How did Frodo's friends form their "conspiracy"?  I have some ideas on the subject.  I'm hoping to keep this very close to canon, so any deviations, please let me know. 

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its people belong to the Tolkien Estate. I own none of them; some of them, however, seem to own me.

A CONSPIRACY OF HOBBITS

CHAPTER 1

Pippin Took was angry, puzzled and curious; a dangerous combination.

He had looked forward to the arrival of numerous relations at the Great Smials to celebrate the birth of his sister Pimpernel’s second child. He’d not seen his cousin Merry in weeks, nor his cousin Frodo in a couple of months.

But they had been here for two days already and he’d yet to have a conversation alone with Merry, almost as if his Brandybuck cousin was avoiding him. And then he’d gone for a walk with his Baggins cousin this morning only to find that Frodo was distracted and pensive. He’d keep stopping to pat trees, and once he looked at the view down the Green Hills and muttered “I wonder if I shall ever look at this valley again,” a statement that Pippin found alarming and strange. Well. Stranger than usual for Frodo, anyway. He was beginning to have a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

But not for nothing was he a Took. Nobody could beat the Tooks for deviousness or determination, which explained why he was hiding under Merry’s guest room window and eavesdropping for all he was worth.

“You will watch after him, won’t you, Fatty?” Merry’s voice was wistful and plaintive.

“Merry, you have to be joking!” Fatty Bolger’s voice sounded more alarmed than anything else. “Pippin doesn’t even like me. He thinks I’m dull as ditchwater without an original thought in my head. I’m the last person he’d let watch after him.”

From his vantage point behind a bush, Pippin’s eyebrows climbed. He’d no idea Fatty was intelligent enough to know what he thought of him, and so accurately, too.

Merry’s voice moved nearer the window and Pippin huddled down more.

“Pip will never forgive me, you know. I’m going to be breaking all kinds of promises.” Merry’s voice cracked, and Pippin could tell he was on the verge of tears. He’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t too busy being annoyed--and curious.

Fatty muttered something that he couldn’t hear, undoubtedly meant to be soothing.

“It’s just that I never thought I’d have to choose between them. But I can’t let Frodo go into this kind of danger without me, and I can’t take Pip into this kind of danger with me.”

And now he knew.

It explained everything: the looks, the hints, the sudden silences, the awkward changes of subject--

Fatty’s voice again “What makes you think Frodo isn’t going to feel exactly the same about you as you do about Pip? He’s not going to want to take you for the very same reason.” Pippin’s opinion of Fatty’s intelligence went up another notch.

“Of course he won’t” came Merry’s reply. He sounded perfectly miserable. Served him right. “Why else would I have to sneak around behind his back like this and spy on him? I’ll wait until he’s almost ready to leave, and then I tell him, not ask him. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just have to follow them until he and Sam have gone too far to send me back.”

Sounded like a very good plan, thought Pippin, only I will have to spy on Frodo and Merry. But he’d learned one thing already. Frodo’s gardener Samwise Gamgee was in on it, too.

“Well, I shall be glad to help all I can in the sneaking and spying department, and in planning your escape. But all the same, I’m glad you don’t expect me to come along.” Fatty gave a rueful laugh.

“Oh, Fatty, that’s the only reason I can ask your help. I know I don’t have to worry about you wanting to come along.” Merry laughed also, but it sounded forced. “I don’t look forward to this myself. This is not the kind of adventure I always thought to have one day. I’m more than a little frightened. But I have to protect Frodo. I just wish I had a chance to make Pip understand.”

“Well, avoiding him is just going to make him suspicious, Merry. I think you’d better make an effort to act more natural around him; Pip’s young, but you know he’s no fool even if he is a Took. And speaking of acting natural, we don’t want to be late for luncheon, do we?”

Merry’s reply was lost as he moved away from the window, but apparently he agreed with last sentence since Pippin could hear them moving away and the door open and shut. He waited for a second, and then uncurled himself from behind the bush and brushed himself off. Apparently, Fatty was no fool either, even if he was a stodgy old Bolger. This gave him the beginnings of an idea.

xxxxx

In the large dining hall he spotted Merry. He was over in a corner, apparently having a conversation with Folco Boffin, but his eyes were on Frodo, who was on the other side of the room doting over Pimpernel’s newest arrival, little Alyssum Goodbody. In fact, he looked as though he was staring holes into Frodo, and Pippin wondered that his older cousin had not noticed he was being watched with such intent regard.

Pippin sidled down the room, keeping out of Merry’s view, and came silently up behind him. “Hullo, Merry, Hullo Folco.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Merry jump. He grinned to himself. As long as he could keep one step ahead of Merry, this little game could be fun--especially since he knew he was playing it, and Merry did not.

“Pippin, where did you pop out from?”

“I live here, remember? You know, if I didn’t know better, cousin, I’d think you were trying to avoid me.”

Folco laughed. “Now that’s funny! You two are joined at the hip. Everybody knows that.” This earned him a reproachful stare from Merry and an annoyed one from Pippin.

“Pip, I don’t know what in the world would give you an idea like that.” No one but Pippin, or maybe Frodo, would have noticed the slight squeak in his voice, or that he used too many words to answer. Yes, indeed, cousin Merry had a guilty conscience. Good. Plan on sneaking away without his Pip, would he?

Merry’s eyes once more strayed in Frodo’s direction, and this time Pippin let his gaze follow. “You know, Merry, I went for a walk with Frodo this morning. He was acting very odd.”

“How could you tell?” said Folco, trying to be witty. This time he got a glare from both Took and Brandybuck. “All right! All right! I can tell I’m not wanted.”

As Folco walked off in disgust, wondering how he’d managed to offend them, Merry turned to Pippin. “What do you mean by odd?”

“He didn’t seem interested in singing or even talking to me. He kept talking to himself, saying things like ‘I wonder if I’ll ever go this way again?’ and ‘Will I ever see this place anymore?’ You don’t suppose he’s sick, do you?” Pippin widened his eyes and feigned worry, and then turned his gaze on Frodo again.

“No, no, not at all” Merry assured him. “I’m sure he’s not sick.”

“Well, that’s good, he had me worried. You know how he is.” Of course both the younger hobbits were staring at Frodo again, and now he finally noticed. He turned his eyes on them from across the room and looked puzzled.

Pippin looked back at Merry. “Maybe we should try to wangle an invitation to Bag End when he leaves here.”

Merry’s eyes widened with a hint of panic, but his voice was calm. “Do you think so?”

“Why, yes, Merry. We usually spend a few weeks at Bag End in the spring, and maybe we can find out what’s troubling him. You can get away, can’t you?”

“Yes--yes, you’re perfectly right, Pip. I’ll talk to Frodo this afternoon.”

Pippin watched the panic drain from Merry’s eyes, to be replaced with speculation. Well, he had him now. And once they got to Bag End, he could keep an eye on both of them at once.

CHAPTER 2

Merry went into the guest room that night and sprawled upon the bed fully dressed. Egads, he was exhausted. Keeping this secret was the most wearing thing he had ever done. It did not help that he was also scared spitless. He did not know which frightened him more--going with Frodo into a danger far greater than he had ever anticipated, or getting left behind after all--or leaving Pip behind.

For a brief instant today, he had thought Pippin suspected. But he put it down to his own jumpy nerves and guilty conscience. Secrets.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. As far back as Merry could remember, he knew that one day he would go on an adventure with his cousin Frodo. When Pippin got older, he had always thought it would be the three of them, heading off into the wide world, to follow Bilbo, and see Elves and Dwarves and other wonders.

Thinking about Bilbo was what had caused Merry to put his plan into motion. Last year when Frodo had held his usual Birthday Party in Bilbo’s honor, and they had raised the toast to the byrdings, it had suddenly dawned on Merry: Frodo was forty-nine, which made Bilbo one hundred twenty-seven. Rather a ripe age for a hobbit, even one with Took blood. If Frodo was planning to one day follow after Bilbo, he would have to do so soon, or there’d be no point in it. And Merry had no intention of letting his older cousin slip off without him.

He needed information. There was no point in bringing Pippin in until he had something real to go on. Pip could keep a secret, though many did not think it of him, but he tended to go overboard in his enthusiasm. Samwise Gamgee, now he spent a lot of time at Bag End, as much Frodo’s friend as his gardener. He had found Sam at The Green Dragon one afternoon in early Winterfilth, and stood him to an ale at an out-of-the-way table.

Merry was not really surprised that Sam was not interested in his coin. And he was only a little surprised at Sam’s counter-offer: he wanted to be included when the time came to leave. Merry briefly considered before agreeing. Sam was stout-hearted, practical, reliable and fiercely protective of Frodo. He’d make an excellent travelling companion.

Merry grinned wickedly at the gardener. “You know that Frodo may not have us on a bet.”

Sam grinned back. “Well, Mr. Merry, we just might have to trail along behind for a little while, and then he’d lose that bet.”

They raised their ales to one another in a silent toast.

xxxxx

Yet things had seemed to come to a standstill after that. Oh, Sam had dutifully reported to Merry that Frodo did indeed seem more restless that year, but he showed no signs that he was making any plans for an imminent departure, and Merry had begun to think that his cousin’s quiet, scholarly Baggins side was winning out over his more adventurous Tookish side.

And then the end of the second week in Astron, he received a short letter from Sam: Dear Mr. Merry--Gandalf is back. S.G.

Merry thought that things would be moving at last. After all, it was the old grey Wizard who had gotten Bilbo out of his cosy home and on the road to adventure in the first place.

Sure enough, a few days later, he had another letter from Sam. Dear Mr. Merry--Can you come to Hobbiton as soon as possible? I have somewhat to tell you about what we were talking of. It is a lot more important than we thought. S.G.

When he met Sam again at The Green Dragon, the young gardener’s face was anxious, his eyes serious.

“Mr. Merry, I don’t know what you’re going to think of me, but I let myself get caught, and after tonight, I can’t tell you nothing more. I promised. And I‘m sure Mr. Frodo would think I‘m already breaking that promise talking to you now” He stopped and took a pull on his ale. “But I think it’s only fair enough to tell you what all I heard before old Gandalf caught me listening. It’s no pretty story, and Mr. Frodo is in a lot of danger.”

“For goodness’ sake, Sam, he’s not left the Shire yet, how could he be in danger?”  

And then Sam began to tell Merry what Gandalf had told Frodo. And Merry felt the blood drain from his face, and his stomach began to rebel, and he was shivering as if frozen. The One Ring of the Dark Lord. Bilbo’s harmless little magic ring was the most horrible thing imaginable, and it was here in the Shire, drawing danger ever nearer. He downed his ale without even tasting it.

Two things were crystal clear to him: Frodo might as well have a target painted on his back and there was no way he could let Pippin come with them. Not into this kind of trouble.

“It’s still on, Sam,” Merry said with determination. “You’re an excellent fellow, and I’m glad you’ll be going, but Frodo is going to need more than one companion in this kind of trouble.”

“Aye.” But Sam looked miserable, and Merry could not blame him. Sam finished his ale and got up to leave. “I am sorry, Mr. Merry.”

“I know, Sam.” He watched Sam finish his ale and leave.

Merry had remained morosely at the table, his mind working frantically, like an animal in a trap.

He had counted on Sam’s help; now it was lost. Sam had already stretched his promise to the limit, and Merry could ask no more of him. He didn’t really think Gandalf would turn Sam into something--but it would not be a good idea to anger a Wizard.

He had counted on Pippin’s help; now it, too, was lost. No matter how dangerous it was, Pip would never agree to staying behind if he knew they were going. And Pip was just barely twenty-eight. He wouldn’t even be an adult for five more years; to take him into this kind of trouble would be worse than cruel.

He’d give a lot to have his father’s help; but he’d not get it for this. As fond of Frodo as Merry’s father was, the Master of Buckland would never countenance his only son and heir to go off into the Wild on a journey from which he might very well never return.

Who was left? Who could he trust?

Fatty Bolger?

He turned the idea over in his mind. It was not obvious, but it could work.

Fredegar Bolger and his friend Folco Boffin were a couple of years older than Merry. Like Merry and Pippin, who were often thought of as one person with two names, it was so with Fatty and Folco; they were to most observers a pair of amiable half-wits who took nothing seriously. For a long time, Merry had wondered what Frodo saw in them to keep them as friends.

But Merry was nothing if not observant, and he began to discover that while Folco really was a half-wit with a positive talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time--though he was very good-hearted and generous, and never meant any offense--Fatty was putting on an act that easily hid quite a good mind.

It was this that had earned him Frodo’s friendship. Fatty had a taste for books and languages and scholarly pursuits that he hid well from most. Unlike Frodo, however, he really only ever wanted to study those things. He had no desire whatsoever to see any of them in his own person. He was no coward. He had earned Merry’s respect the day he had witnessed Fatty face down Lotho S-B. and his lackey Ted Sandyman for picking on poor Folco; but the idea of leaving the Shire was sheer anathema to him.

And anyone who could hide his intelligence as well as Fatty hid his, could keep a secret.

Fatty Bolger. He’d just have to get hold of him when he didn’t have Folco at his side.

And so he had. And it had at least been a comfort to share his distress with someone else, even if it wasn’t Frodo or Pippin. But it had been more than a week now, and neither of them had come up with any ideas.

But now he’d be going to Bag End, with Frodo and Pippin both there. Maybe he could learn something new--if it did not drive him mad first trying to keep the secret.

