Author’s Note: This was my first attempt at writing a fanfiction story, after having just read the Tolkien books for the first time a few weeks earlier.  I was not overly-familiar at the time with the conventions of hobbit fanfiction and went with the idea that the offices of "Thain" and "Master" were more ceremonial titles than job positions and therefore, it wouldn't be completely out of the question for Merry to still be residing at Crickhollow for a while when he takes on the title of "Master," although it would be unusual and a bit frowned upon.   Although I would probably believe differently now, it made sense to me at the time.  I hope this quirk doesn't detract from your interest in the story.

Disclaimer: These characters and places are not mine.

Setting: The house in Crickhollow shared by Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. The year is 1432 S.R. Merry has just recently become the new Master of Buckland and is 50 years old. Pippin is 42. Sam is 52. Faramir Took is not yet 2.

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter One: "Of Old Friends and Breakfast"

By Zebra Wallpaper

The sun shown brightly through the windows of the Took-Brandybuck house at Crickhollow.

Pippin woke up squinting.

He smiled almost immediately, though, at the sight of young Faramir, sleeping soundly in the crook of Pippin’s arm. Careful not to disturb his babe, Pippin leaned forward and put a gentle kiss atop his son’s fair, curly hair. Generally, Faramir slept in his small bassinet, but when Diamond was away, Pippin indulged and took Faramir into the big bed.

Diamond Took had left Crickhollow two days earlier in the company of many sisters and cousins on a shopping excursion to Hobbiton where the First Annual Textile Fair was to be held. All the womenfolk of the Shire with interest in the sewing arts were much excited about the fair. It was said that there would be many new fabrics and trimmings, the likes of which had never before seen in the Shire, but which would be available now for first time because of a recent boom in trade with outside areas such as Bree.

Diamond in particular was intrigued by the prospect of the textile fair, for she was greatly skilled with a needle and had long been admired for the artistry in her handiwork. Indeed, the garments she turned out did not have the standard sturdy hobbit look to them. Sometimes they were astoundingly elaborate, most particularly in the embellished articles she made for Pippin, which she worked on passionately as a show of love.

Pippin wore his Diamond goods with a great sense of pride but it was often the whisper behind hands that it looked somewhat ridiculous for a hobbit to walk about dressed in such colors and fineries, but nothing much further came of the whispers, as most were of the opinion that there had always been little about Peregrin Took that was not somewhat ridiculous.

There was a light tap at the door and Pippin rolled over just as Merry entered.

Merry did an admirable job at not choking at the site of Pippin’s new nightclothes, which were of a decidedly un-hobbit-like material, wildly embroidered with pictures of birds and flowers. Though Merry did not laugh, however, he could not suppress a smile at noticing that young Faramir Took was clad in an identical, if smaller scale, set.

Pippin interpreted the smile as one of awe, rather than amusement, and swelled with pride. No one could look upon his son and not be amazed at such a specimen of perfection.

"Come on, now, Pip," Merry whispered, "Sam’s up and breakfast is nearly ready. Wash up quickly and be a proper host."

"Sam got here, then?" Pippin asked, rising from the bed and walking to the alcove where the wash basin stood.

"Of course Sam got here. After you never returned from ‘tucking in Faramir.’" Merry rolled his eyes.

Rose Gamgee’s sisters and cousins had all arrived at Bag End that week in order to attend the Textile Fair and Sam had been driven-out by the womenfolk, encouraged to spend a few days visiting his friends up in Buckland. Late in the evening he was supposed to arrive, word reached Crickhollow that there had been a delay at Bucklebury Ferry when a pony had slipped down the banks into the river.

The situation was quickly mended, but Sam did not arrive until some many hours after he was due. This was also sometime after Pippin had gone to put Faramir to sleep and had fallen asleep himself, as he was often guilty of doing, leaving Merry and Estella nodding off in the front room.

Merry thought of saying something to Pippin about his irresponsibility, but it melted on his tongue. He had always found it difficult to stay annoyed for long with the cousin he loved so dearly.

Instead, all he said was: "Be quick now, or I’ll have Estella feed your plate to Samwise. I imagine he’s quite famished."

Pippin did not reply but brought his head up from the washbowl and shook his wet locks wildly, drying them in the manner of a dog, while standing just a tad too close to Merry.

Merry squawked and leapt back.

