - "

"I'm not sure I'm up to a visit with Fatty today, Pip. I thought it would be a good day to stay home and rest."

"We stayed home and rested yesterday, silly," replied Pippin.

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't do it again today," said Merry. His tone was light but his brows drew together and he glanced down at his hands.

"It would be good for you to get out and about, Master Meriadoc. And I think today is Estella's baking day," he added persuasively. "She makes the loveliest apple tarts in the Shire."

"I just don't feel like dressing up and doing the proper," said Merry crossly. "If you want Estella's apple tarts, you go visit Fatty."

"Don't get irritable, Merry," said Pippin. "We can stay home today. I just thought you might enjoy getting outside for a while." He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked out the kitchen window. Sunlight streamed down over the grass and a breeze gaily stirred the barley in the green meadow. White clouds drifted across the expanse of blue sky like sparkles on a clear pond and he blinked his eyes against the brightness, feeling them start to water.

"I'm sorry, Pip," said Merry. He sat down heavily in a chair and rubbed his arm absently. "I'm out of sorts today. Why don't you ride out and visit the Bolgers? I'll stay here and - and see to things."

"What things?" asked Pippin.

"Just - things. I don't really feel up to chatting with Fatty or Estella, and I really don't feel like making pleasantries with the rest of the Bolgers. You go ahead without me, Pip. Really. I'll be just fine right here."

"That's all right, Merry," said Pippin, turning from the window. "Perhaps it would be better to visit another day. It might rain again, you know."

Merry looked Pippin up and down carefully. "You get yourself outside, Peregrin Took, and go visit the Bolgers. I don't need a nursemaid and I'll be fine at home. I want to do a bit of reading and you don't need to sit here and watch me do it. Really," he added, as he observed the signs of Pippin building an argument. "In fact, you might want to see if the market has anything interesting for supper, if you've a mind." Merry had been handling Pippin's arguments since Pippin came up to his knee, and had grown quite skilled at managing him.

Pippin bit back his words and smiled at his cousin. "I'll do that then, if you don't want to go. I have to pick up a few things, anyway. Do you want anything from anywhere?" Merry shook his head. Pippin frowned, but refrained from commenting. Forcing himself to wave brightly to Merry, who was listlessly making a proper cup of tea, Pippin retreated to the small stable, took his pony out and rode off as if an army of orcs was behind him.

Merry watched through the window as his cousin bolted past. At least Pippin would be getting outside today. It would do the lad some good to rid himself of his pent-up energy. He had been staying home with Merry too much, and lately Merry's disposition hadn't been very conducive to decent conversation, let alone doing anything active.

His lack of sleep was starting to wear on him, and it was affecting Pippin too. He knew that Pippin was worried over the increase in nightmares Merry suffered, but Pippin woke up too often with his own bad dreams to be worrying about Merry. Not wanting to fret Pip further, Merry had remained silent about the pain in his arm. He had hoped that he had fully recovered in the Houses of Healing, but Aragorn had warned Merry it would take a long time for the damage to completely mend; his hurt was such as was likely to trouble him now and then for years. Lately things had grown worse, and his arm felt like ice - as though the upper muscles were twisted in a knot, making his fingers grow numb. Worse, the littlest tasks - sometimes just getting food to his mouth, for instance, were difficult. Things that he used to be able to do without a thought now took determination and concentration and he couldn't bear the concern in Pip's eyes.

As for his mood, Merry thought some time alone might ease his troubled mind. The months after Frodo's departure had been particularly grey and rainy, and constantly staying indoors had dampened his spirits, as well as Pippin's. He should have gone with Pippin, but more than being out and about, as Pippin put it, he needed time to think. He needed to think about Frodo and what it all meant - why his cousin had to leave them. He needed to try to understand why everything had to happen as it did. After everything that all of them had endured, it should have ended more happily. That wasn't what was supposed to happen in stories. What could he have done - what should he have done - differently? He couldn't have stopped Frodo from going, of course, but he never should have allowed Pippin to go with them; his cousin was too young to suffer this depth of grief. But what if Pip hadn't gone? Merry would certainly be dead, for it was Pippin whose quick thinking had saved them from the Uruk-hai. Faramir would be dead, too, and there would be no redemption of honor for the Stewards of Gondor. The Quest might even have failed, for Pippin's foolish handling of the Palantir may have changed the course of events and tipped the balance in their favor. But he could hardly stand the reality that his young cousin should now suffer so for his courage and valor. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Perhaps now that spring was on its way, Pippin would venture outside and have a little fun again - that might lift the clouds that had settled over them. Pippin's liveliness had always been a breeze that lifted and carried them both above their troubles. He stirred his tea. If necessary, he would have to find some reasons to get his cousin outside so that Pippin could recover his spirits.