CHAPTER 3

Fatty shut the door to the guest room he was staying in behind Folco. He’d just spent a half hour commiserating with him. Somehow his friend in one afternoon had managed to put Merry's and Pippin’s backs up, irritate the Thain, and annoy all three of the Took sisters, including insulting the new baby, all without really knowing why. Fatty loved his friend dearly, no one had a kinder or more generous spirit, but there was a complete lack of connection between Folco’s brain and his mouth.

He sighed and sat down on his bed. He really needed to give some thought to Merry’s problem. He was very frightened. Merry did not have as much knowledge as he as to just how powerful or evil that Ring was. Frodo and Gandalf were right to try and get it out of the Shire. But one of Fatty’s secret vices was a love for Elvish tales and poetry--probably of Hobbits in the Shire, only he and Frodo truly grasped what it meant. He knew the tale of Gil-Galad. He was glad that Merry had confided in him, but he wished the problem did not exist.

When the knock came on the door a moment later, he thought it must be Merry.

“Come on in.” But to his surprise, it was not Merry, but Pippin.

“Hullo, Fatty. I’d like to have a word with you.”

Fatty’s heart sank. Somehow, Pippin was on to them. That was the only explanation for the gleam in those Tookish green eyes.

“Whatever for?” But it was only a half-hearted effort.

“Well, I have come to the conclusion that I have been misjudging you all these years, and that you are not in fact, ‘as dull as ditchwater’.”

Fatty moaned. “You were eavesdropping.”

“Yes, that I was,” said Pippin unapologetically. “I want to know exactly what’s up with Frodo and Merry. And don’t even think of not telling me.”

“Merry will have my guts for garters.”

“So will I. You know I’m going to find out sooner or later. Let’s make it sooner.” Though Pippin’s tone was light, the expression on his face was determined. “I’ll never let anyone know I heard it from you.”

“You’re not going to like this. It’s very serious indeed, maybe even more serious than Merry realises.”

“I don’t have to like it, Fatty. I just have to know.”

And so once more Gandalf’s conversation with Frodo was passed along.

Pippin sat in silence for so long that Fatty began to wonder if he had understood. Finally he shook his head. “Whew! Poor Frodo. And now I understand why Merry doesn’t want me to come along; he‘s got to protect his little Pip, silly goose. But they are going to need me, whether they like it or not.”

Fatty shook his head; he was glad he was a Bolger, with no desires to leave his home.

 xxxxx

Sam stood back and admired his handiwork. He had put out all the spring annuals in their beds beside the front path, and under the windows of Bag End. He was of two minds about the perennials, some of which needed to be divided and moved. On the one hand he hated to leave a job half done; on the other hand was that nagging little voice that seemed to keep coming at him these days, ever since Gandalf had caught him listening to him and Mr. Frodo, the voice that said “why bother, you won’t be here to see to it, after all, will you?”

Well, of course that was beside the point wasn’t it. What needed doing, needed doing, and no mistake. The Gaffer’d take his head off if he thought Sam was neglecting the garden for such a silly thing as that.

Problem was, what with Mr. Frodo away to Tookland for a few days, and Gandalf tramping round the Shire while he was gone, he had too much time to think. He was still glad of the idea that he might be seeing Elves, and that he could go with his Mr. Frodo and look out for him; but he kept coming back to why they had to leave. At least now they knew where--Rivendell, to the Elves; and when--well, that would be right after The Birthday, no other day seemed right. But knowing the why of it, that took all the joy out of it. That evil Ring.

Last fall, when Mr. Merry had talked to him in The Green Dragon, there was no thought of such a thing. It was just Mr. Merry’s mind seemed to run the same way Sam’s did--that sooner or later, Mr. Frodo would be off after old Mr. Bilbo, and those as didn’t wish to be left behind had best keep their eyes open. Mr. Merry was level-headed, even if he did like a joke sometimes too much, and he was right fierce when it came to Mr. Frodo. Sometimes Sam thought Mr. Merry forgot he was the younger cousin. So he’d agreed to keep his eyes and ears open, and tell Mr. Merry what was going on.

So when Gandalf had come back, Sam had taken his clippers and stationed himself where he could hear what he and Mr. Frodo were talking of. And as the talk went on, he got more and more scared, and he forgot to keep clipping, although truth to tell there wasn’t much left as needed clipping by that time. And then Gandalf had caught him. Sam shook his head; he still couldn’t believe he said something so daft as “there ain’t no eaves at Bag End,” but it was just the first thing popped into his head. He didn’t really think old Gandalf would turn him into anything--but he had no doubt that he could.

And then Sam had turned right around and told Mr. Merry everything. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t breaking the promise, because it was what he heard before Gandalf caught him; but he knew, deep down that it was. Only, he needed some help to protect Mr. Frodo--he couldn’t do it all alone--and he didn’t know anybody better than Mr. Merry to do that.

Only now he couldn’t help him out anymore.

He just hoped Mr. Merry would be able to figure what was going on, on his own.

 xxxxx

Back in his own room, Pippin vainly tried to find sleep. He was no longer angry at Merry. If their positions were reversed, he’d probably be trying to do the same. But it did not change his determination to go with his cousins. If he let them go off into this kind of danger without him, he would never forgive himself.

This was no longer a light-hearted competition to put one over on Merry. This was now literally a matter of life and death. He had better begin thinking on the ways he could be of use to his cousins once they got started.

How could someone as good and wise as Frodo end up cursed with such a horrible thing? This was a question he was going to be asking himself, had he only known it, for years.

He was going to have to keep on his toes once he got to Bag End if he were to find out any details of the plans for leaving.

Well, at least he wasn’t angry at Merry any more. At this, he realized that his thoughts were going around in circles. It was going to be a long night.

xxxxx

Merry had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. Knowing that he now had a plan for finding out what was going on had helped.

Once he was in Bag End, he was sure he would be able to keep tabs on Frodo’s plans. The hardest part was going to be keeping Pip in the dark.

He wasn’t used to keeping secrets from Pip.

CHAPTER 4

Sam had finished thinning a row of early spring radishes when he heard the sound of three hobbit voices raised in a snatch of a walking song.

That there was one of Mr. Bilbo’s songs, if Sam remembered rightly.

“…Perry-the-Winkle grew so fat
through the eating of cransome bread
his weskit bust, and never a hat
would sit upon his head;
for Every Thursday he went to tea,
and sat on the kitchen floor,
and smaller the old Troll seemed to be...*

Sounds like Mr. Frodo’s back, and brought Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin for a visit, he thought. He knew that Mr. Frodo was going to try his best to spend as much time as he could with them, seeing as how he thought he’d be leaving them behind, maybe forever. A good thing he didn’t know that one of them, anyway, was planning on not being left behind at all.

“Hullo, Sam,” said Frodo as they came up to Bag End. “Has all been going well here while I was away? Is Gandalf back yet?”

“Right as rain, Mr. Frodo. No, not yet; he wasn‘t sure how long you were going to be in Tookland, so he said he‘d be back in a week. He’s only been gone four days. Good afternoon, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin.”

“Hullo, Sam,” answered Pippin.

“It’s good to see you again,” was Merry’s response.

“Why don’t you come into the kitchen and take tea with us, Sam, and we’ll tell you all about Cousin Pimpernel’s newest little one,” invited Frodo.

“All red and wrinkly, smelly and noisy” said her fond Uncle Pippin. “I’m sure you want to hear all about her.”

“Well, I don’t mind if I do, Mr. Frodo. Just let me put away my tools, and I’ll be right up.”

“Why don’t I give you a hand, Sam?” said Merry, with a meaning look.

Sam shook his head, but Merry ignored him, and Frodo and Pippin had already gone inside.

“Mr. Merry, you know I can’t talk to you about you-know-what anymore.”

“I know that you can’t Sam, and I won’t press you. I just wanted to be sure you know I’m not angry at you; it couldn’t be helped. I think I know enough now to be able to get on without you, anyway.” Merry picked up Sam’s trowel, and handed it to him. “We’ll be here for a few weeks, and I don’t want there to be any awkwardness. But I had forgot until we came away that Gandalf is still visiting.” Frodo had explained to his cousins that the wizard did not wish to stay alone at Bag End while Frodo saw to his family obligations, lest it cause unpleasant talk, but that he would be coming back to stay right after Frodo had returned. “Will you be all right?”

“I think so, Mr. Merry. He wants me whole and able to go with Mr. Frodo when the time comes. He’ll not turn me into anything nasty, now, I don’t think.” But to Merry’s eyes, Sam still looked a bit nervous.

“All right, Sam. Let’s stash these away, and get up to tea before they begin to wonder what we’ve found to talk about. Or not.”

xxxxx

Pippin was pretty sure from what Fatty had said, that Merry wouldn’t be able to pump Sam for any more information. He gave a bit of a shiver. He certainly wouldn’t want Gandalf mad at him.

But on the other hand, Sam would have no reason to be wary of him. The gardener would have no reason to think that Pippin knew anything at all, and he might let something slip, if only the right questions were asked.

Also, Pippin knew he’d need to keep an eye on Frodo himself. Any plans he might be making, any changes in his routine. This was going to get complicated. And he didn’t dare let Merry suspect that he was on to anything. It was absolutely necessary to not let Merry find out what he was planning until the very last minute.

And he definitely did not want Gandalf to suspect anything.

________________________________________

*From “Perry-the-Winkle”, The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (The Tolkien Reader)

CHAPTER 5

For a few days, the cousins’ visit went along as it often had in years past--sleeping late, taking walks, spending evenings in The Green Dragon, sitting up late smoking and telling stories. Pippin could almost imagine that nothing had happened to change anything.

Then one morning, he awakened earlier than usual, and the smell of breakfast cooking lured him in the direction of the kitchen. But he stopped before he went in, hearing the sound of Frodo and Sam talking.

“Yes, Sam, I’m afraid that it’s the only thing I can do. I will probably never be able to return to the Shire; and it’s not fair to leave things in a muddle. Selling Bag End is going to have to be done. Even if I should come home, I’d rather it not be like it was for Bilbo when he came back, people trying to auction off his things.”

“But Mr. Frodo, people will wonder why you would sell your home after all these years; it will cause all kinds of talk, and Gandalf said it should be done quietly.”

“I’ve been giving that some thought. I guess that I will need to start some rumours that I’m finally running out of money.” Frodo sounded rather proud of himself for this, but Pippin almost snickered. No one in the Shire would ever believe that a Baggins had run out of money--even if it were true, it would not be believed. Most people were thoroughly convinced that there were pots of gold hidden all through the hill, and it would take more than a rumour to change that belief.

“If you think that will work, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam doubtfully.

“Oh, I’m sure it will. Is the bacon almost done? I’ve finished the toast.”

Pippin decided to make a noise, and come into the kitchen as though he had just arrived. “I thought I smelled breakfast. Is this first or second?” he said cheerily.

Merry came up behind him just then. “Smells like first breakfast to me.”

The four hobbits soon set to on toast, bacon, eggs and fried taters. As they ate and talked, they were startled to hear a booming voice: “Frodo Baggins!” and looked up to see a large bearded face peering in the kitchen window.

“Gandalf!” Frodo cried delightedly, “come right in. I do believe there is some breakfast yet left that these greedy fellows have not devoured.”

“Oi, now,” said Pippin indignantly, “I like that!” He snatched another piece of toast from the rack. Merry smacked his hand.

Gandalf had come round to the kitchen door, and now bent his tall frame nearly double to enter. He stood cautiously, mindful of the nearness of his head to the ceiling. “I see, Frodo, that you have filled your hole with riff-raff while I was gone.” His eyes twinkled in merriment as he gave a mock stern look to the two younger hobbits.

Pippin rolled his eyes, and Merry snorted. But Sam got up and started to clean the kitchen, refusing to look in Gandalf’s direction. He still felt nervous about his listening in, and guilty for telling Mr. Merry afterward.

Gandalf watched his four small friends closely. Something had changed in their way of interacting with one another; it was subtle, but there.

Frodo dished Gandalf up a plate of breakfast and placed it before him.

“Whatever else may be said of them,” said Gandalf, “no one can deny that the Bagginses are excellent hosts.”

“You’re welcome, Gandalf,” laughed Frodo.

After an excellent breakfast and a leisurely pipe, during which he was regaled with all the doings of the Tooks during the recent family gathering, Gandalf took his hat, bag and staff to the room which was set aside for his use during his visits.

He remembered how touched he had been, decades before, to arrive for a visit to Bilbo and discover that the old hobbit had remodeled one of the guest rooms especially for him. It was one of the larger rooms, with a window, yet even so, it had room for only the bed and chair. Gandalf had often wondered how Bilbo had got hold of a Man sized bed and chair, but his old friend had never enlightened him. He stepped down into the room, for the workers had used the typically hobbitish solution of lowering the floor, rather than raising the ceiling. It was a relief to be able to stand upright without worrying about banging his head.

He was going to miss the Shire. But the day was fast approaching when all his work would either be done, or end in total failure. Either way, his time here would end.

And at least he could say that whatever befell, he had spent good times among the merriest and most delightful race in Middle Earth.

xxxxx

A couple of weeks later, one rainy afternoon near the end of Thrimidge, Fatty and Folco had stopped by after tea, and stayed to supper. Now all were gathered in the front room. Frodo and Fatty were occupied by the desk, where Fatty was attempting to make his own copy of one of the Elven tales that Bilbo had translated.