Pippin grinned and walked away to get himself dressed, pausing only to pull the curtains tighter, lest the sunlight bother his sleeping Tookish angel.

~~~~

The voices from the kitchen were bright and cheery-sounding to Pippin as he padded through the tunnels in their direction. It sounded especially good, he thought, to pick up Sam’s voice among the usual. They had not seen each other since Sam gave his mayoral speech at a wedding feast in Tookland several months back and Sam himself had not been out to Buckland in more than two years.

Pippin rounded the last tunnel and entered the sunny kitchen and greeted all with a series of quick bows, as he was in a rather playful mood.

"Good morning, Mayor Gamgee and to you as well, Estella and, of course, Master Magnificent."

"I think it’s a title most duly earned," Merry replied with a grin. "Tea, Sam?"

"Indeed," Pippin sat down and unfolded his napkin, "Not two nights ago I heard them saying at the Inn that it was but a shortening of the more proper title."

Merry seemed amused as he began passing the great platter of toast around the table. "And what would that be?"

"Meriadoc the Magnificently Expanded."

There was much laughter around the table at this, for it was well known that Estella Brandybuck rivaled none but Rose Gamgee when it came to kitchen skill. And no offense was taken by Master Merry as proper bellies were viewed often as a mark of distinguishment in the Shire and well considered also a sign of proper hobbit health.

"Better," he smiled, "than Peregrin the Pathetic?"

Pippin nodded happily as a heaping plate of eggs, taters and bacon was placed in front of him. "Though I do believe I shall soon have to have that title amended to Peregrin the Plump if Estella has her way."

"I would prefer it that way, myself," Merry looked on warmly at his cousin. Pippin had always been rather slight for a hobbit, at times downright frail, but the worries of old seemed distant on a morning like this and, too, the unexpected height he’d gained during the War of the Ring gave off a comforting illusion of bulk, if not the real thing.

The conversation and mood remained light and their attention turned to breakfast. It was a delightful feast and all were glad once again that Estella had no interest in sewing. All ate happily and listened as Sam relayed between bites the occurrence with the pony at the ferry.

As they finished and sat back before their empty plates, Estella turned toward Sam. "And how is Rosie, Sam?"

"Rosie is quite well, thank you."

"And how are Frodo and Elanor?" Merry inquired.

"Fine as well."

"And the baby?" Estella continued.

"Little Goldi is right as rain."

"And fair as a flower I hear," Estella smiled.

Sam blushed with pride.

"And what about little Rose? And Little Merry, too?" Merry asked.

"They are both quite well and growin’ fast, I must say."

Pippin crossed his arms against his chest. "And what about the most important of all? Dear Sam, how is my namesake?"

Sam laughed. "He’s right delightful, Mister Pippin."

"Good thing the lad shares nothing more with you than his name, eh, Pip? Sam’s a lucky one there." Merry poured himself another cup of tea.

"Well, that name is quite important to me," Pippin explained cheerfully, "I had to wait an awful long time for it to come about. Three married sisters have I and what do they give me but flocks of nieces. Then Sam here is good and productive and I think I have a chance, but what does he do but have two lasses and a Frodo! I can forgive the Frodo, for even I’ll admit that seems just right, but then, the day I’m to be married I hear the Mayor is late to the ceremony for he’s just gotten himself a new son and I think to myself, ‘How wonderful! A namesake will make quite an appropriate wedding present.’ And what do you do, Sam, but name the poor child after Merry!"

Merry shook his head as he rose to help Estella clear the table. "I’m sure Sam is sorry for having caused you such agony and distress, Pip, but maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive him and allow him a glimpse at your own well-named heir."

At mention of his son, Pippin’s face lit up.

"Of course! How rude of me not to offer sooner. Come, Sam. He’s still napping, as it’s quite early for a Took to rise, but you may spy him. He’s rather exquisite."

"My modest cousin," Merry murmured as Sam and Pippin left the kitchen in the direction of the Took wing of the house at Crickhollow.

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Two: An After Meal Smoke

After a proper second breakfast, the hobbits in the Crickhollow house set about to separate tasks to do until it was time for tea. Estella went out to hang the wash, Pippin went to wake up Faramir and Merry and Sam retired to the study for a good after-meal smoke.

Sam settled comfortably into an old soft chair as Merry lit the pipes. Then they both put their feet up on the tea table. Hobbit tea tables were always built sturdy with this in mind.

"So what did you think of the young heir?" Merry asked, blowing a wobbly smoke ring at the ceiling.

"He’s all Took, he is. That’s plain as day. All great big eyes and naught much else."

Merry’s face was mirthful. "And did you say that to our Pippin?"

Sam laughed. "No sir. I said to him, ‘Mister Pippin, that there be the grandest Hobbit babe I seen in many months and I, sir, seen quite a lot.’"

"Oh, I bet he liked that."

"He did indeed. Nearly speechless, he was." Sam breathed in deeply the good Longbottom Leaf that Master Peregrin fetched monthly from the West Farthing and looked thoughtful. "He’s a rather small thing, it seems to me."

Merry nodded. "Just like Pip. Do you remember, Sam, when he was born, the way Old Paladin took him around to every big house in the Shire, showing him off like some sort of hunting prize?"

Sam sat forward, grinning. "I do remember that now! I’d nearly forgotten, so long ago, it seems. He came to Bag End and Frodo showed him to me then and I didn’t think much of him and then he bit Mister Bilbo’s finger and Mister Bilbo said…"

At this, both hobbits leaned forward and shouted out the words together, doing remarkable impersonations of the old Baggins.

"Paladin, that lad is nothing but trouble through-and-through! You should have stopped with the girls!"

They both fell back, laughing contentedly.

"Oh, that was grand," Merry sighed. "You remember how Frodo used to repeat that whenever Pippin got into trouble?"

"Aye," Sam said and then was quiet.

They smoked quietly for a bit, then, each having his own thoughts that he did not choose to share. After a time, though, Sam relaxed a bit and gazed over the room.

"There’s an awful mess of books and papers in here. What in Middle-Earth have you been working on?"

Merry stood up and stretched and looked about the room, as if not knowing quite where to begin.

"Well, I’ve been writing a bit. A lot of little things here and there. But most of this is Pippin’s mess."

"Is he writing a book?" Sam was surprised. Pippin was not known to sit still long enough to write out his full name.

"No," Merry shook his head, "He doesn’t fancy himself much of a writer, though I dare say he’d do just as well as any of us if he had the patience. But he’s become quite interested in collecting of late. I think he’s got some vague notion of setting up a library in Great Smials."

"Well, fancy that." Sam stood and began inspecting some of the piles of parchment and leather-bound books. Many of them had Gondorian titles and letters he recognized and he supposed those had been sent by way of the King. He found there was a second desk hidden beneath some of the stacks and he supposed that belonged to Pippin, as the other desk was neat and orderly and seemed to reflect Merry’s sensibility.

He laughed and turned to say something of it to his friend, but Merry did not appear to see him. He was looking quite sad and distant suddenly, and seemed to have forgotten anyone else was even in the room.

"Yes, Pippin’s gone and grown up despite himself," he murmured.

Sam looked on and knew not what to say and so he said nothing at all.

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Three: Of Tea and Tooks

"Faramir, my love, you’re the future leader of your people. Now how are you going to be able to lead them if you won’t eat your carrots?"

Estella smiled at Merry and Sam as they entered the kitchen where she was busy baking scones and Pippin was making a valiant attempt to put breakfast inside his child.

"Come on, now, darling, it’s carrots! Carrots! I admit they’re not so nice stewed like this, but they are quite fresh, you can be assured of that."

He sighed and turned away from the high-chair. "It’s not right, a hobbit turning down his breakfast."

Sam shook his head and laughed. "That’s not the way to go about it, Mister Pippin."

He came over and knelt beside him, took from him the bowl of stewed carrots and Faramir’s little engraved silver spoon, like the expert that he was. He pasted a silly smile on his face and popped his eyes as wide open as they would go. Immediately, Faramir began to watch him with interest.

"Look, Faramir, look," Sam cried, "an Oliephant! He’s chargin’ straight for your mouth, he is! Look out! Look out!" He made a squealing noise (much like the Oliephants Pippin had seen, he had to admit) and began moving the spoon about wildly.

Faramir’s eyes danced and darted, following the pattern of the spoon Oliephant exactly. As it charged closer to his face, he let out a screech of delight as only a hobbit child can, then suddenly found, to his great surprise, a spoonful of mushy carrots thrust into his mouth.

Faramir giggled and half the spoonful drained out onto his chin, but then he gurgled and clapped until he was rewarded with more.

Pippin watched with amazement, but soon caught on and manned the spoon himself again, imitating not only Oliephants, but also coneys and a galloping pony. Even Merry took a turn, but Estella refused.

"I’ve no want to be turning carrots into Oliephants, but you go right ahead and keep on with it." She brushed them off good-naturedly.

Eventually, Faramir was fed and as Pippin plucked some stray bits of carrot from his hair, the adult hobbits sat down to have their tea. They talked about much of the news of the Shire, Sam filling in what he could of Hobbiton, Merry giving the details of doings in Buckland. When question arose of what the latest doings in Tuckborough were, Sam turned his attention to Pippin, as he had reason to journey to that area much more often than the rest of them.

Pippin sighed, taking his eyes off Faramir for the moment. "Well…Tuckborough is…Tuckborough, I suppose. There’s not much to be said."

Sam looked curiously at Pippin. No new goings-on in Tuckborough? That did not seem very likely as gossip about the Tooks and their always odd doings provided the bulk of what other hobbits discussed over tea or in the Inns.

He dunked a biscuit in his tea and sucked on it thoughtfully for a moment. "How are your parents doing? Are there no new tales from Great Smials, even with so many of your young nieces in residence?"

Pippin seemed quite interested in Faramir suddenly. He took the child from his highchair and set him on his knee, held him firmly and began to arrange his curls with his fingers.

"My parents are well," he replied flatly, as if answering yes or no to a question of whether or not paint had dried, "And Great Smials is as it’s always been: a joke among the Shirefolk, but dear to my own heart." He signaled the end to his being questioned by taking a long sip of tea and looking pointedly past them all.

Sam was rather taken aback by this response. He’d rarely seen Pippin Took in anything less than a cheerful mood and wondered what wrong words he’d said to bring this about. He opened his mouth immediately to apologize, but then caught Merry giving him a look that told him not to.

Instead, Estella changed the subject.

"What a grand, strong lad you’re going to be," she cooed to Faramir, reaching out to touch him and allowing him to wrap his small fist tightly about her fingers. "And with that fair face, you’re sure to breaking many a young lass’s heart."

"Careful," Merry warned with a smile, "Tooks have been known to bite."

Sam grinned back at Merry as, at last, the dour expression left Pippin’s face and he allowed himself to laugh.