Pippin returned from the visit windblown and feeling quite successful. He needn't have worried that Merry would be too depressed to dress. Merry was a Brandybuck and discipline ruled the Brandybucks. Merry was firmly buttoned into his waistcoat and his tie was neatly fixed around his throat. "I'm home!" sang out Pippin, carrying bundles into the small house. "And I've brought food! I hope you've started something for tea."

"I'm sorry, Pip," said Merry. "I suppose I lost track of time. I haven't started anything. I was reading."

"Reading?" exclaimed Pippin. "All day? Merry, it was lovely outside earlier. You should have at least taken a stroll."

"I walked about the stream for a little while this morning," said Merry thoughtfully.

"Well, the sun went back in for the afternoon and it's starting to drizzle again." Pippin shook the droplets of water from his curls and put his packages on the table, sorting through them. He pulled out a small bundle that had obviously been opened and hastily re-wrapped. "Estella sends greetings - oh, yes, and some apple tarts," said Pippin, putting six pastries on a plate. "She sent a dozen of her finest."

"Where are the rest of th - ah, I see," said Merry, noticing the crumbs. He picked one up and took a bite. "You're right. She does make good apple tarts - better than Rosie Gamgee's, and that's saying something. What's that you've got there?"

"Oh, Estella's little niece Lucern drew a picture for you. She felt bad that you didn't come to visit."

"'Stella or Lucern?"

"Lucern, silly, although I will venture to suppose that Estella was disappointed as well."

Merry looked over the scrawled picture of a flower and chuckled. "That's charming - what is it? Dwale?"

"It's supposed to be wolf's cap, but we didn't remember how the leaves went. I tried to help her, but I suppose I made a hash of it. Do you want some tea?" he asked, putting the kettle over the fire.

The corners of Merry's mouth turned up. "Wolf's cap has spikier leaves - rather like a hand with fingers. She drew them like little spades."

"Well she's only four," said Pippin. "I think she has a bit of a soft spot for you."

"Well of course she does," said Merry. "All Bolger women have a soft spot in their hearts for me."

"More like in their heads," replied Pippin equitably. "Isn't wolf's cap poisonous?"

"It is," said Merry, idly looking at the picture. "Although I think some healers do something or other with it. I wouldn't want to try to use it."

"Ah. Well, you might want to mention it to Fatty. I think that he said there's some in the meadows by his smial. I'd hate to have little Lucie or her baby brother get into it by accident." He took out Merry's cup with the chip and another mug and set them on a tray, adding the plate of apple tarts and various other bits and bites. "Where's the butter?" he asked.

Merry waved toward the well-stocked larder with an absent look on his face. "They ought to clear that out," he said, "for all that it's pretty. I wouldn't want it around Brandy Hall where the children play." He opened another package that Pippin had dropped on the table. "Pippin, what's all of this parchment for?"

"Oh, I wanted to ask you how to draw wolf's cap properly and then I thought I would send it to Lucie. I think she might have a little bit of talent in that direction."

"Pip, you don't know how to draw."

"How hard can it be?" asked Pippin, shrugging. "I thought it might be fun to try."

Merry shook his head. This sudden interest in botany must be some new freak of Pippin's, he thought. Harmless, but then, if Fatty had some poisonous plants by his house, maybe he should know what they looked like so that he could get rid of them. "Well, if you send a picture to Lucern, make sure that you add a note to Fatty telling him what to look for." Merry stopped and ran his fingers over the pile of parchment. Pippin didn't need all of this for little Lucie; that was for sure. And he was never one for much writing. He still owed two letters to his mother, one to a sister, and one to his old Uncle Adelard. "But Pip, why this much parchment? Don't tell me that you're actually going to answer some of your correspondence."