Merry, Pippin and Folco were occupying themselves half-heartedly with an intricate hobbit dicing game. It was less fun than it might have been. They were having to keep score with quill scratches on paper, as Frodo had forbidden his younger cousins to wager, causing Merry to cast his eyes to the ceiling, and Pippin to stick out his tongue behind Frodo’s back.

Gandalf sat on the floor in one corner observing them, smoking and blowing smoke patterns far more interesting than mere rings. Pippin kept looking up in fascination, and was losing track of the game. Merry kept looking at Frodo. The wizard thought he had discovered what the changes in their relationships meant.

The two younger cousins somehow knew that Frodo was leaving. And they were secretly planning on going with him. But apparently they were making their plans separately rather than together. He thought perhaps Merry would try to dissuade Pippin from going if he knew.

At first he had planned to interfere. But as he thought more on it, he realized that his heart was telling him that this was meant to be. Somehow these youngsters had a part to play, just as important as his own. He would keep his own counsel, then, and let matters play out as they would.

CHAPTER 6

The next day, Frodo approached Merry alone. His manner was hesitant and unlike his usual confident self. Merry knew immediately that something was up.

“Merry, will you be going home to Buckland soon?”

“Frodo, are you saying I’ve worn out my welcome here?”

“No! No, of course not!” Frodo flushed. “I just want to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything, cousin, you know that.” For one brief instant, Merry had hope that Frodo was going to confide the truth to him after all.

“Well, I’m finding it difficult to keep up Bag End. It’s really too much for an old bachelor like me, and--and even dragon’s gold doesn’t last forever…” his voice trailed off lamely, then he cleared his throat. “I--I thought I might move back to Buckland.”

Merry tried not to goggle. Frodo was such a bad liar. Running out of money? Did he really think anyone would believe that? Even if his Baggins money was running out--which Merry didn’t for an instant believe--he knew for a fact that Frodo had yet to touch a copper of his substantial Brandybuck inheritance. Frodo was looking at him anxiously. “You’re not joking,” Merry finally responded.

“No, I’m not. I was hoping you could find me a nice little hole or house in Buckland; I can give you an authority to buy it for me.”

“I’ll be glad to do it for you,” said Merry sadly, “how soon will you want it?”

“I’d like to be able to move in by the twenty-second of Halimath.”

“On your birthday.”

“Mmm--hmm,” said Frodo miserably.

“Will you be able to sell Bag End by then?”

“There’s already someone who has a standing offer to buy.” He refused to meet Merry’s eyes.

“Frodo! No! Not--” Now Merry did goggle at his cousin, whose expression was more miserable than he had ever seen it.

Frodo nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

It was unspeakable.

The Sackville-Bagginses were finally going to get their hands on Bag End.

Merry felt his blood run cold. This was the clearest indication yet that Frodo had no plan to return to the Shire, ever. That cursed, cursed Ring!

xxxxx

Pippin was furious at the news. He just barely remembered in time that he was not supposed to know anything, and kept from blurting out what a daft plan it was. Instead he vented his feelings in language that a tweenager of his social standing should not even have known.

Merry didn’t have the heart to rebuke him. He agreed with every profane word.

xxxxx

Sam knew. He was in the back garden viciously double digging one of the beds. The dirt flew, while tears streamed down his face, and choice words went through his mind.

xxxxx

A few days later, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her son Lotho arrived to sign the contracts. In addition to Merry and Sam, Fatty and Folco were there, as were Gaffer Gamgee, and Farmer Cotton and his son Tom, to provide the seven witnesses. Pippin for once was glad he was not of age, since it meant he did not have to put his name to this farce.

Lobelia was her usual rude self. Pippin amused himself by imagining how she would look if he upended the bottle of red ink over her head. Lotho’s supercilious sneer got on everyone’s nerves. He either did not know or did not care how close he came to getting his face punched by at least five different people.

There was a moment of interest. Right in front of Lotho, Folco Boffin offered Frodo an interest free loan to tide him over if he really wanted to keep Bag End. Frodo looked stupefied. He’d tried so hard to make people believe he was running out of money, and here was someone who actually believed it; he was also touched at Folco’s generosity--it was obvious that he was at a loss for words. Lotho, however, turned an interesting shade of purple, and began to bluster nastily about people keeping their word. Finally, Frodo found his voice and thanked Folco gently, and told him that it was too late to change his mind. Fatty heaved a sigh of relief. Other people in the room might believe that Folco was just having a joke on Lotho, but Fatty knew that the idea had just occurred to his friend, so he blurted it out.

As soon as the signing was over, Frodo hustled the unwelcome buyers out, in defiance of hobbit custom, which usually required food and drink be offered afterwards. At this point, he did not much care if he gave offense; it was dire enough that they were getting his beloved Bag End.

Gandalf had kept himself out of sight. He had told Frodo that this step was not necessary, but could not dissuade him. He feared that this was only the first of many painful sacrifices his dear friend was going to be making in the near future.

(A/N: The italicized section of dialogue with Gandalf and Frodo comes directly from The Fellowship of the Ring,  "Three is Company")

CHAPTER 7

Merry left for Buckland the very next day, and Pippin went with him. Merry had in hand Frodo’s written authority to purchase his new home for him, as well as a draft for what funds would be needed.

If only this was for real, and Frodo really were going to settle back down in his childhood home,  Merry  would have been  more  than  pleased--though never  at  the  S-B’s getting Bag End, that still made him sick to his stomach--but the knowledge that it was all for nothing was depressing.

Pippin was not in a very good mood either. He was having to be so careful of what he said to Merry that it made his teeth hurt. He longed for them to be able to talk about the upcoming journey, and lay plans, but they couldn’t. It was too soon. Merry could too easily find a way to put a spike in his wheel if he told him now.

The second night of their journey they slept at The Floating Log in Frogmorton, and indulged in too much ale. It was not their usual jolly night of drinking and singing, either. They simply kept one another company morosely, in keeping with a pact they had once made, as they got determinedly drunk. It didn't help. Of course, they paid the usual price the following morning, and trudged along with sore heads and nasty mouths. They looked and felt, seedy and disreputable, and neither of them had a word to say to the other.

However, as they approached the Marish, Merry began to realize they could not arrive at Brandy Hall in this kind of state. His mother would tear him up one side and down the other, not only for his own appearance, but especially for allowing his younger cousin to do the same. And Pippin would be in for his own tongue lashing as well. Esmeralda spoiled her young nephew, but she did not indulge him.

Merry stopped. “Pip. We can’t go home like this. Mum’ll kill us.”

Pippin looked at his older cousin. “You’re right. What do you suggest?”

“I think when we get to Stock, we’ll stop at The Golden Perch and wash up and change clothes, and have a decent meal with one ale. And then we’ll head for the Ferry.”

So that was what they did. Sitting at their table in clean clothes, eating a nice meal of lamb and mushroom stew, fresh bread, cheese and pear tart did much to restore their spirits.

Merry had made the decision to act as though he believed what he was doing was real. He put on a cheerful countenance, and told Pippin what he had in mind.

“I think I’m going to ask Da if he’ll sell Frodo the old guesthouse at Crickhollow. It would be perfect for him. It’s small, but not too small, and it’s a nice distance from the Hall. Frodo’s used to more privacy than he’ll be getting in Buckland.”

“I remember that house, Merry. It would be perfect,” Pippin had also decided to act happier than he felt. “the layout is very similar to the front part of Bag End.”

“Yes, well it’s a very old-fashioned house, as much like a hole as the builders could make it. I think that Frodo would like it.”

“I think you’re right. Do you think Uncle Saradoc will agree?”

“Da is very fond of Frodo; he’ll be glad to have him back in Buckland. I’m fairly certain he’ll agree.”

xxxxx

And so it was. Saradoc and Esmeralda both were thrilled with the notion that Frodo would return to his childhood home. Esmeralda was surprised; she knew his memories of Buckland were bittersweet, and that there had been much to pain him, but she was pleased that he would be nearby once more.

Merry went over the house to make sure it was still in good repair, and was glad to find that it was in very good condition, needing only a bit of paint on some of the doors to make it perfect.

Only a few days later, he was able to send Frodo a letter, telling him that he was now the proud owner of the cottage at Crickhollow.

xxxxx

On the twentieth of Forelithe, Frodo received the letter from Merry telling him of his new house.

He found Sam in the kitchen garden, thinning onions. “Well, Sam, the last piece is in place. We simply have to get through the summer. Are you sure you still want to go through with this?”

“Not likely I’ll back out now, Mr. Frodo. I’m not about to stay here and see Bag End mauled by old Missus Lobelia and Lotho Pimple, begging your pardon, sir, even if they are your kin!” Sam delivered this sentence all in one breath, and punctuated it by yanking hard on a weed that had dared to show itself.

“Sam!” but the rebuke was only half-hearted, as Frodo agreed with him thoroughly. “I am sorry, Sam. But I had to do it. Now I can’t back out either.”

“I know, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, with tears in his eyes.

Gandalf had gone early that morning for a walk, and returned that afternoon in time for tea. As the three of them sat in the kitchen, Frodo showed the wizard Merry’s letter. “It looks now as though my plan is finally arranged.”

“That is good,” replied Gandalf, “as I find that I shall be leaving in the morning.”

Frodo looked alarmed.

“Only for a short while, I hope,” he said. “But I am going down beyond the southern borders to get some news, if I can. I have been idle longer than I should.”

He spoke lightly, but it seemed to Frodo that he looked rather worried. “Has anything happened?” he asked.

“Well, no; but I have heard something that has made me anxious and needs looking into. If I think it necessary after all for you to get off at once, I shall come back immediately, or at least send word. In the meanwhile stick to your plan; but be more careful than ever, especially of the Ring. Let me impress on you once more: don’t use it!”

He went off at dawn. “I may be back any day,” he said. “At the very least I shall come back for the farewell party. I think after all you may need my company on the road.”

“Well, Sam, we’re on our own now for a little while.” But Frodo looked troubled. It must be something dire to draw Gandalf away now.

CHAPTER 8

As the days of Lithe and Midsummer drew near, Frodo found himself fretting; he felt at loose ends. It was too soon to begin packing things out, yet there seemed to be no reason to do anything that mattered, for he’d be gone. So it was with some relief, when on the twenty-ninth of Forelithe he found Merry and Pippin at his door once more.

“Hullo, cousin!” greeted Pippin cheerily. “My mother has summoned me home for the holiday, and Merry has come along. Would you like to come up to Tookland with us for a few days?”

“Do say you will, Frodo,” put in Merry “it will be dead dreary without you there. And when it‘s over, you can keep me company part of the way back.”

Frodo only thought briefly before agreeing. Bag End felt sad to him now, as if his home were reproaching him for giving it up. A few days away among relatives would take his mind off things.

xxxxx

Pippin found that his parents were not happy with him. He had spent weeks at Bag End, followed by more weeks in Buckland, and altogether had been gone for very nearly two months. He was told in no uncertain terms that he would be staying at the Great Smials at least until Halimath. Then his parents might allow him to help Frodo with his move.

Needless to say, this did not sit well with him. How could he keep tabs on his cousins when he was stuck in Tookland? Of course, he knew that they were probably not going anywhere before The Birthday, but what if something came up?

xxxxx

When Fatty discovered that Merry and Pippin had spirited Frodo away to the Great Smials for the Lithedays he talked Folco into accompanying him there. He needed to talk to his fellow conspirators

"But Fatty," said Folco, "it's no fun there.  The Tooks are so touchy. And besides, I think the Thain is still mad at me for my joke about Pimpernel's baby."

“Just avoid the Thain. And Folco, try to avoid making jokes. I’ve told you before that you just don’t have the knack for it.” Fatty shook his head. “Besides Frodo’s there, and Merry and Pippin; we’ll get to see them. And they always have a magnificent bonfire for Midsummer.”

“Well, it will be good to see Frodo--he doesn’t get mad at me quite so much as other folk. And Merry, I guess. Pippin’s almost as touchy as his father, though. But a big bonfire would be nice.”

Fatty sighed. It was sometimes a lot of work being Folco’s friend, but they’d known one another since they were fauntlings and Fatty couldn’t imagine life without him. But he did wish that other people could have more patience with Folco’s unfortunate way of speaking. On the other hand, it did have its entertainment value at times--he still cherished the look on Lotho’s face when Folco had made his offer to Frodo.

Fatty had been giving a lot of thought to his own part in this little conspiracy of Frodo’s friends. Merry had brought him in, and confided in him. Now he had Pippin on his other side, pumping him for any information that Fatty could give him about Merry and Frodo both. But he really was not contributing anything. Although he knew he could never leave the Shire, he wanted very much to actively help Frodo.

He thought back on his friendship with Frodo and Bilbo. It was Bilbo’s tales that had awakened in him the love for Elvish lore that he had to try so hard to hide. He knew his family would never understand, and would make his life miserable if they ever knew about it. Stories of Elves weren’t practical, they would not put coin in hand, or food on the table, they would not add one whit to one’s status; that’s all his parents really cared about. Of all the people in his family, only his younger sister Estella ever understood him; she too, had a fondness for tales. Whenever his father would visit Bilbo on business, Fatty would go along, and manage to hide himself in Bilbo’s study, sneaking what peeks he could at the fascinating books and scrolls that were there.