~~~~

After tea, Pippin went with Merry out to the stables to check on the ponies Merry so prized. Sam volunteered to stay and help Estella with the dishes and to keep a keen eye on Faramir, who played busily with his blocks in a sunny corner of the kitchen.

"May I ask you, Estella," Sam began, as he accepted a towel from her and drying duties while she washed, "What that business was before, about the Tooks? Has something happened and I’ve not heard?"

Estella shook her head dismissively. "I don’t know much, Sam, as Pippin keeps his lips tight these days and Diamond is rather close."

Sam nodded. He’d heard talk from Rosie and her friends that Diamond Took was not thought to be all that friendly and that she preferred to talk only with her own relations from up North. A hobbit who chose not to be sociable with honest, kind folk, was seen at worst as rather unnatural, and at best as a bit snobbish.

"But I do know," Estella continued, tossing a glance at the young Took, as if considering if he would let on later that his family had been talked about, "that the Thain’s wife is not as well as one would hope."

"Well, surely, Mister Pippin should be there!" Sam exclaimed, drying a saucer and nearly cracking it with his emotion, transferred to his hands.

Estella looked once more at Faramir, then directed her eyes back to the washing. After a moment she looked back to Sam sympathetically.

"As I said, I don’t know much, but I have not been unable notice that his trips to Tuckborough have come less frequently and more briefly when they do. Pippin’s not one to willingly let on when he is unhappy, but he is also not so talented as he thinks at hiding it…" Estella handed the last dish to Sam and dried her hands on her apron. "One gets the feeling that he is not wholly welcome at the Smials these days."

"But, surely," Sam stammered, "their only son and, most definitely, the only grandson, would be a welcome sight in these days."

Estella shrugged. "I’ve never claimed to understand the doings of any Took."

Sam shook his head sadly. He watched Estella crouch and retrieve a stray block that had traveled off Faramir’s blanket. "Has he not said anything to Mister Merry?"

"If he has, Merry has not passed word to me." Estella replied sharply.

She softened immediately, though, and smiled at Sam. "I’m sorry, but Merry early on made it clear to me that his thoughts about his cousin are no one’s business but his own."

Sam nodded, understanding. Then he reached out and plucked more soft carrot from Faramir’s hair and dusted biscuit crumbs from his face. "Should we give this child a bath, then, and save his father the trouble?"

"You have no idea what trouble you speak of," Estella laughed, "for our lad here is not so fond of soap."

"He can not be worse than his own Da at his age, but Mister Frodo and I, we learned a secret for getting it done."

"Does it involve more animal sounds and silly faces?" Estella rolled her eyes.

Sam nodded. "It may. But more likely bubbles on their own will do the job just well."

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Four: Making Charges at Crickhollow

Pippin followed Merry about the stable with a rather grim expression on his face. They had two perfectly good stable boys. They did a perfectly good job taking care of the ponies. But Merry was never fully satisfied unless he’d had the chance to check in himself.

"Come about it, Mer," Pippin complained, "Why do you hire the lads if you’re just going to go about re-checking their work every day?"

"They do a good job, Pip."

"Well, yes, I know that, I do, so that’s why I ask: what can the point be in all this second-checking?"

Merry shook his head gravely as he ran a hand over the old hewn wood that made up the stalls. It was a respectable stable, certainly far from shabby, but it was never up to the standards he would have preferred.

"These ponies ought to be kept at Brandy Hall," he murmured, "I’ve no business quartering them in the likes of here."

"What’s wrong with our stable?" Pippin looked about, as if expecting to see a gaping hole in the wall that had previously not been pointed out to him.

Merry sighed. "There’s nothing wrong with our stable, really. But you can’t argue with me that the best stables in all the Shire are at Brandy Hall."

Pippin tossed the rest of his apple to Gromer, his favorite pony, and wiped his hands on his breeches. "So why not send the ponies to Brandy Hall then? Surely they would be taken care of masterfully there and you’d no longer be troubled by the worry."

Merry turned sharply toward his cousin. "Pip, that makes no sense."

"What makes no sense?"

"What you’ve just said, you twit. What good do my ponies do me if they’re stabled all the way over in Brandy Hall?"

Pippin frowned. He was not one to mind usually when Merry called him names, but he didn’t care much for the way that he’d said ‘twit’. "Well, then," he said softly, "why are you complaining that they ought to be in Brandy Hall when you yourself say it makes no sense for them to be where you are not?"

"Because, Pippin," Merry couldn’t help but growl, "I’m supposed to be at Brandy Hall."

Pippin felt a mixture of hurt and anger flame up suddenly inside his chest. He struggled to control it and keep the tone of his high voice flat. "So why don’t you go there, then?"

"Because of you, you daft Took. I have to stay here because of you."

Pippin could feel his throat start to wobble. "Nonsense!" he squeaked, "I am not your charge!"

Merry shook his head and turned away. He began to walk out of the stable, back toward the house, but Pippin came up from behind and pulled his collar to stop him. He spun around viciously and glared at him.