Pippin shrugged. "I don't know. It just seemed as though it would be nice to have some if we wanted it. Don't worry. I'll find someplace to hide it."

The two sat down to tea in front of a pleasant fire in the sitting room hearth. When they had first arrived home, it seemed like they could never get enough of the good, wholesome hobbit food they had longed for while on the road. After getting their larders refilled by the redistributed crops, their mothers, aunts, cousins, and the family of every unmarried hobbit lass in the Shire had feasted them every day. But both Merry and Pippin were quickly over-satiated - a concept that had never occurred to them in their most far-flung dreams - with every hobbit female of their acquaintance trying to outdo one another, and in their own home had taken to making simple foods, (although still in good quantity.) A hearty stack of apple bread, toasted and spread with butter and jam joined the remaining apple tarts, which sat on the tray next to a jar of chutney with a spoon sticking out of it. Two dishes of custard and several scones left over from breakfast rounded out the meal. Pippin, discouraged by the paltry amount that Merry ate, redoubled his efforts to lighten the mood by describing Fatty's unsuccessful attempt to banish a rabbit from his garden and was rewarded when Merry took an extra slice of apple bread.

After tea, Pippin sat down at a table and took up a quill. He stared outside thoughtfully, noticing that the cool drizzle of the afternoon had given way to a silvery mist, threading its way around the house. The swirling vapors outside troubled him, although he couldn't place why. With a sigh, Pippin drew a piece of parchment close to him and started working on it. Merry sat in front of the fireplace with his toes propped on the fender, rocking back and forth in his chair as he smoked his pipe. The scratching of a quill eventually caught his attention and he glanced up at his cousin. Pippin leaned over his work, his chin in his hand and a dab of ink across his nose.

"What is that you're working on, Pip?" asked Merry curiously. "Are you still writing to Estella's niece?" He rose and leaned over his cousin, looking down at the smeared drawing. Several other attempts lay on the table.

"It's supposed to be a drawing of wolf's cap for little Lucie," sighed Pippin, "but I suppose it's a bit of a mess - dreadful, really. It's harder to draw than I thought it would be."

"Well Pip, you don't want to paint over the ink," said Merry. "You'll smudge it. Put the color down first and then put the lines over the color after it's dry."

"But how do you know where to put the color if you don't have any lines?" asked Pippin.

"Well, you just - I don't know. You just think about how the flower should look." He hesitated, then picked up a paintbrush and dipped it into some blue ink. His writing hand still felt clumsy and he had avoided writing as much as possible since his return home. But Pippin waited, so Merry took a deep breath and began, tensing to steady the slight tremble in his hand. "Here - just a stroke here, up top...and here for another petal...it gets lighter at the bottom of the flower...another petal..." He carefully swirled the brush around in a cup of water and dipped it into a small jar of red ink. "Now we mix a little red into the blue while it's still wet - see how it makes a nice purple?" Merry cleaned the brush off and laid it aside. He used one of Pippin's mistakes to blot the colored ink, blew on it delicately and picked up a quill, dipping it into the bottle of blue ink. "Now you draw a few lines over the colors that you've laid down in order to outline the shape. It should be drier than this, mind, and..."

Pippin watched as his cousin painstakingly added a few strokes of ink, defining the shape of the flower. "That's beautiful, Merry," he said. "Much better than what I was doing. Maybe you should draw it for Lucie - so she'll know what not to get into - as far as the garden goes, you know."

"Oh, I don't know, Pip," said Merry, doubtfully. "You were the one who visited - "

"But you were the one she drew it for," rejoined Pippin. "Come along - give me a hand. And while you do the picture, you can tell me what to write to Fatty about it. I don't know anything about these silly weed-things."

The cousins worked comfortably alongside each other, until the darkness reminded Pippin sharply that supper wasn't yet over the hearth. He left Merry working busily, and hummed to himself as he noticed that Merry was adding a few more pictures of "don't touch" flowers to the wolf's cap picture.