One day, not too long before Bilbo’s famous eleventy-first birthday, Frodo had caught him in there, hiding behind the settee, and trying to puzzle out some Elvish characters that the two Baggins cousins had been attempting to translate. Instead of being angry, Frodo had helped him, and allowed him to borrow one of the precious books.

It was the beginning of a long friendship. Frodo understood his need to hide his intelligence from his family, and he never gave him away. He even put up with having Folco around. He had known that Merry and Pippin thought him quite as stupid as he made believe he was, but something must have given him away to Merry. He’d been very surprised to be approached by the Brandybuck, and touched that he trusted him in this matter of the Ring.

Pippin, on the other hand had not figured him out until he eavesdropped, and there was more than a hint of blackmail in his attitude towards getting what he wanted. But Fatty could not fault him for it, since it was motivated by his love for his cousins. Still, he was amazed at the bravery of both Took and Brandybuck, to be willing to go on this journey, knowing what they would be up against.

But he had the beginnings of an idea. Something only he could do, since he would not be going along.

CHAPTER 9

No sooner had Fatty arrived than he found himself cornered by Pippin, who looked rather desperate.

“Fatty, I need to talk to you as soon as possible--alone.” He cast a glance at Folco, who was making his greeting to Eglantine. Pippin’s mother was the only member of the Took family who found the young Boffin amusing

"All right, Pippin. I’ll come to your room shortly. Where are Merry and Frodo?”

“Oh, Pearl and Falco invited them to tea. Falco has some kind of business he wants to do in Buckland, and he wants to pick Merry’s brain.” Pearl’s husband Falco was also a Bolger, and a distant relative of Fatty’s.

A short while later, Fatty found the young Took in his room. He was restless, going from pacing about the room, to flopping upon his bed, to jumping up and looking out the window. He looked a bit wild about the eyes.

“Fatty, I’m stuck! Here at the Smials--at least until Halimath!” He explained his parents’ strictures. “So, see, how am I going to know what is going on? What if something comes up, and they take off before The Birthday? What if--”

“Pippin, calm down.” Fatty was going to have to say some things he had thought of ever since Pippin had joined this game, and he was afraid that the tweenager was not going to like it at all. “Listen to me and don’t interrupt.” He used a firmer tone than was usual for him, and wide eyed, Pippin nodded. “You do know that Merry had your best interest at heart by keeping you out of this.” Pippin opened his mouth, but Fatty held up a hand, and he shut it again. “I don’t know if you’ve thought of this, but if all of you go away on this--this escape--and then somehow return, Merry and Frodo could find themselves in very serious trouble for spiriting away an underage youngster, especially the son of the Thain. And if none of you ever return--something that is very likely for any hobbit who ventures away from the Shire, your parents will grieve forever, and you leave your father without an heir.” Pippin’s eyes filled with tears. “I know how much you love Merry and Frodo, but it really would be wiser if you did not try to go through with this.” Again Pippin started to speak, but Fatty held his hand up once more. “However if you still insist, I will do all I can to help you go with them, as I suspect that if they give you the slip, you will try to follow all by yourself. And that would be worse than foolish and extremely dangerous.”

“Thank you, Fatty,” Pippin heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not stupid. I have thought of all those things. I don’t believe anyone who knows me would hold Merry and Frodo responsible for my going along--they’d know it was entirely my idea. As far as my family goes…” Again his eyes filled up with tears, and then he suddenly broke down sobbing. Fatty took out his handkerchief to give him, and patted him on the back for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Pippin sniffed, “I know how hard it’s going to be for them. But I can’t let Merry and Frodo go without me. I just can’t! I can’t even make myself imagine it. And you’re right, I won’t, I would slip off after them, you know I would.” That stubborn look was back on his face.

“Very well, then. I will keep you posted on any developments, and let you know right away if there are any signs that Frodo and Sam are planning on leaving early.”

Pippin’s grin lit his face up like a beacon. “Oh, Fatty! You are a splendid fellow.” He grabbed Fatty in a great hug. “I’m sorry I ever thought you were dull!”

Fatty shook his head. The Tooks were so volatile. But quite amazing, nonetheless.

CHAPTER 10

During the days of Lithe, the friends made a concerted effort to forget about the Ring and the coming journey. The Thain always threw a wonderful celebration, and during the bonfire, there were music and dancing and games. There were no fireworks, however. Paladin had thought of asking Gandalf to provide some, but the wizard had already left the Shire before he could get around to it.

Eglantine had taken upon herself the task of keeping Folco’s foot out of his mouth, something which earned her Fatty’s eternal gratitude. She seemed to enjoy the young Boffin’s company, which completely amazed her children and husband.

Frodo seemed to be enjoying his visit with his relatives immensely. He felt that he needed to make for himself as many happy memories as he could. He was going to miss them all, but especially Merry and Pippin. It was hard to imagine what life was going to be like without them. He had always half hoped that when adventure found him, they would be coming along, but that was when adventure had held a much milder face, and was much further into the future.

xxxxx

After the holiday festivities were ended, Fatty found Merry alone, and asked him to go for a walk. He had been mulling over his idea. It still terrified him somewhat, yet he had decided that it was about time he became a contributing member of the conspiracy.

“You realize, Merry, that once you are gone, the talk is going to spread like wildfire. There will be no way to keep it a secret.”

“I know. But there is not much for it. I’m hoping that with Crickhollow being as isolated as it is, no one will notice for at least two or three days.”

“I may be able to buy you a little more time than that,” said Fatty.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“It’s occurred to me that if someone were to stay at Crickhollow, and be seen every so often from a distance, that the discovery of your leaving could be delayed for several days, maybe even a couple of weeks.”

Merry stared at him. “Fatty! Are you volunteering to do that? You’ve never so much as been over the Brandywine before! And you could be in serious trouble once it is found out.” Merry had no doubt that his father would interrogate Fatty within an inch of his life once he discovered the deception. And his reputation as dull and stupid would be marred forever.

“Merry, it is the least that I can do for you and Frodo. You are the only friends I have that can understand me. You will be going off into danger, and if I can do *something* to help put that danger off, believe me, I will.”

“Thank you, Fatty. It is an excellent idea.”

xxxxx

Frodo and Merry stayed at the Great Smials until the third day of Afterlithe, and then returned to Bag End.

Merry had brought with him from Buckland a little drawing of the layout at Crickhollow, with the measurements of the rooms all marked out. He and Frodo spent a week deciding which furnishings would be taken and where they would go in the new setting. Many items that Frodo had no intention of allowing into the hands of Lobelia and her son would also be taken and stored at Brandy Hall.

Merry also reminded Frodo that he also had a room filled with his parent’s possessions stored among the other mathoms there. This was something Frodo had completely forgotten.

xxxxx

On the night of the tenth, Frodo had a strange dream about Gandalf. He saw him approaching a tall tower, and he knew somehow that this was a terrible danger to the wizard. Suddenly it all seemed to fall away into a great distance, as though he were seeing it from miles in the sky. He found himself going up, up into the stars, and then all was lost in a brilliant white light.

CHAPTER 11

Pippin thought that never had a summer passed so slowly. He tried to stay busy, to find things to do that would help his family, help his father; but there was precious little of that kind of thing available for the son of the Thain.

He spent a lot of time minding the children for Pimpernel. Two year old Flora and the infant Alyssum seemed to enjoy being with their Uncle Pippin, and he kept reminding himself to spend as much time as he could with them for he might never get the chance to see them grow up.

At night, his thoughts grew morbid. Fatty did not believe that Pippin understood how serious this business of the Enemy’s Ring was. In one way, he was right; Pippin did not know all the history of it, nor the evil it had wreaked on Men and Elves. He did not need to. For he knew only one thing: his Frodo and his Merry were threatened, and that for Frodo, at least, that threat would remain, no matter what he did, where he went, or even whether he stayed in the Shire, as long as he had that Ring.

And if Frodo stayed in the Shire, all that evil, that was nearly too much for Men and Elves long ages ago, would be brought here to the Shire, to his parents and sisters and nieces.

He thought of how his parents would take his leaving. His father would be furious, and likely to make life miserable for everyone else. He worried and fretted about how he would finally tell Merry that he was coming. He feared that somehow Merry might yet find a way to prevent him. He wrote letters to Fatty every few days, begging for information. But of course there was not much to report, and he stopped getting answers.

Finally, about the middle of one of the hottest, most miserable Wedmaths that anyone could recall for years, he got a letter from Fatty.

My dear Peregrin--

Everything seems to going as planned. There have been no changes. As the time for Frodo’s move draws near, he seems distracted and moody. Who can blame him, considering that the loathsome S-B’s will be moving into his home?

Do not worry about your cousin Merry. He is keeping busy helping his father run Buckland, and preparing Frodo’s new home for him.

We hope that you are keeping well at the Smials. Folco sends his greetings, and asks that you remember him affectionately to your mother.

Your friend,

F. Bolger

He had, of course, several letters from Merry. But those told their own story, not so much for what they said, as for what they did not say. They were long, full of gossip about the relatives at Brandy Hall, but no mention at all of Frodo or the move or the house at Crickhollow. Merry did not much like lying and tended to avoid it, though he would when he had to, and wasn’t too bad at it, unlike Frodo who hated lying, and was terrible at it. Of course, they were both unlike Pippin, who was a cheerful liar, very good at it, indeed, and never minded when he got caught out.

His own letters back to Merry were short and truthful, and pretty much the same:

Dear Merry--

I am bored out of my mind. The weather is miserably hot and there is nothing to do. If I don’t get out of the Smials soon, I am going to lose what is left of my mind.

When are you coming to see me?

Love,

Pippin

xxxxx

Merry looked at his third letter from Pippin that month, just like the others. He felt sorry for Pip, stuck at home, and he felt a bit guilty. Normally, he would have spent a good part of that month with his younger cousin. But he had been avoiding going to visit, because then he had to be careful what he said. He hated keeping a secret from Pip.

But there was this--and he had to admit it--he might never see Pip again, once he had left the Shire. He owed it to Pippin, and to himself, to make some time for them together before he left.

 xxxxx

Pippin sat down to second breakfast with his family; it was so hot that he did not have nearly his usual appetite, but there were some lovely strawberries and cream to tempt him.

Pervinca picked up the post that lay on the side table. “Pip, you’ve another letter from Merry.”

“Thanks.” He took it without much enthusiasm. He expected that it would be much the same as the others. He opened it and gave a whoop of joy.

Pip--

I find I have things pretty much in hand here in Buckland, and Da says he won’t need my help here for the harvest this year. So I think that I’ll come impose on you Tooks for a while.

I will leave here on Trewsday the fifteenth and spend a couple of days with Frodo at Bag End before coming down around the nineteenth or twentieth . I’ll probably stay on until we get ready to help Frodo with his move.

Warn Aunt Tina and Uncle Paladin that I’m on my way.

Yours ever,

Merry

Pippin did a victory dance around the table, handing the letter to his mother as he passed her chair. Eglantine took one look at it, and heaved a sigh of relief. Having a bored tweenager moping about the Smials had been just about more than she could stand. Pippin and Merry into mischief together was much preferable to moody Pippin snapping and moaning.

 xxxxx

He had made up his mind when he left Buckland that he’d spend the next few weeks making it up to Pippin in advance for abandoning him. The thought of the sense of betrayal his young cousin would feel when he realized he’d been left behind lay like lead in Merry’s stomach.

Pippin, for his part, threw himself into enjoying the moment. He knew exactly what was motivating Merry, and shamelessly used his most wistful expressions to get anything he wanted.

Mornings they went for walks or rides, cooling off by a swim in the nearest pond or brook, and lunching on treats purloined from the Smials’ kitchens.

Many of their evenings were spent at their favorite Tuckborough inn, The Leaping Hare ( or, as it was affectionately known by its regulars, “The Bouncing Bunny”). Though they had good times, both were careful not to overindulge. Neither of them wished to give Pippin’s parents a reason to extend his restrictions.

Paladin was known to enjoy a wager now and then. A few evenings, he joined his son and his nephew for dicing or other games. They had to be careful, however, to make sure it did not come back to Eglantine’s ears; she would have been even more disapproving than Frodo.

Yet for all the good times they were making for themselves, underneath was a restless dread. Thoughts of what Halimath would bring were ever present.

CHAPTER 12

At Bag End, Wedmath had been a miserable month.

The unusual heat had made Sam cross--the lettuce had bolted and many of the flowers were going to seed too soon. What made it worse to Sam was that he just couldn’t seem to put his heart into the garden anymore.

Frodo also was not in a very good mood. He was anxious about Gandalf for one thing, and for another he was finding it humiliating to wind up his affairs in Hobbiton. Going in to settle his accounts, he was constantly assured with many winks and knowing smiles and conspiratorial nods that, yes, he would find living in a smaller home in Buckland less expensive. It was obvious that almost no one believed his story of financial problems, though what they thought he was really up to, no one would say to his face; and what was said behind his back, he never knew.

But the worst problem for both Frodo and Sam to bear were the Sackville-Bagginses. They had taken to dropping in unannounced on the slightest pretext. Sometimes it was Lobelia. Sometimes it was Lotho. Sometimes it was the both of them. They wished to see the rooms; they wished to measure the rooms; they wanted to inspect the fireplace; they wanted to check the cellar; any and every excuse imaginable was bringing them to Frodo’s door. Lobelia was merely rude and thoughtless--if the mood struck her to check the color of the paint in the back hall, then check it she would, no matter the inconvenience to someone else. Lotho, however, was intruding for the sake of intruding, just to make Frodo’s life miserable. He had always hated Frodo, and was enjoying this petty revenge. Both of them were inveterate snoops, as well, so Frodo had to watch them every minute, to make sure they did not go rummaging in drawers, or picking through his private papers.