He expected to see Pippin tremble. At least a little. But instead his cousin stood very still, his jaw set firm in defiance and pride. In his face Merry saw a queer combination of his Uncle Paladin and their cousin Frodo.

"I am not yours to take care of, Merry. I never asked to be your charge."

Merry took Pippin’s hand from his collar and set it at his side. "You may not have asked it," he said resignedly, "but you have always been it, nonetheless. And I am bound to it. Whether I want it now or not."

~~~~

Sam and Estella had just finished mopping up the post-bath mess when they heard a great commotion in the kitchen. The sound followed a steady path until it reached the hall outside the door and Pippin stormed in. For such a wiry Hobbit, he could produce an immense amount of noise when he deemed fit.

"Where is Faramir?" he demanded. His face was white save for two spots of scarlet anger that had erupted on his cheeks.

"He just had his bath and now he’s been put down for a nap," Estella stood up cautiously, "What in the Shire are you so worked up about?"

Pippin didn’t answer her. Instead he seemed to be straightening out some complex plan in his head. He ran a hand across his brow and pulled nervously at a stray curl.

"Well, I’ll have to wake him up, then," he said at last.

Estella put her hands on her hips. "And what good reason have you got to do a thing like that?"

"Well, I can not just leave him here. My son must come with me."

Sam cocked his head. "Where are you thinking of goin’, Mister Pippin, if I might ask? I thought your would be here, at least until I had gone."

"Are you going to the Smials?" Estella questioned, suddenly worried that bad news had been sent down.

"No, no, I can’t go back there," Pippin dropped into his thoughts again, put a shaky hand up to his face. That was when they noticed that he was trembling all over. "I can’t go back there right now, I can not…but I must go somewhere…an inn. Right, then. I’ll go to an inn."

Sam crossed his arms about his chest. "An inn is no place for a babe."

"And why would you be going to an inn in the first place??" Estella was exasperated.

"Because I can’t stay here!" Pippin cried. His voice took on a dramatic tone. "It’s become apparent that I am nothing but a burden and a bother to the Master of Buckland, some silly mathom that keeps him tethered here and away from his proper place!"

"Oh, that, then." Estella sighed and now it was her turn to bring a hand up to her brow, as she felt a rather irritating headache coming on. She turned to Sam. "Leave the baby here. Go take Pippin down to the Inn and put a few drinks in him. Bring him back when he’s got some sense returned to his head."

"No," Pippin started to argue, but then he suddenly felt exhausted. He gave up and without another word, he accepted Sam’s steady arm and walked with him out of the house at Crickhollow.

As they walked down to the road, Sam studied Pippin carefully.

"Are you alright, sir?" he asked. "You’re not lookin’ so well."

Pippin sighed and looked sicker than ever. "I am alright, Sam, most days, unless someone tells me that I am not and then I start to feel as though they may possibly be right. And that…that is not a good feeling at all."

Sam gave up on trying to make sense of that statement and turned his thoughts instead to what sort of draught they might have at the inn. It was a more pleasant thing to think about.

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Five: Ale and Traditions

They had been at the inn in town for quite some time and still Pippin had said not word. Normally, Sam was not one disturbed by lack of conversation, but with one so chatty as Pippin was known to be, any silence on his part became somewhat worrisome.

Without asking, he ordered another ale for the Took and one for himself, then turned to have a word with him.

"It’ll do you good, Mister Pippin, to speak at least some of what’s troublin’ your mind."

Pippin eyed Sam warily, then reached into his coat and drew his pipe.

"Now there’s a good notion." Sam nodded. He took out his own pipe, accepted some of Pippin’s top-notch leaf and offered a light in return.

They smoked in comparative silence for a while and sipped their ales quietly and when Pippin was ready to speak, he did.

"I fear I’m at a loss at what is to be done, Sam."

"In what regard, sir?"

"In my regard, Sam."

Sam nodded, as if what Pippin had said explained everything, although it really explained nothing. He had a rather confusing manner at times when he talked, particularly when he’d had a bit too much ale.

Pippin turned, glanced about the room, then brought his pipe once more to his lips. He took a drag, exhaled slowly, then looked to his friend.

"Do you think I am the tallest hobbit in this room?"

"Sure you are, Mister Pippin. You’re the tallest hobbit in all the Shire. All Middle-Earth most likely, too."

"Yet, you think there’s still a lot of hobbits in this room, a lot of hobbits here, who still talk about me, still speak of me, as ‘Little Pippin Took’?"

"Well, surely sir, there might be some, as old habits are hard to break, they are, but I would say that most often they would just call you ‘Young Pippin Took’, if they are calling you anything."

"But there is no ‘Old Pippin Took.’"

"No, sir, not so far as I have ever known."

"And I have been of-age now for quite a many years."

"Yes sir, that you have."

"And surely I’ve traveled farther and seen more in my 42 years than anyone else here, save for you, Sam, can even hope to."

"Aye."

"So, why, then, Sam, am I still ‘Young Pippin Took’?"

Sam took a moment to think about this as he sipped his ale. He could, of course, tell Pippin that what he heard them calling him most often was ‘Crazy Pippin Took’, as in ‘Did you hear what that Crazy Pippin Took’s been up to now?’ But he doubted that would help Pippin in his dilemma, so he kept it to himself and decided on a more diplomatic answer.

"Well, now, Mister Pippin, I dare say that some of us would not mind being called young anything again."

Pippin looked at him curiously. "Nobody calls you ‘Old Sam Gamgee’."

"Nobody calls me ‘Young Sam Gamgee’ neither."

"Well, at least you are seen as a proper adult, Sam, and accorded the right respect."

Sam sat back in his chair. "Now, Mister Pippin, there’s many in the Shire that more than respect you. There’s many of them would crawl down and kiss the road you walk on, they would."

Pippin did not seem moved by this. He’d been born into a somewhat celebrity state that had never registered much to him and even the fame when he became a hero had worn off some time ago. He cared not for that sort of recognition most nights.

He sighed and laid his head down on the table. He felt weak and ill.

Sam looked sympathetically at his friend. It didn’t seem right to see such a cheerful soul in such a mood as this. Yet, he really couldn’t think of what to do to rectify the situation for him.

Pippin mumbled something into his sleeve.

Sam asked him to repeat it.

"I said, I just want to be with my son right now."

"Well, then we ought to be going back home."

Pippin shook his head and closed his eyes. "I don’t know where my home is, Sam."

"Surely…" Sam stopped himself as he began finally to understand. "You mean Great Smials, then? Is that what this is about?"

The younger hobbit sighed and rearranged his arms. "I suppose I belong at Great Smials the same way Merry belongs at Brandy Hall or you belong to Bag End. But I liked living at Crickhollow because I thought it made Merry happy and if he’s happy I’m happy, even if my family wanted me at the Smials or not at all."

"Is that what they said?"

"In not so many words, but yes. They no longer want me just visiting and stopping by. They want me back where I belong, so to speak. But, I thought that somehow…I suppose it’s rather silly now, but I had pictures in my head of building a new Smial, Merry and I. Right here in Crickhollow. It seemed a lovely idea to bring the families of the Master and the Thain together…and such a Smial it could be…and even greater Great Smials."

Sam choked back his ale and couldn’t help but sputter out: "The last thing the Shire needs is another Great Smials!"

Pippin nodded sadly. "Surely it could never be as grand as the real Great Smials with all its Took history and years, I see that now."

Sam took another rather heavy sip of ale, hoping that the large stein would conceal his expression. Pippin did not seem to notice and continued.

"I suppose I held out because…well, Merry never said a word about returning to Brandy Hall. I thought…I thought he wanted to be here with me. We’re a great pair, Merry and I. I fear to apart from him. I don’t know what he would make of himself if I was not there to keep watch."

There was a smile twitching to come out on Sam’s face again. Pippin sounded so aged and motherly, though Sam supposed there might be something to the idea of Merry needing Pippin just as much as Pip needed Mer.

"Well, Mister Pippin," he said after some thought, "You’re better not to go off pooh-poohing tradition in this Shire and it’s tradition that the Thain has always lived, so long as he’s been a Took, at Great Smials and the Master has always been a Brandybuck at Brandy Hall. You’re better not to argue with that or people might go getting kinda funny at you."

Pippin traced his finger about the rim of his empty glass as Sam continued with his lecture.

"But I don’t see as there being any problem of you and Mister Merry seeing enough of each other, as it’s also been tradition in this Shire that Mister Merry Brandybuck and young Mister Pippin Took were the best of friends even when they lived as far apart as Tuckburough and Buckland."

Pippin sat up straight then and a smile awakened on his face.

"Oh, Sam," he said, "I do believe you have a point."

Sam nodded and finished up the last of his ale. "You do best not to forget that neither."

"No," Pippin laughed and startled his friend with a great hug, "I never shall!"