The evening was spent with the two cousins working on several drawings and a letter to Fatty, as well as one to Pippin's uncle. Then they banked the hearths and went to bed. Pippin smiled in the darkness as he stretched out. Brandybucks were quite stubborn, but Pippin had been managing this particular Brandybuck since he was three years old and he had grown quite practiced at it. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
 

The smial was cold. Pippin awakened and sat up in bed, feeling in the darkness for a candle. He drew back his hand in a hurry - the night table was like ice.

Mother? There was no answer. Da?

His teeth were chattering.

Swinging his feet out of the bed, he stumbled through the smial on the cold flagstones of the floor. Moonlight spilled in through the windows in the hall. Why was the smial so cold? Why weren't any of the fireplaces lit? He glanced down at his feet and noticed that a filmy mist crawled over the floor as though it was a live thing, wrapping tendrils around his ankles. He picked one foot up, and then the other but the syrupy haze clung to him, damp and cold.

"Merry!" But there was no sound. "Merry!!" Something terrible was in the smial. A presence surrounded him, making his arms and legs clumsy with heaviness and choking him with a thick horror. He tried to run, but the heaviness of his limbs impeded him and the footfall of his bare feet echoed like a slowing heartbeat through the halls of Tuckborough. His voice was strangling in his throat. Why could he not call out? Footsteps followed behind him, getting closer.

"Pippin." Pippin stopped and searched the darkness. The hall was empty.

He stood, breathing hard as his eyes searched the darkness. "Merry? Is that you? Merry? Merry!"

"Shhh." The room began to grow warmer, and a faint light appeared. It was a familiar presence; a loved presence. "Hush. Go back to sleep, Pippin. Morning is coming soon."

"Merry?" The hall began to grow darker, but it enveloped Pippin soothingly, this time, as though he was being held safely in someone's arms. "Better." he murmured sleepily, and snuggled back into the covers.
 

Merry quietly shut the door to his cousin's room. The sound of Pippin's restlessness woke him up and when he investigated, he found his cousin thrashing violently, as though trying to escape from something. Pippin's legs were tangled around the blankets and his pillow was wedged against the wall, trapping his arm underneath. Without waking his cousin, Merry gently untangled him, smoothed down the bedding and brushed back Pippin's curls, murmuring gentle nonsense until his cousin settled down and subsided into peaceful sleep. He waited a moment, to make sure that the dream didn't return, then retreated into the hall with a sigh. He leaned against the heavy wooden door and stared down at the floor, lost in thought. Sleep wasn't going to come to him again tonight; he was sure of that. His dreams this night hadn't been evil, but they had grieved him. He had searched though the halls of Meduseld, seeking Theoden, only to be told by a masked knight that the king was in his garden, and would answer no calls. But we were to talk of herb-lore, begged Merry pitifully. Yet the masked knight disappeared into the darkness and no one answered his further entreaties.

Merry wandered into the study and lit a taper in the coals of the fire, placing it in an earthen candleholder. He honored the memory of his brief service with the King of Rohan, and his grief at their parting still hurt. To see nobility so strong and absolute fall before evil had profoundly shaken his faith in the order of things. Theoden should have lived to rule as a wise and proud king, and seen his country rise again from the injury done to its lands.

The hobbit stirred the coals of the fire and added another log, staring into the flames. Theoden's people would venerate his memory with great songs and tales of valor, but exalted words were but a ceremonious recognition of a great ruler. Merry remembered the king with gratitude as a courteous and kind man who sought to set a frightened lad at ease by speaking of the simple things that Merry knew. Would it not be just as fitting to honor the compassionate spirit of such a man, as to honor his greatness?

Merry turned from the fire and took a few steps toward his cousin's room, listening for any sounds of unrest. He was worried about Pippin. His cousin had never flourished when contained indoors, whatever the reason. Throughout their lives growing up in the Shire, Merry was content inside or outside, but Pippin's active person constantly needed fresh air and exercise. His hovering over Merry was not doing either of them any good; Merry needed Pippin to be his usual bright and light-hearted self, or all of the pain and grief they had known would be meaningless. There had to be some way that Merry could encourage him to ride about more so that he would renew his spirit and thrive in the sunshine.

