The growling in his belly had given way to queasiness, and Merry strongly suspected that his body had given up and was beginning the process that would end up with him being found dead on the floor. Things were numb that should not be numb. It was harder and harder to focus on that blossom in the wallpaper. Was it the second from the doorframe or the fourth? And the headache had drifted into a strange woozy feeling, as if his head was floating somewhere above his body. That was going to make for a very interesting portrait. He could see himself trying to explain it to his mother. No, no, he wouldn't be explaining it. He would be dead. That's right.

"You are looking a good deal like a wretched, hungry little fauntling, Master Brandybuck -- not at all like the future Master of the Hall. Whatever it was you were thinking before -- think that."

The woozy feeling faded as Merry remembered who it was that was torturing him. Pushing the toff out the window would not be as satisfactory as shoving his head into his own paints and then using him as a paintbrush on the wall and the floor -- and then out the window with him. Merry knew his mother wanted to replace the wallpaper in this parlour anyway and the rug wasn't much better -- and getting him down to the courtyard the shortest way would be best for all concerned.

"Precisely. Hold that thought."

A noise in the hall made Merry twitch and various pieces and parts start hurting a bit. His head seemed to have re-attached itself and now felt oddly heavy. The red head popped up from behind the canvas and they both listened intently. If Merry's mother chose today, of all days, to come to this musty, unused parlour -- surely she had more important things to do with all the parties and guests and-- His grandfather had concocted a ruse about an aunt whose portrait Bunce was supposedly painting and even the staff was in on it -- helping to schedule the sittings so that she was not in the vicinity. Merry wondered briefly what his grandfather would do to him if his mother found out at this late date, after all his efforts to keep it secret.

There was a sharp rap on the door and the nitwit made some exasperated noise.

"Oh, drat it all. I don't suppose you could answer that, could you?"

"Not if I can't move," Merry hissed between clenched teeth.

"You may move. It is likely our lunch and I cannot continue to concentrate with your stomach growling that loudly."

Merry sighed with relief and started to roll his shoulders.

"Wait!  You will fill your plate and return to your pose as best you can while you eat -- for the light and shadow on your clothing you know."

Merry frowned, shrugging his shoulders painfully. "What? But, you'll be eating!" His voice sounded rusty and strained, as if it had gone unused for days.

"Of course I'll be eating. But I need to study you while I do so."

"Study me?" It was on purpose -- just to torture Merry. Or perhaps Merry just wasn't hearing him plainly -- his head was whirling oddly after all.

"Are we agreed, or do I need pack my things?" That was likely delivered with that huge hawk nose stuck right up in the air and one hand on his hip like some matron aunt.

Merry rolled his eyes and they hurt as well. "Agreed. May I move?"

The door swung open. "No point in standing on ceremony when I am starved and my cousin is likely starved as well," came a familiar, beloved voice. "Merry? Are you hiding out in here?"

Merry's heart leapt into his throat and every bit of the blood in his body rushed to his face then headed south at a rapid pace, which made the whole whirling issue with his head much worse.

Frodo stepped into the parlour looking quizzically about. He had obviously come right from the road -- still in his hiking clothes with his pack slung over his shoulder, his hair wind-blown, his cheeks pink from the wind and cold -- and two wine glasses dangling from one hand. Looking in the direction of the artist and his canvas, Frodo frowned then stepped further into the room and turned to search for Merry, spotting him quickly in his assigned pose.

Just to be the focus of that regard -- to watch those eyes darken and go soft, that smile go from congenial to something decidedly more heated as it turned on him -- Merry felt the blood rush back into his chest and flutter wildly.

"Frodo," he croaked, standing up and promptly falling down.

"Merry!" came Frodo's concerned cry.

"If he has ruined his clothes, I will not be responsible for the results. This is just unconscionable."

Merry had no doubt as to whom that was. But he was busy studying a bit of the carpet at the moment. The design was quite intricate, but his mother was right -- it needed replacing.