But what terrified Frodo was what happened one afternoon, when he heard them coming up the path for the fourth time that week. He suddenly realized that he was reaching for the Ring, as if it were the most natural and normal thing in the world to put it on and escape. And part of his mind was saying “What could it hurt, just to go invisible, and get away from them? How could there be any danger, here in the heart of the Shire?”

He jerked his hand away as if from hot coals, and fled out the back door, mouthing to Sam in the back garden “S-B’s”. He went for a long walk, leaving poor Sam to deal with them on his own, and did not return until the stars came out.

 xxxxx

In addition to his garden work at Bag End, and helping Mr. Frodo prepare for the move, Sam was also doing his best to leave everything well in hand for his Gaffer and sister Marigold, the only one of his siblings still living at home. Of course, they thought it was because he was moving to Buckland with Mr. Frodo, not because he was leaving the Shire altogether for who knew how long.

One afternoon, just before teatime, he returned home to Bagshot Row, his mind on a couple of small jobs he thought that he would do that evening. He had noticed a wobbly leg on the kitchen table, and he had in mind to put up the shelf over the sink that Marigold had been wishing for. He came into the kitchen to find the Gaffer and Marigold there, with Marigold’s best friend, Rosie Cotton.

For an instant, he met her gaze, and it was as though the whole world spun away and there was nobody in it but them. With an effort, he wrenched his eyes away, and managed to say “Hullo” without a catch in his voice.

He sat down in his place at the table, and took the tea his sister poured for him, managing to answer the Gaffer’s questions about his day in what passed to his ears as a normal tone of voice, though he felt as if he were miles away.

“Yes, sir. I had to throw that whole bed of lettuce on the compost--bolted, all of it, and bitter as gall.”

“Well, son, it ain’t somewhat you could help, what with all this unnatural heat. You going to sow something else in?”

“Not likely, I’m not, to leave it for those--” he stopped, as the language that came to his mind was not fit for his sister or Rosie to hear. “those new owners to have. I’m just going to cover it with a hay mulch, and let it go.”

The Gaffer shook his head. He didn’t hold with what Mr. Frodo had done, selling to them Sackville-Bagginses. He had dark thoughts on the matter, and was firmly convinced that somehow Lotho had found some kind of hold over Mr. Frodo to make him sell.

Rosie and Marigold were listening to this conversation in silence; the Gaffer was old-fashioned, and didn’t hold with lasses butting into male conversation. Rosie was concerned.

Ever since their early tweens, Rosie and Sam had an understanding. Somewhere they had passed the line from childhood friendship into true love, and without it ever being said, neither of them had ever doubted they would one day share their lives. Yet Sam knew there were things he had to do before he settled down.

But never before had Sam avoided her, as he had been doing since the middle of April. Another lass might have the idea that she was losing her lad’s love, but Rosie had no such doubts about her Sam, who was as true as they came. Something else was going on, and it had to do with Mr. Frodo, of that she was sure. Like most of his neighbors and acquaintances, Rosie did not believe he had run out of money. She suspected that he had heard from his Uncle Bilbo, and was planning on taking off to join him.

And taking her Sam away with him, he was.

He’d be back. She knew it. She could wait. But she did hope he’d speak before he left.

CHAPTER 13

As Wedmath passed into Halimath, the harvests began to come in. Like every other able-bodied hobbit, Merry and Pippin turned out to the fields as needed. Merry was enjoying himself immensely--if he had been at home, he would have been an overseer, as he had for the last five years.

As a guest in Tookland he could suit himself, and was having much more fun in the fields among the tweens and hired hobbits.

It was hard, back-breaking work. But nothing that could not be easily handled by a young and healthy hobbit lad.

There was singing, and much joking. Of course, light-hearted competition to see who could reap or pick the most, accompanied by wagers.

And there were hearty luncheons delivered to the fields by friendly farm lasses.

Best of all, he was so exhausted that when he went to bed at night, he was too tired to worry or fret about Frodo or Pippin.

 xxxxx

 On the tenth of Halimath, a letter arrived at the Great Smials, addressed to both Merry and Pippin.

My dear cousins--

I find that the time for my removal to Buckland is fast approaching. As both of you were kind enough to offer your help, I would like to have you come join me here as soon as possible, in order to begin the real work of packing out.

There is so much to do here, and I seem to have trouble getting started. Your presence would be a big help, even if it is just to give me a swift kick and tell me to get moving.

Bag End seems a bit melancholy right now. The new owners are quite anxious to take possession, and are breathing down my neck.

Do come cheer me up and give your old cousin a hand.

Your loving cousin,

Frodo

“New owners!” snorted Pippin. “Now that’s the nicest term I’ve ever heard for the S-B’s.”

“We’d better get on up there, then,” said Merry. “Why don’t you go show your parents the letter?” But Merry was disturbed. It was unlike Frodo to complain even as mildly as he had in his letter; if he had found reason to do so, then things must be dire indeed.

 xxxxx

When Merry and Pippin arrived the next day, they saw Sam in the front garden with a face like thunder, yanking plants from the bed beneath the front room window, and muttering to himself. He didn’t even hear them approach.

“Sam,” said Merry. The gardener jumped as if stung.

“Are you all right, Sam?” asked Pippin. He could not recall ever seeing Sam in a temper before.

“It’s them Sackville-Bagginses; that Lotho, he just left here about a quarter hour ago. He’s giving poor Mr. Frodo fits, he is.” Sam looked at Frodo’s cousins, and his anger fell away to be replaced by concern. “I’m right worried about Mr. Frodo. You might be able to cheer him up, I hope. He’s in the study, trying to sort through papers and books.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Merry and Pippin went inside to find their cousin.

When the two looked into the study from the doorway, they saw complete disarray. Papers and books were piled on every surface; but Frodo was sitting in the middle of the floor, his face as bleak as winter.

Pippin was frightened. He had never seen Frodo look like that before.

Merry had; but not since he was seven years old. Would what worked then work now?

“Pip, go on back out, and see if Sam can find something for you to do,” he whispered.

Pippin nodded, and went back the way he’d come.

When Merry was but a little lad in Buckland, he would sometimes find his Frodo looking just so, usually sitting by the Brandywine, staring at the river that had stolen his parents away. And he would comfort his cousin as best he could. He hoped it would still work now that they were grown.

He walked over and sat down next to Frodo, and put his arm around him, and whispered in his ear: “I love you, Frodo.”

And Frodo gave a shuddering breath, and returned his embrace, and ruffled his hair. Merry could feel the sorrow draining away from his cousin, who whispered back, as he always had, “I love you, too, Merry. Thank you.”

And Merry breathed a sigh of relief that it still worked.

 xxxxx

The next morning, Frodo slept late. It was nearly time for elevenses, and Merry was wondering if they should go ahead and wake him; he and Pippin had spent the morning bringing some semblance of order to the mess in the study, but what was to be done with much of it could only be decided by Frodo.

Just then, Sam stuck his head through the study door. “That one’s coming up the walk now, Mr. Merry.”

A moment later there was a sharp rapping on the front door.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins was taken aback when the front door was opened, not by Frodo, but by his younger cousin Merry Brandybuck. He saw the Took’s young son standing behind him, of course. Those two were always together.

“I want to see your cousin.” he said, without so much as a hello.

“I’m sorry. Frodo is resting right now, and I am not going to wake him.” Merry stood with his arms folded, and a grim expression on his face.

Lotho was oblivious. “Well, in that case, just let me come in. I want to take an inventory of the furnishings in the dining room.”

“No.”

“What? What do you mean ‘no’? I own Bag End now! Let me in!”

“No, you do not.” Merry’s expression did not alter by so much as a twitch, but behind him, Pippin’s face flushed in anger, and a dangerous gleam came into his green eyes.

Lotho still did not heed the signs. “I bought and paid for this hole, Brandybuck, and you’ve no right to keep me out!”

“I am aware that you have purchased Bag End, Lotho. I was one of the witnesses to the contract. I also know that by the terms of that contract, you may not take possession of this smial until the twenty-third day of Halimath. This is now the twelfth. You do not own Bag End for eleven more days.” Merry took a step forward, forcing Lotho to back up a step. “I am giving you fair warning now that until that date arrives, you are considered a trespasser, and we will be within our rights to physically eject you from this property if you set another foot here.” Now Merry raised a forefinger, and poked the shocked Sackville-Baggins in the chest.

“Furthermore, I consider that it is likely that your continued harassment of my cousin might be construed as breach of contract, and could negate the sale! My advice to you” and he advanced another step, with Pippin right behind him, and Sam stepped forward as well, “is to leave now.”

Lotho’s face went deadly white. He backed up a few more steps, said nastily “You’ll live to regret this, Brandybuck!” and turned and fled.

As soon as Lotho was out of earshot, Pippin gave a victory yell. “Whew! Merry that was magnificent!”

Sam grinned. “I wish we’d thought of that weeks ago!”

Merry just shook his head. “Frodo wouldn’t have done that.”

Pippin looked thoughtfully at the figure of their foe disappearing down the road. “Would that really be a breach of contract?”

“No,” said Merry, “I don’t really think so. But I hope it gives him a lot of nasty moments of worry to think about it.”

 xxxxx

Frodo did not waken until luncheon, when he appeared much refreshed. Merry sheepishly confessed they had turned Lotho away, and how. Although not a little taken aback by his cousins’ methods, Frodo was too relieved to rebuke them.

CHAPTER 14

The cousins and Sam spent a busy time the next few days, getting the rest of the sorting out done. There were more mathoms in some of the little used rooms than Frodo ever realized. A lot of things could be given away where they would do some good. Sam asked Marigold and his married sister Daisy to come by, and Frodo asked them to help find homes for many of the items among less fortunate hobbits who could use them.

Among the papers in the study, there was also much to be discarded. This was a more difficult task, and only Frodo could do it properly. Merry and Pippin had made piles of different types of papers: letters, old notes on translations and writings by both Bilbo and Frodo, accounts, business papers.

Pippin grabbed every chance he could get to snoop. As he was sure he would, he found a lot of evidence that Frodo still had plenty of money. One thing he found though, nearly made his heart stop. It was a letter addressed to Frodo’s lawyers, Grubb, Grubb and Burrowes, to be opened if he were not heard from after two years. He left the entire remainder of his Baggins estate--still rather substantial--to Pippin, and all of his Brandybuck inheritance to Merry. Pippin quickly put it back, and snatched his hand away as if it had been a venomous serpent. Then he went to find a hidden corner in which to cry.

As more and more things went out to be discarded or given away, other things began to pile up in boxes and bundles in the front hall. Although many of the furnishings were being included in the sale, a great many were not. Merry tagged the furniture that was to be shipped to Buckland to furnish Crickhollow, as well as that which would be stored in one of the mathom rooms at Brandy Hall.

Fatty and Folco arrived the afternoon of the fifteenth to give their help. The sixteenth was a Highday. The six hobbits worked like mad most of the day, but decided to take the evening off, and took themselves to The Green Dragon for a night of merriment and relaxation.

Merry, Pippin and Folco had made themselves the center of attention, as usual, joking and singing, while Frodo, Fatty and Sam enjoyed their pints and looked fondly on.

Things had been going fairly well until Folco somewhere dredged up from his memory a rather bawdy song about a miller. Unfortunately, Ted Sandyman was there, and decided to take it personally. But Fatty was on the lookout, as he always was when Folco got started, and intercepted the miller with a rather surprisingly strong hand on his arm.

“Now, Mr. Sandyman, you could not possibly think that this has anything to do with you? How could it? The miller in the song is quite a fool, and you’d not want anyone to think you are like that, would you?”

The miller might have been inclined to shrug Fatty off angrily, but then Frodo was at his other side. “I’m sure you know that’s quite an old song, from another part of the Shire altogether,” said Frodo truthfully. “and I’m also sure there’s no thought of it having anything to do with anyone here.” This was only partly true. The thought had never crossed Folco’s mind, but plenty of the regular patrons were smirking and sniggering at Sandyman. “Why don’t you let us stand you an ale?”

Now a look of confusion crossed his face. He would have to decide between a chance to vent his choleric disposition, or a free ale.

Then he saw Sam Gamgee, standing there with his arms crossed, one eyebrow quirked, waiting. Sam had it in for him ever since he had caught the miller letting his gaze linger a bit too long on Miss Rose Cotton. Sam would just love an excuse--any excuse.

He decided to take the ale. He nursed it in silence, with a red face, as the miller in Folco’s song came to an embarrassing and ignominious end. Folco never had a clue.

He’d bide his time, he would, thought the miller. He’d not forget this; not by a long-shot.

xxxxx

The next day was Sterday, the beginning of the last week at Bag End. The six hobbits were busier than ever, and all the front rooms were piled high with ever more boxes and bundles.

Merry was making lists of the items that were to stay; Sam was outside, “putting the gardens to sleep”, something he’d not normally be doing for a few weeks yet;Fatty, Folco and Pippin were busy packing, pushing and hauling.

Frodo was jumpy, seemingly unable to settle to any one task, and starting at the least little sound.