~~~~

As they walked back up the road from the inn, Sam couldn’t help but marvel at the change that had occurred in his friend. Where, not an hour before, he had looked ready for a casket, now, chatting merrily and marching up the hill, he looked positively robust.

"You look much improved than you did back in town, Mister Pippin. I feel much relieved."

Pippin nodded enthusiastically. "We Tooks are hardier than we look. Not two weeks ago my mother was to her sick bed and the healers were saying she will not make it through the season and this week she’s out and about again making plans for textile fair and sending me a letter a day saying she’ll not see me poke my nose into her house until I shape up and start acting the part of a proper heir."

"So your mother is well, then? And not ill as I have heard?"

"Why no, Sam. If she were I dare say I would not be here jabbering with you. I’d be there straight-away, welcome or not."

They reached the house then and Pippin hesitated.

"You go around to the back door, Sam. I can hear Merry and Estella in the kitchen there and you may greet them. I’ll go on through the front and onward to my chamber and my Faramir."

Sam looked up at him curiously. "I thought things were all square with you and Mister Merry now."

"They are for my part, Sam, but I’ve no notion as to what Merry’s temper is to me right now. I’d prefer to let him have the night and then speak with him in the morning."

"Alright," Sam agreed and then watched as Pippin let himself in quietly through the main door.

With a sigh, Sam stretched his arms behind his back, then headed around to the kitchen door.

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Six: What One Really Needs

Faramir was awake when Pippin entered their chamber, two small hands and a pair of eyes peering over the side of the bassinet. A smile crept over Pippin’s face and he bent over so that they were at eye level. They had a stare-down for a sustained moment, then Faramir started to giggle.

"What a naughty little hobbit!" Pippin laughed, scooping him up and into his arms. "How long have you been up, refusing to sleep until your Da came home? I’ve got you quite spoiled, now, haven’t I? If your mother comes back and finds you not content to sleep alone in your own bed, she shall have my head!"

He walked the lad about the room for a bit, gauging how sleepy his son was, how quickly he could get him back to bed, as Pippin himself was quite tired and eager to retire. It seemed for a moment that he would be lucky, that Faramir would go quietly and easily for once, but then he started to squirm and to pull at the curls just behind Pippin’s ears.

"That’s not a nice thing to be doing to your Da, love." Pippin murmured, pushing his hair back carefully, out of the reach of tiny fingers.

Faramir squeaked and reached out for it again.

Pippin yanked his head back and nearly lost his footing. Faramir laughed delightedly.

"Here," Pippin cried. With exasperation, he plucked a biscuit from a tin that had been sitting on the bedside table for weeks and handed it to his son. The biscuits, he knew, had gotten a bit stale, but they would be good enough for the lad to gnaw on, to keep his mouth (and hands) busy.

Faramir eagerly accepted the treat and with a sigh, Pippin sat the two of them down in the great rocking chair.

"I suppose I shall have to make you tired again, before I am I allowed to rest," he said with tired resignation.

Faramir gazed at him around the biscuit, eyes large and attentive.

"A story, then," Pippin nodded, "perhaps that will put you in the mood for slumber."

He put his head against Faramir’s warm, powder-scented neck and contemplated which story to tell.

"How about the tale of the first time I saw an elf? I don’t believe I’ve told you that one in quite a while. A week at very least."