Then Frodo was kneeling beside him. Merry could tell just from the warm scent of him -- juniper and a hint of spice. A firm hand gripped his elbow. "Merry? What's wrong?"

"My foot-- my leg went to sleep. Been sitting there for hours. Bugger all." Merry rolled over and poked at his leg, then shook his head to clear it.

"What happened to your voice?"

Merry looked up and found Frodo at his shoulder, frowning worriedly. Those two little wrinkles between his eyebrows were in full force and the sultry smile was gone. Leave it to Merry to ruin the mood completely by falling down.

"I don't-- well, actually, I didn't make it to breakfast and I-- well I ended up here and I-- I don't think I've had anything to drink today. I'm just a bit dried up." Merry grinned. "But you're early, Frodo! You've come early."

"Here. Let's get you back up in the chair, at least." Frodo braced Merry's elbow with both hands and stood, pulling Merry back up and depositing him on the overstuffed chair. "I seem to be picking you up off the floor a great deal of late."

"You do." Merry agreed, still grinning.

Frodo hunkered down in front of Merry and gave him an assessing look, then reached out his hand to cup Merry's face, gently stroking Merry's cheek with his thumb.

"I've missed you, cousin," Frodo said softly.

Well, that part of Merry was working just fine, thankyouverymuch. Merry closed his eyes and shivered, leaning into the warm caress. How could Frodo do that with just one touch, one whisper? At that moment, Merry's leg decided to catch fire.

"Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH." Merry chanted, holding his leg through the unbearable sensation of pins and needles. "Bugger ALL!"

Strong hands wrapped firmly around Merry's thigh, kneading and rubbing rapidly, working their way down to his calf and back up. "It will pass quickly enough."

Merry opened his eyes to find Frodo gazing at him with concern.

"How long have you been sitting there like that, without moving?" Frodo asked, his fingers still massaging.

"I-- Forever." Merry responded, smiling with relief as the pins and needles sensation in his leg gradually faded under Frodo's skilled manipulation. Frodo's hands-- Frodo's fingers moving on his thighs. The pins and needles headed straight up his spine and danced inside his belly.

"You've come early," Merry managed. Then he realized, vaguely, that he was repeating himself, like some love-struck idiot.

Frodo grinned. "Yes, I have. Only to find my erstwhile cousin is not in the vineyard helping with the pruning as his mother thought, but is hidden away in this rather dismal and dusty parlour skiving off work."

"Much rather be up in the mud than in here--" Merry whispered and jerked his head toward the artist, then winced as his head and neck both protested.

A disdainful voice from behind the easel interrupted. "We were to be left alone according to my contract."

Frodo frowned briefly. Then he smiled at Merry, his eyes sparkling. Merry watched, fascinated, as Frodo's eyes narrowed and his lips tilted into a rather evil-looking smirk.

Merry somehow remembered that he had to warn Frodo about the situation. "Grandfather did--"

"Sshhhh," Frodo held a finger up to his lips, then moved that finger forward to caress Merry's mouth slowly. "I did not come all this way to watch some Southfarthing peacock push you about. I do plan to spend a bit of the afternoon tormenting him." Frodo leaned forward, his lips against Merry's ear. "And the rest of the day tormenting you -- cousin," he whispered.

Merry's brain completely ceased to function at that point -- or at least the one in his skull. The other one was -- happily -- responding quite well.

"Just sit there and I'll get you a plate of food and something decent to drink." Frodo straightened up slowly.

Merry watched, fascinated, as Frodo just stood there, quietly, and transformed -- from a dishevelled traveller in mud-splattered breeches into a gentlehobbit who may as well have been groomed to the nines and wearing velvet and satin -- just the cant of his shoulders, the lift of his chin, the gleam in his eye, and the expression on his face. One slow, sly wink at Merry and he spun on his heel.

***

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