He paused by the desk and looked down. There were several neatly drawn pictures of what Pippin had termed "don't touch" plants to warn little Lucie away from them. His brows drew together in puzzlement. Pippin had actually seemed to be interested in the information Merry had patiently related as he drew the pictures last night. That was odd, considering how little interest Pippin had ever shown in the subject before. Idly he picked up one of the drawings. This would be the sort of thing that should be in the library at Brandy Hall, but wasn't, as far as he knew. He didn't recall seeing any books on herb-lore that contained drawings. There were many descriptive volumes, and his mother had some scrolls displaying a rough sketch here and there, but there was no comprehensive collection about herbs that had pictures to help identify the plants. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to put together something - a slim volume, maybe, with a few pictures - that would help teach people the uses of the greenery of the Shire. But that would involve doing quite a large amount of writing and drawing, and Merry still hadn't regained all of his coordination after his wounding at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The elegantly fine penmanship in which he had always taken such pride was now only reproduced with great effort. The idea of putting together an entire book was daunting.

And yet - he inspected another simple drawing thoughtfully - this was something he could take his time with in order to do it well. And it was something that would help others - a worthy way, perhaps, that he, Meriadoc, might be able to honor the noble king whom he had known so briefly. It could almost be as though he were talking with Theoden again, and discussing herb-lore. Examining the drawings, he crossed the room and checked on the rising flames in the hearth. Moreover, gathering samples for Merry to draw would serve to encourage Pippin outside more, especially with the weather growing nicer with the coming summer. This might be exactly what Merry needed to help Pippin - if he moved cautiously enough so that Pippin wouldn't suspect anything. Pippin could be quite stubborn if he suspected that people were meddling with his health. He sat down at the table and flexed his hand several times before dipping his quill into the ink. Thinking carefully, he started listing what wild herbs already should have poked their heads from the ground this early in the spring. His hand grew firmer as the list grew longer, and Merry bent his head over his work until the taper guttered in its holder. Then he settled into his chair, wrapped a lap blanket around his shoulders and dozed in front of the ebbing fire until the morning sun streamed in the window.

"Good morning, slug-a-bed," said Merry, as Pippin entered the kitchen rubbing sleep from his eyes. Merry was immaculately dressed in his favorite waistcoat and was turning bacon over in a skillet on the iron stove. "Pour yourself some tea - and pour another cup for me, while you're at it."

Pippin blinked in surprise. "Good morning, yourself," he replied, picking up the teapot and carefully pouring from it. "You're up early."

"Someone had to make some breakfast before I take you tromping through these freezing cold and wet woods."

"Well then, I'm glad you - what?"

"I said, Sir Slug-a-bed, that we need to go outside today - at least while the sunshine lasts. I want to gather a few herbs to make some more drawings for little Lucie. And I had a couple of ideas last night that I thought I might try this spring, if you wouldn't mind giving me a hand."

"Delighted, dear Merry." This was easier than Pippin had hoped. Pippin hid his smug expression in his cup of tea.

Merry turned toward the oven and checked the scones to hide his pleased smile. This was easier than Merry had hoped. "Would you kindly set the table for breakfast, then?" he said.

The summer of 1422 (Shire Reckoning) was gloriously beautiful. Wildflowers bloomed throughout the whole of the Shire with unrestrained abandon. Indeed, berries did cover the brier bushes and young hobbits gathered them for pies, stuffing as many as they could into their mouths. Merry spent hours riding across the fields with Pippin to choose suitable samples for drawing. If Pippin learned more about weeds and moss than he was interested in, he seemed satisfied to see Merry taking an interest in the Shire again. If Merry was outside more than he would have chosen to be, he was pleased to watch his cousin's color return. And if Estella Bolger was often on hand to help Merry sort through his samples of wildflowers, well, perhaps it was only that she was interested in herb-lore. It is said in old lore that the hands of the king are the hands of a healer. But more oftentimes, it's the hands of a friend that heal the heart.