And so, in the cozy bedroom at Crickhollow, Faramir Took cuddled closer to his father and listened to one of his many favorite stories and hoped that afterward he might get a song, for songs always put him to sleep best and were the nicest.

~~~~

"Is he not coming out for his supper?" Merry questioned, frowning in the direction of Pippin’s quarters.

"We had a good bite at the Inn," Sam explained as he enjoyed a mouthful of Estella’s famous oat bread, "and he seemed somewhat on the sleepy side as we came up the walk."

"Too much ale always makes him sleepy," Merry noted, "like some great child."

"Better that than some hobbits, get down-right mean with all their drink."

"That’s true," Merry agreed.

"We’d all do well to be getting on to bed sooner than later tonight," Estella commented, glad that this would be the last meal she’d be putting out that evening, as it was always hard work feeding a house of hobbits, particularly when you had a reputation regarding it, "It’s been a long day."

Merry seemed to grow sullen and thoughtful after that and said little as they ate their meal.

When they had finished, Merry and Sam brought out their pipes, but Estella bid them goodnight and headed off to bed.

"I suppose I’ll talk to him tomorrow." Merry said after a bit. "If he’ll talk to me."

"He’s not angry with you," Sam added helpfully, "Not really."

"He ought to be," Merry looked grave, "I should not have said what I did. I was cruel."

"You’ve been watching over him nearly all your life. I suppose you’re entitled to lose your patience. Now and again."

Merry appeared unconvinced so Sam continued.

"And it’s not like Mister Pippin is the easiest hobbit to love all the time."

"No." Merry bit down hard on his pipe. "The problem is, he’s too easy to love. I can’t bring myself to do anything to hurt him, even if it’s something for his own good." He looked pained then. "So then I go and burst out, say things I don’t mean…things that never ought be said."

Sam looked thoughtful. "I should think that if you just talked to him about…well, about parting ways for now, he would be very understanding. He seemed so when we spoke of it this evening."

Merry shook his head. "He thinks he understands, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t got proper sense, just like the Took he is. He doesn’t realize he relies on me, how much he needs me."

"Now, I beg your pardon, Mister Merry as it’s not my business, but I wonder if maybe you don’t need him just as much and, maybe…maybe more?"

Merry sat forward. "It is your business, Sam, for you are a good friend. To both of us. But what good is Pippin to me, what use could I have to need him? To cause me worry every moment of the day? To make me hold my breath every time he steps into the world, trouble rolling to his path the way it does?"

Sam was quiet and smoked the last of his pipeweed. Then he set down his pipe and spoke quite directly.

"I think you need him for yourself. To be responsible. It’s always good for one to feel needed, is it not?"

Merry was hesitant to answer. "But he is my responsibility," he started, then cut himself off with a dismissive shake of the head and a smile. "Ah, come now, Samwise," he said, rising from his chair and laying down his pipe, "It’s late now. It’s time we went to bed."

He set about the room, putting out candles and setting bits back in their proper places. Then, he took up the small night lamp and lead the way down the hall. Sam followed, as he was indeed quite tired, although it bothered him some that the conversation had not been resolved.

Just before they reached the second corridor, Merry stopped. Sam could barely see his form in the darkness and nearly walked right into him. "What is it?" he asked.

"Listen."

"Why…is that Mister Pippin?"

"Yes. He must be singing Faramir to sleep."

Sam listened intently. It had been some time since he’d had occasion to hear Pippin Took sing and he’d forgotten what a sweet and clear voice the hobbit had. It had cheered many of them along on their travels, back in those years that seemed so distant now. He found himself leaning in closer and closing his eyes to concentrate on it. Then he smiled. "That’s one of Mister Bilbo’s songs."

Merry nodded and Sam opened his eyes again just soon enough to catch a fleeting look of sadness upon Merry’s face.

"Sam," he whispered woefully and shook his head, gesturing toward Pippin’s room, "How could I ever leave that?"

Sam was somewhat shocked of that mournful look, juxtaposed against such a lovely song, and could not think of any answer. He brought his eyes down to his feet and when he moved them up again, Merry had left, slipping away quietly to bed.

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Seven: Waking and Breakfasting

"Saaaaam…"

"Oh, Saaaaaaaam…."

"Master Samwise, I do not think you want to over-sleep this morning."

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam…"

Sam awoke to find himself face to face with four green eyes and two unmistakable sharp noses.

"Tooks." He frowned and closed his eyes once more.

"Why, yes, Sam, quite so." Pippin scooted closer, pushing Faramir tighter between them. The lad reached out his hand and took firm hold of the mayor’s nose.

Sam opened his eyes once more and became more conscious of the situation. "How long have you two been in here?"

"Some time, Sam. Goodness you sleep hard. I thought soon I should have to move to stronger methods. Like a spade, for instance."

Sam sat up then and glanced bleary-eyed at his pocketwatch on the nightstand. "Well I guess I’d’ve woken more easy if it were more a natural time to be wakin’."

"Oh, but you don’t want to be sleeping late today!" Pippin grinned, pulling himself to his knees and, taking Faramir up under the arms, "For it’s your last day here and the Took representatives of the Crickhollow household have prepared you a fine farewell breakfast."

Sam was skeptical based on his past experience with Pippin’s cooking skills, but he didn’t want to be impolite so he offered a weak smile.

"Of course, Estella cooked some things as well." Pippin added.

"Well, then," Sam’s face brightened significantly along with his outlook, "I should hurry and get dressed before anything is left to cool."

"Right," Pippin nodded, satisfied. "Come along, Faramir, let’s leave Sam to his modesty."

Sam watched them leave his chamber and wished more than anything to return to the blankets, but he knew it was no longer an option. Still, the prospect of an Estella Brandybuck breakfast cheered him some and he set about washing and dressing with not too grim an expression on his face.

When he entered to kitchen a short while later, Sam was immensely pleased to see Estella had provided heaps of eggs and sausages in addition to the massive stacks of pancakes Pippin had contributed, pancakes being one of the few things the hobbit could create with some skill as their cooking time suited his attention span. He also seemed drawn to the fact that he could toss in random handfuls of whatever fruit or sweet pleased him and they did not often turn out too worse for it. Indeed, Merry was rather fond of Pippin’s toffee pancakes, although the same could not be said for Pippin’s peppermint-fig pancakes or his ill-fated experiments with "pipeweed flavoring."

As Sam took a seat and began examining the nearest stack of cakes to see how creative Pippin had gotten for his farewell, he noticed the Took looked distressed.

"Is Merry not coming to breakfast?" Pippin asked Estella uneasily, turning in his chair to address her at the stove where she had begun to fry mass quantities of bacon.

"I woke him, Pippin." She shrugged, "Perhaps he’s gone back to sleep."

"Surely he’ll be around in time for Second Breakfast, Mister Pippin."

"But he’s going to miss First." Pippin was quite displeased. "Or at least it will be quite cold and have lost its appeal."

Sam doubted there was much appeal to begin with in what appeared to be butterscotch-raisin-ham pancakes, but he did not say so.

"I shall have to wake him myself, then." Pippin stood and exited resolutely.

"Here, Sam," Estella handed him a plate of plain pancakes after she was sure that Pippin was gone. Sam grinned back at her gratefully.

"I always make back-ups," she explained with a half smile, "he never seems to notice."

~~~~

Merry came out of sleep slowly, gradually becoming aware that there was someone laying back-to-back with him and that someone was not soft like his Estella.

"Pip?"

"Oh, hey-ho, Merry, decided to finally awaken?"

Merry smiled, even though Pip couldn’t see his face. "No Pipling with you?"

"No. He’s having his breakfast like a big lad, as you ought to be doing too."

"Mmm." Merry didn’t care to bullied first thing in the morning.

"You ought to get one of those yourself, Mer."

"One of what?"

"A lad!" Pippin laughed. "They are quite nice."

"I’m certain," Merry rolled over to face his cousin, "but I don’t suppose it’s any of your business."