“What is the matter with you, Frodo?” asked Pippin, finally in frustration. “You act like someone put a bug down your back.” He spoke from experience, having personally performed this experiment on his cousin several years ago.

“I’m sorry,” answered Frodo, “I’m worried about Gandalf. I expected him back long before this.”

Merry looked up sharply. “Gandalf’s coming back?”

“He said he’d be back in time for the farewell party.” Frodo bit nervously on a thumbnail.

Now Merry was worried. Persuading Frodo he should come was one thing; Gandalf was another matter altogether. He’d yet to hear of anyone persuading the wizard. On the other hand, he might be glad to have another companion and protector for Frodo.

Still, it was also somewhat comforting, as well. A wizard would be much better protection for Frodo than just a couple of hobbits, however determined.

Pippin was watching Merry’s face. He could tell what Merry was thinking. He wondered himself about it. He’d never known his wistful expression to cut any ice with Gandalf. The wizard had known several generations of Tookish green eyes.

But of course, Gandalf wasn’t here yet either, was he? Hmmm...

“Speaking of Gandalf, what about the Big furniture. Does that stay or go?” asked Pippin.

“Well,” said Frodo, “it wasn’t actually included in the furnishings the S-B’s bought, but there is no way for it to go. When Bilbo had it brought here from Bree, it came delivered by Big People in one of their large waggons; there is no way for hobbits to transport it.”

“Oh, really?” Pippin had a speculative look in his eye. He gave a great grin and dashed off down the hall.

Merry and Frodo looked at one another.

“Oh, no you don’t, my lad!” called Frodo, as he and Merry dashed after him.

But they were too late. The young Took was already on the huge bed, bouncing and jumping for all he was worth, laughing and grinning. “I’ve always wanted to try this!” he yelled breathlessly.

Merry looked at Frodo and shrugged apologetically--then he hopped up and joined his younger cousin.

A few minutes later, the squeals and laughter brought Fatty and Folco into the room, where they stood shaking their heads at all three of the bouncing cousins.

“Are they daft, Fatty?” asked Folco, with a worried frown.

Fatty just shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just all that Took blood goes to the brain sometimes.” Fatty might be half Took himself, but he'd never seen any signs of it in his own temperament.

CHAPTER 15

The morning of the eighteenth, Frodo and Merry went into Hobbiton to engage the carters for the move. They decided two waggons would be enough; Frodo paid half the fee in advance. Merry would pay the other half upon delivery, if all was unbroken and accounted for. The carters would arrive bright and early on Trewsday the twentieth.

On Monday, Frodo was back to being nervous and jumpy; the only problem was, now Merry was getting to be the same way. Part of the problem was that they had finally finished nearly all the tasks that could be done until the carters arrived the next day.

After luncheon, Fatty and Folco went down to Bywater to pay a courtesy visit to Folco’s elderly aunt. Frodo had some final business to take care of in Hobbiton. Pippin spotted the letter to his lawyers among the papers he carried, and gave a shudder. Sam was spending the day at home in Bagshot Row, making his own final preparations.

Which left Merry and Pippin alone at Bag End.

It’s now or never, thought Pippin. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. If this did not work, if he yet somehow got left after all--he couldn’t bear it.

He found Merry in the kitchen, organizing the foodstuffs for the next few days. It was not a task that needed doing; it was busy-work. Pippin sat down and pulled himself together. He had to be calm.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Pip.” He didn’t turn around, but kept on with putting apples in a bowl.

“The way I see it, you have three choices: you can try to leave me;” Merry went still. “you can try to stop me, which means you don’t go either;” Merry stiffened. “or you can take me with you and Frodo when you go.”

Merry turned around in shock. “How long have you known?” he whispered.

“Ever since you were down at the Smials in spring, when Alyssum was born. I eavesdropped on you and Fatty.”

Merry dropped into the nearest chair. His face was white as paper, except for two bright red spots on his cheeks, and his eyes blazed. “You wicked wretch!”

Now Pippin was in shock. He had not expected Merry to be angry at him. Not annoyed, or irritated, or fussed or upset--this was real anger. Only three times before in his life had it happened: when he was eight and climbed so high in a tree he could not get down; when he was eleven, and got himself lost in the back tunnels at Brandy Hall for two days; and when he was twenty, and on a dare from a couple of his Banks cousins, had gotten so drunk he nearly died. This makes four, he thought miserably. “Merry?”

“You knew! All those months I was worried sick about leaving you, you knew!” Merry grabbed Pippin hard by both wrists. “You don’t have a clue as to what danger is involved here!”

Pippin wrenched his arms away. Now his own anger kindled. “You always think you know what’s best for me! You always try to protect me! It never occurs to you that I might like to make my own decisions once in a while! I love Frodo, too! You’re not the only person in the world who cares about him! And you were planning on leaving me without so much as a goodbye!”

“Well, obviously that would have been useless, since you knew exactly what was going on. Was it funny watching me suffer? Did you get a laugh out of all my sleepless nights? How do you think I felt, knowing I might never see you again? How could you do that to me?”

This was too much for Pippin. He burst into tears and threw himself at his cousin’s feet. “I’m sorry, Merry! Please, please forgive me--I can’t bear it if you’re angry! But I couldn’t take the chance you’d leave me. Life wouldn’t be worth living in the Shire if you and Frodo both left me!” Curled up on the floor, he sobbed so hard that his stomach hurt.

After several moments he felt Merry’s familiar hand upon his head.

“I’m sorry, Pip. I should not have been so angry. But I’ve been so desperately worried about leaving you.” He reached down and raised his cousin up for a quick embrace.

“”Yes. Well.” Pippin got back in his chair, wiping his face with a sleeve. “You don’t have to any more because you’re not.”

“Can we discuss that?”

“Of course we can. But the answer won’t change. No different than if Frodo tries to tell you that you’re not coming.”

“Yes. Well.” Merry shook his head. He knew that he planned to simply follow, if Frodo was adamant. He had to confess to himself that if that option were all he was left with, then it would be good to have Pippin at his side.

“You do know that this journey could be more dangerous than dragons? It‘s not the kind of adventure we used to talk about having.”

“I know about--the Ring--if that’s what you mean.” Pippin’s face was sober. “I know what it will mean if it stays here; I know that danger will follow after it when it goes.”

“I see. Well, I guess you’re in, though you may wish yourself out before it’s over.” Actually, they might all of them wish themselves out, but it was no longer an option.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Pippin’s grin was like sunshine after a storm.

“Don’t thank me now. Wait till we get safely back.” But Merry felt as though a great weight had been lifted from him. He had not known until it was gone how heavy that secret had been. Of course, he still had to convince Frodo, but somehow he thought it would be easier with Pip’s support.

xxxxx

When Fatty and Folco returned a short while later, they found the cousins in the kitchen happily baking scones for tea. Although the kitchen itself was fairly clean, the amount of flour in their hair and clothing bore mute witness to the fact that at some point they had become more than a little carried away.

Folco proudly showed them the truly hideous vase his aunt had given him for her birthday, and then went to put it away.

Fatty looked at Merry and Pippin, looking more carefree than he’d seen them in days. “Well, Pippin, you must have confessed.”

“Fatty!” Merry’s tone was reproachful.

“I’m sorry Merry, but he already knew.”

“Don’t be upset with Fatty, Merry,” put in Pippin. “He just confirmed it for me, and filled in the details. You should be pleased with him, he really did try to talk me out of it.”

Merry laughed. “Well, that’s that then. A Bolger trying to talk a Took out of something--rather like a rabbit trying to keep a bull from charging, I’d say.”

CHAPTER 16

The next morning, the five hobbits ate a hurried first breakfast. They were just finishing up when Sam arrived, with his friend Tom Cotton, who was also going to help that day.

A short while later, the carters arrived with two large covered waggons. Armed with the lists he had made and the tags he had placed on different items, Merry directed the loading.

Second breakfast and elevenses brought only brief breaks, but near time for luncheon, Marigold Gamgee and Rose Cotton were spotted with a large hamper between them, struggling up the hill. Sam and Pippin, who had just finished placing a chair in one of the waggons, raced down to meet them and relieve them of their burden.

It was quite heavy. In addition to bread, cheese, fruit and cold sliced meats, the lasses had also brought jars of pickles and preserves, two large chicken and mushroom pies, and a salad of apples, celery and nuts. They had packed as well a jug of newly pressed cider and a jug of the Gaffer’s home brew.

After lunch, Pippin and Folco sprawled upon the grass for a nap, while Fatty, Merry and Frodo sat on the bench by the front door for a leisurely smoke.

Sam and Tom helped Rosie and Marigold clear up and take the leftovers into the kitchen. There was quite a bit of bread and fruit left, a little of the meat, and half of one of the pies.

Pretty soon, Tom and Marigold went out hand in hand, leaving Sam and Rosie to finish the washing up. Sam watched them leave with a smile. Tom was a good friend, and he trusted him with his sister. Just like Tom trusted Sam with his sister, Rosie. And now Sam was going to have to hurt her. If only he could tell her. But it was Mr. Frodo’s secret, not his own. He’d told it once already, to Mr. Merry, and he still felt bad about that, for all that it was necessary. But though he could not tell her why, he had to tell her not to wait for him. It was only fair.

But before the painful words could form, Rosie spoke.

“Don’t you say it, Samwise Gamgee.”

“What?”

“Don’t you go saying something daft, like ’don’t wait for me, Rosie’." She looked at him fiercely. “I know there’s more to Mr. Frodo’s leaving than just a move to Buckland. I don’t know what, it’s none of my affair. But when it’s all over and done, you come back to me, Sam.”

He looked at her sadly. “But I don’t know if I will be able to come back or when.”

She glared at him for an instant. Then she reached up and wrapped her arms around him and began to kiss him very thoroughly. In all their years of “walking out” they’d never exchanged more than a brief chaste peck. Rosie made up for it now, kissing him till his knees started to buckle.

They broke apart and stared at one another for an instant, breathing hard.

“That’s to bring you back to me, Sam Gamgee!” Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled with tears.

Sam was still in a daze. “Aye, Rosie. Whatever you say, Rosie.”

 xxxxx

After such a nice luncheon break, everyone quickly went back to work. In only a few hours, everything was loaded securely. The carters would park the laden waggons in their own yards until the next day. Then they would make their way to the Bridge Inn, where they would be met by Merry’s father. Esmeralda had offered to supervise the unloading until Merry and Fatty could arrive, aided by Merry’s lists which he was sending with the carters.

When the waggons finally left, Sam and Tom went to their homes, and Frodo and his guests made an early supper with the leftovers from the luncheon. Tired out from the day’s hard labor, they then went early to bed in a Bag End that echoed strangely.

Sections in italics are quotes directly from The Fellowship of the Ring , Chapter 3, “Three is Company”

 xxxxx

CHAPTER 17

The next day Frodo became really anxious, and kept a constant look-out for Gandalf.

Merry and Pippin were in extremely high spirits, rough-housing and chasing one another about the half-empty hole as though they had wakened ten years younger. Another time their antics might have amused Frodo as much as it did Fatty and Folco, who egged them on. But today it just made him cross.

“For goodness sake, you two!” he finally cried in exasperation, as they wrestled on the front room floor. “Why don’t you act your age?”

The two younger hobbits broke apart and stared at him, startled. Frodo was seldom in a temper.

“But there’s nothing breakable left in here,” protested Pippin, looking hurt.

Merry looked at Frodo astutely. “If you’re that worried about Gandalf, cousin, why don’t you go for a walk? You might meet him on the road that way. And if you don’t, why then, at least it will get you out of here.”

Now Frodo felt guilty for snapping at them. Merry knew him all too well.

“You might have the right idea at that, Merry. Would anyone else care to come with me?”

Merry and Pippin looked at one another. “I don’t think we will, Frodo. We might just keep on annoying you,” said Pippin.

Frodo winced. He deserved that.

Behind his back, Fatty nodded at Folco, who said “I’ll come keep you company, Frodo.”

“How about you, Fatty?”

“No, I think I’ll give my poor bones a rest, after all that hard labor, yesterday.”

“Well, all right, Folco,” Frodo shrugged, “it looks like it’s just you and I.” He looked a bit puzzled.

A few minutes later, Pippin looked out the window, to see the two heading down the path to the road. “Amazing! That was incredibly easy. How in the world did we get so lucky?”

Fatty smirked. “I just told Folco we had to plan a birthday surprise for Frodo, and that I wanted him to get Frodo out of the way for a while today. When he lets it slip, then of course, Frodo will be in no hurry to come back, lest he spoil the surprise.”

Merry snorted. “ ‘When' he lets it slip’?”

Fatty laughed. “Of course, that is Folco we’re talking about.”

“Ah, yes.” Pippin sat back down. “I see. But you know we will have to come up with a very good surprise to account for it.”

“Already taken care of,” answered Fatty. “ I asked Marigold yesterday if she knew someone who could bake an especially nice cake for Frodo’s birthday dinner, and she said she thought Rosie’s mum Lily would be just perfect for the job. The lasses were going to speak to her about it last night. I told them to tell her to make it as lavish as possible, and we‘ll cover the expense, as well as pay her nicely.”

Merry applauded. “My dear Fatty! You are so very efficient.” Then he stood up. “We need one more person now, to make the conspiracy complete. Pip, I think Sam’s out in the tool shed. Would you ask him to come in here?”

“Sam?” asked Fatty. “I thought he had taken himself out of this.”

