"Merry," said Pip, "ought she to be up and charging about like that?"

Merry scooted over to give his cousin some sitting space on the garden wall. "'Course she is. You don't think a little thing like near death would keep Her Ladyship down for long, do you?"

"So who's winning?" Pippin wondered, accepting an apple and gazing curiously down at the wrestling contest betwen Lady Eowyn and her elder brother.

"Can't tell yet. Looks like a near thing."

"They're getting very dusty. Ooo. That had to hurt, what with the thorns, and all."

"More worried about the rosebush," Merry said, savoring a bit of brown bread and butter.

Pip nodded. "Aye, what with Lord Eomer as big a feller as he is, though Lady Eowyn does carry herself off pretty well, for a lass with a broken arm."

"Got a wooden splint and about twenty-seven layers o' linen wrapped around that arm. It's like an Orc club, that is."

"Ehm, who d'you expect will come out of this, y'know, victorious?"

"Told you, I can't tell."

"Ouch. That was dirty. He'll want a cushion for that, later. She is rather smaller than he is."

"Killed the very Witch King, I'll remind you," Merry championed, watching the lady in question gnaw determinedly at her brother's left elbow.

"Care to bet between 'em?"

Merry eyed his younger relative speculatively. "Bet with what?"

Pip waggled his eyebrows. "Got a fresh pouch of Longbottom Leaf."

"You do not! Show me!" Merry flinched as a small boxwood and a burgeoning hebe were lost to the rolling tide of the fraternal melee.

Pippin removed a pouch of soft leather from his waistcoat pocket and waved it beneath Merry's nose. The pouch was full and flush, and the perfume of the dried leaf wafted seductively into Merry's quivering nostrils.

"Mmmmmm...." He closed his eyes for a moment and daydreamed of lush, sweet smoke. "But I haven't got anything to cover your forfeit."

"I'll take that mushroom pie you've got sitting there," Pip told him. "It smells heavenly!"

Down in the garden, threats were being exchanged in low, grunting bursts. The Third Marshall snarled and garbled unpleasantly at his younger sibling. His sister responded with a clearly enunciated assertion regarding his manly capabilities as the pair of them rolled over an unfortunate bed of purple lobelias.

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that," Merry protested. "A lovely kitchen girl with rosy cheeks made me that pie, and Lord Eomer brought it to me himself! That's how the tussle started."

Three sparrows, a flustered lark and a half dozen finches bolted suddenly from a tattered border of seeding coneflowers and took refuge on a nearby roof. Pippin sneezed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "How d'you know the kitchen girl's got rosy cheeks? They're fighting over a pie? Well, it is mushroom."

"No, you gabble-brain," Merry clucked, "when Lord Eomer brought me the pie in the Houses of Healing, he stopped to visit Milady, and that's when the fuss started. The next thing I knew, she was chasin' him outside. He was laughin' then, but as you can see, he's not laughin' now, is he?"

"She's got a fair right jab," Pippin observed with honest admiration.

"Who's got a fair right jab?" A familiar voice queried from behind.

The two young hobbits turned to find that their friend Faramir had ambled up behind them. He stood frowning thoughtfully into the busy garden and fidgeting with the substantial sling that held his damaged arm. "Good heavens, is that--merciful Valar, is that Lady Eowyn and Lord Eomer fighting in the garden?"

The ranger immediately made to step over the wall, obviously with the intention of intervening, but Pippin took hold of his good arm and drew him back, advising, "Best not to get into the middle of that!"

"But one of them might become seriously injured! Pippin, after all that's happened how can you just sit by and let our friends fight over something--"

"It's you," Merry enlightened happily.

Pippin giggled with surprise and delight.

Faramir blinked rapidly. "Excuse me?"

Merry grinned, "They're fightin' over who gets courting rights to you."

"Courting rights? Me? Both of them?" Faramir turned pink to his hairline. "But that's ridiculous!"

In the garden, long blonde hair had become a liability to both sides of the conflict. "She's not going to like him pulling on it like that," Pippin predicted, nibbling at the core of his apple.

"No matter, look at the clever way she's got his braid wrapped around his neck," Merry pointed out proudly.

"Girls are tricky."

"Told you. Care to call a favorite, Lord Faramir?"

The blushing captain yelped defensively, "I haven't got a favorite! I hardly know either of them!"

"Just pick a preference," Pippin suggested helpfully. "Male or female?"

"I beg your pardon," Faramir spluttered. "My preferences are none of your business! And stop winking at me, you nosey little blighters!"

"I believe we've been insulted," Pippin said to Merry.

Merry smirked at his cousin. "I suspect our young swain 'ere wouldn't refuse either of 'em, there's the trouble. Just toss a coin, Captain. Or take 'em both. Need a big bed, though."

Pippin cackled and nearly fell backward from the wall.

Faramir snorted self-consciously and straightened his tunic. "I am putting a stop to this nonsense at once!"

Just then, in a move worthy of an especially ruthless eel, Lady Eowyn exploited a momentary opening in her brother's defenses.

Faramir cringed and let out a long, soft whistle of sympathy for the Third Marshall of the Riddermark.

Merry winced and instinctively crossed his legs. "Goodness, Milady's awfully quick at the grab! Lord Eomer should'a known better, really."

"Frightfully strong hands, for a woman," Pippin grimaced. "I don't care much for that low, moany sorta noise he's making. It's unsettling."

"You two fetch cold water and some linens from someone in the House," Faramir advised grimly, "and we'll meet you there." As he entered the garden he scowled at both brother and sister, the former curled into a whimpering ball on the ground, and the latter regarding Faramir with a disheveled sort of truculence. "Now you see," the captain chastised, "this is what happens! It starts out all in fun, but the next thing you know..."

Clambering down from the garden wall while regarding the still life, with wounded, Merry said, "She does look a little bit sorry, doesn't she? I think she looks sorry."

"You'd never catch Hobbits behaving this way over who gets to snog who," Pippin declared, as they aimed for the Houses of Healing. "Say, Merry..."

"Yes, Pip?"

"Care to split that pie later?"

"Oh Pip, you're impossible!"

"Bet the whole of it on who gets kissed first, then? We never did get to place that wager."

"What? Honestly, Pippin! All right, I'll bet Captain Faramir kisses Lady Eowyn first."

"Lord Eomer, for certain. He's awfully handsome, and now that he's been damaged there's the thought of comfort sex added to the attraction."

"You're an idiot."

"You implying he's not handsome? That's very rude, Merry."


end