"No. ‘f course it isn’t." Pippin smiled sadly and kissed Merry lightly on the nose, "After all, I’m just a foolish little Took."

He crawled off the bed then and headed to the door.

"I made pancakes, if you’re interested," he called back over his shoulder, "It’s Sam’s last day here, don’t forget."

Merry lay quietly after Pippin left, his stomach knotting tightly with guilt.

There had been tears in his cousin’s eyes. Merry was sure that he had seen them. And he knew who was to blame.

~~~~

Merry eventually emerged and joined the tail-end of breakfast. No one watching would have ever known that any feelings had been amiss, as it was quite a cheery meal all around. Merry and Pippin made light banter back and forth, Sam and Estella laughing gently at their jokes. All the adults took a turn praising Faramir as he fed himself large bits of pancake and even Estella seemed amused with he decided they worked better as a hat.

Afterwards, as she picked up discarded bits of breakfast from beneath the lad’s chair, Estella suggested that they all go out into the yard for a bit and enjoy the warm, sunny morning which, as it was already late in the fall, would not be available to them for much longer.

"That sounds like a marvelous plan," Merry said, handing the now rather sticky babe to Sam. "You take Faramir out into the fresh air while we finish cleaning up in here and then we’ll come to join you."

Sam was happy to be of use and relieved to leave the three to deal with the disaster that was post-breakfast at Crickhollow.

As they helped Estella with the dishes, Merry tried desperately to catch Pippin’s eye, but the hobbit always seemed to be looking in the wrong direction.

Merry grew more worried as all the dishes were stacked and the pots were neatly placed where they would be ready for the next meal. He wanted more than anything to tell Pippin that he was sorry, but he knew he couldn’t actually just say it flat-out like that. Things had never been that way with him and Pippin, there always had to be the pretense of a game.

Finally, he had determined with some dejection that he would end up leaving the kitchen having received no absolution.

Then, just as he was heading for the back door, Merry felt a tap, a tiny object pelted at the back of his neck. A raisin.

He turned to find the culprit, but saw only Pippin, who seemed suddenly to be quite involved in re-stacking some dishes in the cupboard.

Merry couldn’t help but grin as he headed outside. He knew that, for the moment at least, he had been forgiven.

~~~~

A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Eight: Of Love and Loons

Merry sighed and leaned back against Estella, watching Sam and Pippin frolic with Faramir out neat the orchard. The warm sunlight felt fantastically rich against his face.

He picked the petals off a dandelion lazily and as he dropped them, a few stuck to the wool of his waist-coat. He brushed them off.

"Maybe Pip is right," he mused playfully, "Maybe I am giving your brother Fredegar a run for his money."

Estella gave his ear a tug, the way that she often did to reprimand him.

"Nonsense. You have the look about you of one who’s well taken care of. Others look at you as you go through town and say ‘now there’s a proper hobbit who’s got a wife who knows how to feed him, not like that slip of a crazy Took.’"

Merry laughed. "Estella, you’re too cruel."

"There’s nothing cruel about me, Meriadoc Brandybuck," she informed him, running her fingers idly through his curls, which had only grown thicker over the years, "Diamond Took, for all her fair looks and fancy ways, could not fry a decent mushroom if your cousin’s life depended on it."

"Ah, but Pippin thinks the stars of her."

"Pippin is a goose."

Merry seemed to become melancholy then. He rested his hands on his belly and sighed, and turned his head to face his wife.

"But what am I to do?"

Estella looked down at him and wanted to say ‘he’s not your responsibility anymore,’ but she knew those words would be too much for him to hear, so she bit her lip and looked away.

Merry understood the meaning, though. He cleared his throat and sat upright, turning quickly so she couldn’t see his eyes. And with his back to her, he breathed slowly through his teeth until the danger of tears had gone away. He wished not for the first time that he could make her understand just how hard all of this was for him, but he knew he couldn’t. No one could ever understand what was between him and Pip except him and Pip. But that was how things had always been.

He turned back to her then, smiling brightly, as if he was truly changing the subject.

"Shall we go to Brandy Hall next week, you and I? To go and have a visit?"

Estella wanted more than a visit and Merry knew this, but this was the best she was going to get out of him for now.

