Merry groaned and rolled over. "Leave me alone, Pippin," he snapped.

"Why?" The soft voice was plaintive, and Merry could feel the bed sag as his tiny cousin scrambled up. Though normally easily swayed, Merry had stayed up too late the night before and over-indulged in some wine he and the other teens of Brandy Hall had lifted from the cellars. This had resulted in a painful headache that had withstood everything except, it seemed, quiet rest. It had also resulted in a rare foul mood for Merry.

"Why, Merry?" The baby-voice continued softly, but insistently.

"Because I have a headache, and I just want to lie here by myself! Pippin, please!" Merry spoke harshly, and tried to burrow deeper into his pillow, trying to get away from the pounding pain that small action brought with it. He started a little when a small hand reached out, and began to massage his temple. When the clever fingers were joined by a lullabye hummed quietly, Merry relaxed all over.

He was nearly asleep when Pippin stopped singing, but the gentle pressure on his head continued, soothing his headache until it was nearly gone.

Rousing himself just enough to roll over, Merry gathered Pippin in his arms before the youngster could climb off of the bed.

"You're too sweet for me, you know that Pip?" Merry was barely able to stay awake, but he managed, and blue eyes met green.

"No, what do you mean, Merry?" Pippin wriggled a little, happy to be in his favorite cousin's good graces again. Merry tucked him a little closer, and Pippin snuggled happily. "I mean, little one, that I was feeling awful, and I snapped at you, and you still made me feel better, even after I was mean to you."

"Oh." Pippin pondered for a little bit. "You love me even when you're mad at me, right? Or when I don't behave for you?"

Merry had gone back to drifting asleep, and mumbled only. "Yes. I see what you mean, Pip. And thank you."

"You're welcome," Pippin whispered back, before he, too, dropped off into a nap, content and safe in his cousin's arms.

Merry groaned, and tried to ignore the pounding that was either his head, or the sound of Pippin's feet on the wooden floors of Crickhollow. It was both, he decided, when Pippin entered their room, sat on the bed, and the pounding abated only slightly.

Merry remained unmoving when Pippin laughed a little, softly, and began to finger-comb Merry's thick curls. "Overindulge somewhat last night, beloved?"

Merry replied with only the single syllable moan that manages to mean the exact same thing in all languages in Middle Earth, namely that the speaker had, in fact, overindulged, and is now too miserable to do anything other than moan a bit.

Pippin smiled a little as he moved to rubbing Merry's temple rhythmically, singing an old lullabye just loudly enough to be heard. He thought Merry had fallen asleep after a bit, and stopped, but the other hobbit rolled over and looked up, sleepy-eyed and smiling.

Pippin went to his arms willingly, shifting them so that Merry's head lay on his chest.

"Still too sweet for me," Merry mumbled, and fell asleep, breathing deeply, a smile still on his face and one of his hands entwined with Pippin's.

"You're still welcome, Merry-mine," Pippin murmured, and lay awake, savoring a sweet summer breeze, and the weight of his dear one, content and trusting and protected, in his arms.

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