“He had. But it’s time he came back in.”

Pippin found Sam out back making sure of the tool shed. Those tools that had belonged to Mr. Bilbo had been cleaned and put back in good condition. Those that were Mr. Frodo’s and his own personal tools had already been shipped off to Buckland. But Sam wanted to make sure that absolutely nothing they were not entitled to remained for the Sackville-Bagginses.

“Hullo, Sam,” said Pippin. “Merry’d like to see you inside.”

“All right. Do you know what for?”

Pippin just shrugged. He was going to let Merry be the one to say what needed saying.

As they entered the room, Merry looked up at Sam and said “Now the conspiracy is complete.”

Sam stopped in shock. “Mr. Merry!” he said, with more than a hint of disappointment and anger.

“No, Sam. It’s all right. You don’t have to tell us anything we don’t already know or haven't figured out for ourselves. But there are some things you need to know. Come in and have a seat. Frodo and Folco should not be back for quite some time.”

Sam came in and sat down gingerly. He felt not a little suspicious.

“First of all, you need to know that Pip is coming with us, too.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at this, but the pugnacious look on the young Took’s face dared him to say anything. And after all, he was not truly surprised. Fancy Mr. Merry ever thinking he’d leave Mr. Pippin behind, no more than Mr. Frodo was going to get away with leaving Mr. Merry behind.

“I know, Sam,” said Merry, answering the unspoken question. “I did want to keep him out of it, but he figured it out on his own, so, there it is.”

“Oi,” said Pippin indignantly. “I am sitting right here, and I am not just a piece of the furniture.”

“If you were,” grinned Merry “you would not be going, so there! Don’t interrupt.”

Sam turned a quizzical glance at Fatty. It was more than a little skeptical, as well.

“No, Sam, I am not going. I will however have a useful purpose to serve.”

Finally Sam sat back in his chair. “I see that you are right, Mr. Merry. It looks like there are some things I need to know.”

“So.” Merry also leaned back, “here is the plan so far. On the day after the party, Fatty and I are headed to Buckland and Crickhollow. We’ll be preparing the cottage just as though Frodo really is planning to retire there. You, Frodo and Pip will be coming along on foot later that day, unless Gandalf arrives sooner. Then all wagers are off. Do you know what Gandalf might say to our joining Frodo?”

“Mr. Merry, I just don’t know. He is a wizard. But I think his main idea is to keep Mr. Frodo safe. If you can convince him you will be a help and not a nuisance, then I think he’ll probably say yes. Only thing is, I’m not sure Mr. Frodo will; he’s right fond of you two, and won’t take kindly to the idea of taking you into danger, begging your pardon, Mr. Pippin, but especially you.”

“We’ve a plan for that, as you well know, Sam. He either takes us, or we follow. That simple. Now, when we leave, Fatty is going to remain at Crickhollow and see how long he can maintain the illusion that Frodo is still there. That was his own idea, by the way,” said Merry admiringly.

Sam grinned. “Well, that’s a right good plan Mr. Freddy. That way we could keep it secret a lot longer that we’ve gone.”

Merry continued. “Now, as far as those of us who are going: I have found five ponies--four to ride and a pack pony. Two of them were already mine, two I purchased the last time I was home, and I will leave the price for the last with a note for my father when we leave. Before I left Buckland this last time, I also got together most of the gear and tack we will need for travelling in the Wild, and stowed it in the hayloft in Crickhollow’s stable.”

Sam nodded. He always knew Mr. Merry was level-headed and practical, a lot like himself, in fact.

“I’m not sure how long Frodo will want to linger in Buckland; whether he will want to start out right away or not, but I thought it best to be completely prepared to go at once if necessary. It will also make it harder for him to say ‘no’ if we take it for granted we’re going.” Merry turned to Pippin. “Did you leave any kind of word for your parents?”

Pippin shook his head. “I tried. But every note I wrote said either too much or too little, so I gave up. I’m not a very good letter-writer.” He flushed.

“It’s just as well, Pip. If your father got hold of a note too soon, it could spoil everything. He does fly off the handle from time to time.”

Pippin grinned, and Fatty and Sam laughed outright at this description of the Thain.

Sam sat forward. “Mr. Pippin, you and I will be walking to Buckland with Mr. Frodo for a couple of days. We’re going to have to be careful not to give nothing away on the journey down.”

Merry laughed. “Pip can keep a secret, can’t you Pip.”

“As well as you,” answered his cousin saucily.

Merry shook his head. “No, I think even better than I. Sam, did you know that Pip figured all this out last spring, and I didn’t even have a hint he knew until day before yesterday?”

Sam looked incredulous.

Fatty nodded. Pippin smirked.

“Now,” said Merry “once we’ve revealed ourselves, I think we will leave the rest of the decisions up to Frodo, or to Gandalf if he turns up. The only thing we are determined on is that if you leave without us, Pip and I will be following as soon as you’re out of sight. This we are absolutely adamant on.”

“I understand that Mr. Merry. And I thank you for including me back in this little plan. I’m sorry I had to stay out of it for so long.”

“That’s all right, Sam. It could not be helped. Now does anyone else have any ideas, or shall we adjourn to The Ivy Bush for some ale?”

This was met with unanimous approval, as they had been avoiding The Green Dragon since the encounter with Ted Sandyman. No need to be drawing unwanted attention at this stage of the game.

 xxxxx

When Frodo and Falco finally returned that afternoon in time for tea, they could tell by Frodo’s attitude that Folco had indeed let slip there would be a birthday surprise of special magnitude. He was contrite for his snappish temper earlier, but he was still wound up over Gandalf’s continued absence. Although he reminded himself over and over that Gandalf was, after all, a wizard, and unlikely to come to harm, he still worried. No one had ever heard of Gandalf not keeping his word.

Sections in italics come directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 3, "Three is Company.

xxxxx

CHAPTER 18

Mersday, his birthday morning dawned as fair and clear as it had long ago for Bilbo’s great party. It was a beautiful day, but Frodo had no joy from it. There was only one refrain, and its variations on his mind: why, why had Gandalf not arrived? And how could Frodo set out without him?

Normally on The Birthday, Frodo would be in a frenzy of preparation. But this year was just going to be a small dinner party for himself and his four guests, and since the smial was already cleaned in preparation for the move, there was very little to do.

He did have a few gifts to wrap, and in the afternoon, he and Sam would be busy with the cooking, but otherwise he was rather at loose ends.  It  left him little to do but fret.

Where, where was Gandalf?

Merry and Pippin decided that they did not wish to take a chance of irritating Frodo on his birthday. Sam was taking a cart full of items that Frodo thought the Cotton family could use, so Merry and Pippin thought they’d go along with him, and keep out from under Frodo’s feet that morning.

Of course, they’d also be bringing something home with them as well. Fatty had given Merry a purse full of coin to pay for the cake. They would have to get back with it to Bag End before noon, or it would not be proper.*

 xxxxx

Fatty decided to spend the morning attempting to write out a good copy of the Elvish poetry he and Frodo had worked on earlier that summer. Folco kept him company, softly playing on his wooden flute. He was really quite good, but could only rarely be coaxed to play for anyone else but Fatty.

Lured by the sweet strains of the gentle music, Frodo came into the study and sat quietly down where Folco could not see him. For just a little while he was able to forget about Gandalf, the journey, and the Ring.

So relaxed in fact, were the three friends by the music, that they quite forgot about elevenses. They were therefore somewhat startled at a quarter of noon when Pippin stuck his head in the study door.

“Ah. There you are! Fatty, Folco, we need you. Frodo, don’t you stir from this room, I’m shutting the door, and don’t you dare look out the window either.”

So Frodo sat alone listening to the voices in the hall. (“Careful, Sam!” “Mr. Merry, hold your side up a little higher.” “Oi, watch the wall!” “Pippin, get the door, quick!”) The sounds faded off in the direction of the dining room.

After a moment, Fatty stuck his head in the study. “Frodo, could you come to the dining room please?”

Frodo came, shaking his head. What kind of surprise had they come up with? They’d left it nearly too late, for according to hobbit etiquette, any gifts to the byrding had to be delivered no later than noon the day of the party; and strictly speaking, should be delivered the day before.

“Oh, my stars!” Frodo exclaimed at the sight of the cake in the center of the dining room table. It was huge, easily enough for two dozen hobbits, let alone five or six. He walked over to admire it: seven perfectly round layers packed with fruits and nuts, each layer divided by a thick filling of raspberry preserves, and the whole topped with a circle of cream-colored marzipan. A little nosegay of fall flowers lay on top.

“Well, fellows, you seem to have outdone yourselves. Did Lily Cotton make this?”

“Yes, she did,” answered Merry.

Lily had spent most of her tweenage years in Michel Delving working for her maternal uncle, who was a baker of some renown. If she had been a lad, she would have been his apprentice. But she married Tolman Cotton and moved to the Hobbiton-Bywater area. Now her skill earned her family extra coin from time to time.

“Thank you very much, it’s a work of art.” Frodo hesitated. “I hate to mention this, lads, since you’ve gone to such effort--but, isn’t that rather an awful lot of cake?”

Merry, Fatty, Folco and Sam stared at the cake as though they had never thought of that before; but Pippin, who was notorious for his sweet tooth, grinned wolfishly. “It is, isn’t it?”

Much to Pippin’s disappointment, Frodo decided to wait to cut the cake until after the party dinner that night. They all adjourned to the kitchen, for once they had finished luncheon, it would be off-limits while Frodo and Sam cooked the farewell feast.

 xxxxx

It is a commonly held opinion among the other races that all hobbits are good cooks. Of course, like all such opinions it is not strictly so. A hobbit who cannot cook is rare, but a few such exist. “Good” of course is a matter of degree.

Sam was an excellent all-round cook, even by hobbit standards, able to turn even the simplest of ingredients into a feast. Frodo, on the other hand, was a competent cook, not outstanding. However, there were a very few special dishes at which he truly excelled. One of those was his stuffed mushrooms, which he was making now, as he argued with Sam.

“I really wish you would, Sam,” he said, tossing a knob of butter into the hot skillet to melt.

Sam looked over from where he was preparing three chickens for roasting. He hoped that three would be enough, with Mr. Pippin and Mr. Fatty here. “It wouldn’t be proper, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo rolled his eyes. Proper. They’d been having this argument almost ever since they came in the kitchen. He looked at the melted butter, and threw in the onions, celery, carrots and mushroom stems he had diced. The garlic could wait a minute longer. “You eat with us all the time, Sam.”

“In the kitchen.” Sam finished trussing the second bird. “Not in the dining room.” Sam was getting almost as tired of the argument as Frodo. Truth was, if it had only been Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, he might have given in. But he didn’t know Mr. Freddy and Mr. Folco as well, so he dug in his heels.

Frodo tossed the garlic into the skillet, watching carefully; there was nothing worse than scorched garlic. After a moment, he splashed in a dollop of Old Winyards. After a second’s thought he splashed some of the wine into a cup for himself. He held the bottle up. “Sam?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Frodo.” Sam was now putting the chickens on the spit, and took up the argument once more. “and don’t say you don’t know why the room makes any difference, because you do.”

Frodo gave a sigh as he took the skillet off the heat, and prepared to grate stale bread into a bowl. “Well, maybe I do, but it shouldn’t make any difference at all. And it is my party. I should have whom I like.” Frodo frowned. That last sentence had sounded childish. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose this argument.

Sam shook his head as he lifted the chickens onto the fire. If he weren’t careful, he’d give in. He hated it when Mr. Frodo used that sad, forlorn tone of voice.

“Have we any fresh rosemary, Sam, or should I look out the dried?”  Frodo had finished grating the bread, and was now grating a small chunk of hard aged cheese.

“There’s some in the blue bowl on the table, sir.”  Sam started scrubbing the potatoes and carrots.

The two worked in companionable silence for a while, both ready for a truce, but also aware that the matter wasn’t finished yet.

After a few moments, Frodo spoke again. “How about a compromise, Sam?”

“Sir?” Sam was suspicious, but hopeful. Maybe he could live with a compromise.

“You come in before the dinner, when I give out the gifts; and you join us again afterward in time to toast Uncle Bilbo and share in the cake.” Frodo looked at him pleadingly.

Sam sighed. “I guess that’s only fair, Mr. Frodo.”

“Very well, then, it’s settled.” Frodo stirred the cooked vegetables into the bread crumbs. “Now, where on Middle-earth did I stow the pan with the mushroom caps?”

 xxxxx

*"gifts to the byrding were to be delivered in person on the eve of the Day, or at latest, before luncheon the on the Day" ( Letters #214 )

Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 3, “Three is Company”.

xxxxx 

CHAPTER 19

For a while, cooking with Sam, Frodo had been able to push Gandalf out of his mind. But now, as he was in his room, getting ready for the party, he was troubled and in no mood for it. Aside from his worries about the missing wizard, the thought that he would so soon have to part from his young friends weighed on his heart. He wondered how he would break it to them. He also wondered how they would take it. Merry would feel betrayed, he knew. Pippin would be broken-hearted. Possibly only Fatty would understand the true peril.

In spite of what Gandalf had arranged, he still was of two minds about taking Sam. Sam had a family and a sweetheart who would mourn him if he did not return. But except for his cousins, no one would really miss “that strange Frodo Baggins.” And his cousins were young, they would soon mend their grief. He hoped.