"Alright," she nodded firmly, "I think that would be nice."

~~~~

Sam had been distracted by the small apple grove in the midst of their game and had he looked over his shoulder, he would have seen father and son Took giving him identical looks of impatience.

"These roots don’t look good to my eyes at all, Mister Pippin. May I ask what sort of watering you’ve been doin’ to them?"

Pippin sighed.

"You’ll have to ask Estella about that. I know not a wit about gardening, nor do I care to. These are her trees and her roots."

He had thought that that would settle things and they could go back to their game, but instead, Sam waved and called Estella over to conference the care and keeping of her apple roots. Pippin watched the discussion for a moment, doing his best to conceal his absolute boredom, but then he spied Merry still sitting in the grass near the house and decided to join him.

He hoisted Faramir up onto his shoulders and, holding tight to his little legs, galloped over to his cousin. Faramir squealed and giggled with delight and got so excited that he was hiccuping by the time they reached Merry’s side.

Pippin sprawled onto the grass, laughing, and held Faramir to his chest until the hiccups ceased to bother the lad. He turned to smile at his cousin then and was startled. The smile froze before reaching his lips and then drained away with all the blood that was in his face.

In the harsh sunlight of the outdoors the scar, the brown mark about Merry’s forehead that he had garnered so long ago in their terrible time with the Orcs, stood out clearly against his fair, white skin. It was the first time in years that Pippin had consciously noticed it.

Merry opened one eye and peered at his cousin. Noticing the ghostly pallor of his face, he started to sit up.

"What is it, Pip? Do you feel alright?"

Before Pippin could reply, Faramir interrupted. With a shriek of excitement, he let go of his father’s waistcoat and scrambled over to climb Mt. Merry.

Merry laughed as small knees dug into his middle and he accepted Faramir’s tiny hands into his own to help him balance. He was surprised, though, for although the weight of the lad seemed negligible, there was a strong force in his wee fists as they pressed against Merry’s palms.

Merry looked hard into the babe’s great eyes and at the rigid set of his slight jaw.

"So you are going to be a leader someday, aren’t you, love?" he whispered softly.

Then Pippin sat up and gazed downward at Merry. With his back to the sun, it was hard for Merry to read any expression at all on his face. He’d forgotten the distress he’d noted just a moment before.

"Mer?"

Merry squinted up at him, still unable to see much more than just a hint of his features. "Yes, Pip?"

Pippin hesitated, not quite sure how to put his thoughts into words. "It agrees with you…you know."

"What does?"

"The way you are…the way you look now these days…" Pippin broke off, remembering the awful time when he hadn’t known whether Merry was alive, or would be so for very long. He recalled the sallow, deathly look that had clung to his hollowed cheeks. All that journey he had feared for Merry, but what was worse, he thought with a flush of guilt, was that he was really only worrying about himself, worrying of how he would survive without Merry always there.

Merry laughed, startling him.

"What are you saying, Pip? Do you mean my ‘proper Hobbit shape’? I thought you would have me believe I’ve become the joke at every inn in the Shire."

Then Pippin said something that struck them both as very odd. He wasn’t even quite sure why he said it. But it chilled him to feel it tumble over his lips.

" Frodo got so terribly thin before he left."

The smile passed from Merry’s face. With one hand he laid Faramir flat against his chest and with the other he reached out to Pippin, pulled him down so that he lay beside him, put his head against his shoulder.

"I’m not going anywhere, you silly Took. You have no need to fear that. And I dare say, it is not likely I’ll be getting terribly thin anytime soon, so long as Estella has a pot and a potato."

Pippin shook his head gently. "That’s not quite what I mean. What I mean to say, Merry, is…well, to be straight-forth with you, are you happy?"

Merry looked at him incredulously. "Why, of course I am, you goose."

"No, cousin," Pippin implored, squeezing his eyes shut as if the strain of producing correct words was too great, "I want you to be very happy. I know your heart has returned to Brandy Hall and it’s only proper that you be there. I want you to go there, if you like, and to be a proper Master, and I want you to grow so grand and magnificent that they must push you out the door, float you across the Brandywine and roll you up to Tuckborough to come visit."

Merry was aghast. "Well, I should hope I never grow that magnificent. It sounds like quite a trial."

Pippin ignored this jest and continued on, encouraged by his own fervor.

"And I want you to have loads of hobbit children," he said, his face beaming with excitement, "Grand, strong, Brandybuck lads who will come to Great Smials and rescue my poor Faramir from all the awful lasses there, as you once did for me. The place seems destined to be overrun with them."

Merry sighed and tapped his finger against Faramir’s sharp little nose, trying to decide what one said in reply to this sort of spirited out-burst.

"Well, dear Pip, if I am to move to Brandy Hall and you are to return to the Smials, what shall become of this home we’ve made together in Crickhollow?"

"Hmmm." Pippin sat up, face lost deep in thought. Merry noted that he had been chewing grass during this discussion, a nervous habit he’d picked up at some point long ago, though Merry could no longer pinpoint when. Indeed, it seemed to have only gotten worse the past few years. The night Faramir had been born, Merry swore that Pippin grazed enough grass from the lawn to put all the sheep of Buckland out of work.

Finally, Pippin cocked his head and gave an answer.

"Could we—could we not still keep it? Perhaps as a retreat of sorts. For, I mean, there may come a day, and I’m sure only a single day or two or perhaps a weekend, where you do not feel like being the Master of Buckland for a bit and maybe I find the Thainship, or position as heir to the Thainship, a tad too tedious and perhaps then we could just slip away like we once did, just disappear one early morning and hide out for a spell in Crickhollow. For remember, Merry, we are but Hobbits, and though important Hobbits we may be, one still needs a place at times where he can think again as one’s self."

Merry was still for a bit and watched the warm autumn wind blow through the grasses. At last, a smile returned to his face.

"Let no one say," he murmured, "that Tooks do not possess good and common sense."

"Why, Merry," Pippin frowned, "Who has ever said that?"

~~~~

That evening, Estella prepared a marvelous early dinner as they bid farewell to Sam. She gave him a kiss on his blushing cheek before he left and a large basket of apple bread to take back for Rosie and the kids. Then with Faramir in her arms, she stood on the front steps and they waved bye-bye to Sam, who would be accompanied as far as the ferry by Merry and Pippin.

The three rode merrily on their ponies, chatting about plans to bring new life to Great Smials and Brandy Hall and the lovely retreat they would make out of Crickhollow, quite appropriate for any Master or Thain.

"Or Mayor, Sam," Pippin spoke enthusiastically, nearly losing his balance on Gromer with his excitement, "The Mayor surely needs a respite once and again, away from all the hustle and dramatics of Hobbiton."

"Aye," Sam nodded/coughed as Merry grinned devilishly back at him.

"And, you know, Sam," Pippin continued thoughtfully, "Faramir and Diamond and I shall be much closer to you now that we’ll be centered in Tuckborough. We must pay visits on each other more often and not let such opportunities go to waste."

"That’s true, Sam," Merry said dryly, giving his pony a good pat, "What’s lacking in most hobbit’s lives is a generous dose of Took."

"Quite so!" Pippin sat up proudly in his saddle.

"Aye, Mister Pippin," Sam smiled warmly, "it’ll be nice to be seeing you more often and when Mister Merry comes to visit you’ll be sure an’ let me know so’s I can be seeing the both of you together."

"Kill two birds with one stone." Merry laughed.

"More like two for the price of one, Merry." Pippin corrected him "That’s quite a bargain in the way of Thains and Masters."

Merry conceded happily. "You’re right, Pip."

As they reached the ferry, they helped Sam re-tie his packs more securely and then each said a brief, but heartfelt goodbye to their friend. They would certainly encounter him again in the Shire before too long, but that didn’t stop from making the small farewell feel like it had come too soon and would have to suffice for too long.

"Thank you, Sam," Merry whispered, as he embraced the friendly gardener.

"For what?" Sam looked confused.

"For helping me with Pip. You helped him find his sense. That helped me a lot."

"Oh," Sam blushed, "‘Twas nothing, Mister Merry, nothing at all."

Merry just smiled, as if he didn’t believe that at all.

Then Pippin said his goodbye and wrapped Sam in a bone-crushing embrace. He buried his head in Sam’s collar bone and whispered earnestly, "Thank you, Sam."

"Whatever for, Mister Pippin?"

"For putting sense into my Merry. He never would have listened to me otherwise."

"Oh," Sam stammered, thoroughly confused, "’Twas, uh, nothing. Nothing at all."

"Oh, alright, Sam, if you want to be modest." Pippin shook his curls and laughed. "Be so if you want to. Just remember I’ll have plenty of time once I’m closer to you in Tuckborough to pay you back."

Sam smiled. "I’ll not forget, sir."

Then Sam climbed onto the ferry and took his seat, waving back to the enthusiastic cousins as they grew smaller and smaller on the shore of the Brandywine. As it would be a bit of time before the ferry reached the other side, Sam lit his pipe and amused himself by guessing what Rosie would say to him when he got home. He knew exactly what her words would be. ‘Are they as ridiculous as ever, those two loons?’

Sam smiled and answered out loud to himself.

"Aye, and they may be loons, but I love them just the same."

The End