He took out the five packages, wrapped in muslin and ribbon. Only one of these gifts was new, but the other four were not just useless mathoms; they had their own stories. And the new gift would come to have its own story over the next few months, he feared. He sighed. It was time to get this party over with. And maybe Gandalf would yet come, he thought, though without any real hope.

When he entered the dining room, his guests, including Sam, were waiting already. By hobbit tradition, in a gathering the host arrived last, unless it was strictly a family gathering, in which case the eldest arrived last. Frodo fit both roles. He put on a smile and a cheerful manner, but he noticed Merry’s astute and worried look. There was one person he was not fooling.

“At last!” exclaimed Pippin. “The byrding’s here. Maybe we can eat now.” The tweenager eyed the table, laden with the fine fare that Frodo and Sam had been cooking all afternoon, as well as the spectacular birthday cake.

“Not quite yet, young Took!” laughed Frodo. Pippin could always cheer him up. “Presents first.” He held out one of the packages. “Sam.”

Sam looked surprised to receive his gift first. He untied the ribbon and let the muslin fall away, and held it up. It was a brand new jacket, of sturdy brown wool, with brass buttons. His broad face lit up like sunrise. “Oh, Mr. Frodo! This is too much. Thank you.”

“No, Sam, I think it is just right.” Frodo was pleased. Sam’s sister Marigold had been right. When he was trying to think of what to give Sam, he had a few ideas in mind, the jacket only one of them. But Sam’s sister had thought it a splendid idea. “Mr. Frodo, Sam’s never had a brand new jacket; the one he’s wearing now, was from our cousin Halfast that got a new one for his wedding four years ago.” She had also helped to make sure that the size would be right, as they could not take Sam to the tailor for fittings. Frodo wanted to be sure that any gift he gave Sam would not be one that had to be left behind on their journey; this filled the bill perfectly.

Now Frodo held up another package, this one rather long and narrow. “Folco, I hope that you will get much more use out of this than I ever did.”

Folco gave Frodo a shy smile, and untied the ribbon. “Oh.” He looked up at Frodo, dumbstruck.

It was a flute, beautifully carved with a relief design of a vine, made of a creamy yellowish material. Merry gave a start, and then laughed. “I remember that flute, Frodo.”

“You were only five when Bilbo gave it to me.”

“Ah yes, but you made such a lovely noise, all over Brandy Hall, until Grandfather Rory made you put it away.”

“ ‘Noise’ is a good word, but ‘lovely’ certainly does not fit. I never got anything out of it but shrieks and whistles.”

“Well, Frodo, as you said, I was only five. I thought it was supposed to make shrieks and whistles.” Merry wiggled his eyebrows, and Pippin sniggered.

Fatty had leaned over his friend to inspect the gift. “What’s it made of? I’ve never seen any substance quite like that before.”

Frodo shook his head. “Uncle Bilbo said that if you could believe the dwarf he purchased it from, it is carved from an oliphaunt tooth.”

Merry and Fatty looked skeptical, but Sam and Pippin both looked at the flute with awe.

“Play something, Folco,” wheedled Pippin.

Folco looked at Fatty, who nodded, and then he raised the flute to his lips, and played a bit of a sprightly tune well known in the Shire, though it had no words. The tone was beautiful. He stopped and looked at Frodo. “Thank you, Frodo,” he whispered.

Now Frodo held up a another package, this one rectangular in shape. “Fatty.”

Fatty opened it to reveal a book, bound in brown leather, the cover worn. He turned the cover, and then looked up at Frodo, a question in his eyes.

“Yes, Fatty, that is Bilbo’s translation of the ‘Lay of Gil-Galad’. You will notice that the translation is on the left hand page, and the original Elvish is on the right hand page, with the literal words in Westron underneath each line. This is the book that Bilbo used to teach me Sindarin.”

Fatty was a bit pale. “Then I could use this to teach myself? But Frodo, this is priceless.”

“I want you to have it, Fredegar.” Frodo never used his friend’s real name unless he was quite serious.

“Then I can only thank you.”

“Merry.” The next gift was somewhat small. Merry took it with a trembling hand. He knew now what Frodo was doing.

It was a pipe, but not just any pipe. “Frodo! This is your favorite pipe, that Bilbo gave you, that used to be *his* favorite pipe!”

“But Merry, I have a new favorite pipe now, that a certain Brandybuck cousin gave to me on *his* last birthday.”

It took all the self control Merry had to force a cheerfulness into his thanks.

“Now, Pip, here’s yours. Youngest last, unfortunately.” Frodo’s blue eyes were full of affection as Pippin took the package.

It was a scarf. It looked a bit familiar to Pippin, though he could not quite place it. Merry gasped. Frodo nodded.

“Yes, that was Bilbo’s scarf, that my mother made for him. She knitted it for him for her birthday the year I was ten.”

“Oh, Frodo!” Pippin gave a great cry and launched himself into his cousin’s arms. “I will treasure it forever!” He clung to Frodo, trembling.

“There now, I want you to enjoy it and use it.” He patted Pippin on the back, somewhat puzzled. Pip was all Took and very high strung, but Frodo had not expected him to get this emotional; after all Pip had only been eleven when Bilbo left, and he‘d never known Frodo‘s parents.

“Well, now that’s out of the way, suppose we eat.” Frodo gave a look to Sam, hoping his friend might change his mind and stay for the meal, but the gardener shook his head, and went out.

 xxxxx

The table had been laid so that all four guests were at the same end of the table as their host. Frodo sat at the head, with Merry and Pippin on his right and Fatty and Folco on his left. This made it much easier to converse.

In addition to the three roasted chickens, redolent with the smell of rosemary, and Frodo’s famous stuffed mushrooms, there were roasted potatoes and carrots, mashed turnips, cauliflower cooked in milk and nutmeg, noodles with cheese (another one of Frodo‘s specialties ), a hearty lentil soup, a cabbage and apple slaw, and several kinds of cheeses, breads and muffins.

For some time the talk was limited to things like “Pass me some more of the noodles,” “I’d like another drumstick, please,” and “Frodo, why didn’t you make more of those mushrooms?”

Frodo was quiet, and still disturbed by Gandalf’s absence. The four younger hobbits were, however, in high spirits, and the party soon became very cheerful in spite of Gandalf’s absence. The dining-room was bare except for the table and chairs, but the food was good, and there was good wine: Frodo’s wine had not been included in the sale to the Sackville-Bagginses.

Pippin who was more used to ale than to wine, soon began to get a bit giggly. He was the first to start up with one of Bilbo’s songs, one of several silly songs the old hobbit had made up about the Man in the Moon. When they had exhausted all those, Fatty brought up another of Bilbo’s, a favorite from his childhood about “Princess Mee”. After a while, though they began to run out of songs they knew the words to and began to fill in with “tum tiddley tum,” and “fa la la”. Pippin finished up the last one with a rather loud hiccup.

“Pip, don’t embarrass me,” laughed Merry.

“Since when have I ever embarrassed you?” asked Pippin saucily, knowing very well he would be daring Merry to open the floodgates.

“Aha!” Merry leaned back his chair, and put his hands behind his head. “Let’s see--I guess the first time was when you were just a faunt. We were all visiting in Tookland; I was about eleven. For some reason, everyone seemed to expect that *I* was the one who needed to be watching out for him.” Merry raised his brows with a comically put-upon expression. “The family all went into Tuckborough. Now this one” he pointed at Pippin, who was starting to turn red, even though he had invited it, “had not started out learning to walk, he started out learning to run. The other thing, that no one bothered to tell me, was that he had also learned how to get undressed.”

Pippin groaned and lay his head upon the table. Everyone else started to snigger.

“Oh, yes, there I was, racing after him, having to stop every few feet to collect his wardrobe: first his cap, then his jacket, then his little shirt, followed by his breeches, and finally his nappy. And he’s going on his jolly way down the main street of Tuckborough clad in nothing but a grin, with me yelling after him. Until he collides with--guess who?”

Frodo stifled a laugh; he’d heard this one before. Fatty and Folco shook their heads.

“Why no one else but Ferumbras, the Thain. He picks Pip up, holding him out at arm’s length, gives me a wicked stare, and says ‘Here, young Brandybuck. I think you have lost something’.” Merry heaved a dramatic sigh. “And of course, that was just the beginning.” Naturally, everyone else at the table had begun to laugh so hard they were wiping their eyes, Frodo included.

Finally when everyone had exhausted themselves, Pippin muttered “That’s all very well. I’m the youngest, of course you’ve all got stories about me. It’s hardly fair.” He glanced sideways at Frodo. Sure enough his oldest cousin rose to the bait.

“You know, if we are going to start telling stories about when people were fauntlings, I can recall a few myself.” Suddenly Merry realized the trap he had got himself into, and glared daggers at Pippin, who risked the teensiest smirk in response.

“Yes,” said Frodo. “I remember one afternoon when Aunt Menegilda and your mother, Merry, were entertaining Uncle Bilbo and Aunt Dora to tea.”

Merry began to slink down in his chair. He knew what was coming now. He was going to get Pip for this.

“Now I realize what I didn’t then, that the Brandybucks always tried to be very careful around the Bagginses. While Uncle Bilbo was not so respectable any longer, for having had adventures, Aunt Dora most certainly was. In fact she was quite prim and proper. Of course, I was there--that was the whole point in having them, after all, to show that I was getting a proper upbringing at Brandy Hall. We are having the most dull and stifling conversation you can imagine, when in walks this tiny little hobbit, wearing only his shirt, and carrying a chamber pot. The aroma made it clear it was *not* empty. He walks right up to me proudly and says ’see Fwo, I did it all by myself!’ Aunt Dora was highly insulted, but Uncle Bilbo turned bright red from trying to hold in his laughter. I thought he was going to have apoplexy.”

Pippin began to howl with laughter, pounding the table. Merry kicked him underneath the table, and muttered “I’ll get you later for this.”

Pippin just winked at him. “At least it’s cheered Frodo up,” he whispered. And of course, now Merry could not be annoyed with him at all.

Of course now everyone had a story to tell about everyone else there--except Frodo. Finally Fatty said “Frodo, it’s hardly fair, you being eldest, no one can remember any stories about you.”

“Well, I’m sure Bilbo has a great many stories about me. I think it’s about time to drink his health. We’ll cut that lovely cake as well. Pip, be a good lad, and go fetch Sam to join us.”

So Sam came in, and Frodo cut generous portions of the cake, and poured out some more Old Winyards for everyone there.

As the eldest of the guests, it fell to Fatty to raise the traditional toast: “To the byrdings, to Bilbo Baggins, one-hundred-and-twenty-eight today, and to Frodo Baggins, fifty years old today, may they have many more healthy and happy returns of the day!”

“Whatever happens to the rest of my stuff, when the S-B.s get their claws on it, at any rate I have found a good home for this!” said Frodo, as he drained his glass. It was the last drop of the Old Winyards.

Sam and Pippin began clearing up while the rest went to the front room for a smoke. When those two had finished and rejoined everyone, they went out for a sniff of air, and glimpse of the stars, and then they went to bed. Frodo’s party was over, and Gandalf had not come.

Frodo was wakeful, and the refrain had started up again: where, where was Gandalf? Why, why had he not come?

 xxxxx

Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 3, “Three is Company”

xxxxx

CHAPTER 20

Frodo arose shortly after sunrise, following a restless and mostly sleepless night. He could not bear staying a-bed, trying vainly for sleep any longer. He took himself to the kitchen, where to his surprise he found his youngest cousin.

“Good morning, Frodo,” mumbled Pippin around a full mouth.

“Pip. For goodness’ sake, you’re up early.”

“I was hungry.” He gestured at the huge slab of cake on the plate in front of him. “Care for some first breakfast? Tea and cake make an excellent first breakfast.”

Frodo sighed and nodded. “Make my piece about half that size, please.” With that much cake in him this early in the morning Pippin was going to have far too much energy today.

After a while, they were joined in stages by Merry, Fatty and Folco. Quite a bit of inroad was made on the cake; they had whittled it down to half, at least. Pippin cut himself a third piece. Merry looked at Frodo, who shrugged. Oh well, thought Merry, if Frodo doesn’t care that Pip will be bouncing off the walls today, why should I?

After breakfast, they were busy packing another cart with the remainder of the luggage. Merry took charge of this and with his usual efficiency, it was soon laden.

“Someone must get there and warm the house before you arrive,” said Merry. “We’ll see you later--the day after tomorrow, if you don’t go to sleep on the way.”

“Well, Fatty.” Merry was driving the cart, with Fatty by his side. “we’re on the way now. You know it won’t be much longer until it all comes out.”

“I know.” Fatty sounded subdued. “I wish I wasn’t such a coward. I am going to be miserably lonely after you lot leave.”

Merry looked at him. “My dear Fredegar Bolger! You are no coward--do you think so little of my judgment that I would have confided in you about the Ring if I thought you a coward.?”

Fatty looked surprised. “I hadn’t thought much about why you chose me to help. I just supposed there wasn’t anybody better.”

“Do you remember a couple of years ago at the Harvest Festival in Michel Delving, when loathsome Lotho, Sandyman, and a couple of other bullies had started to give Folco a hard time?”

Fatty looked grim. “I remember.”

“I was watching, in case Folco needed help. You came through, pretending to be drunk--though you had not even finished one ale yet--and whisked him away from under their noses. But I could tell from the set of your shoulders that you were ready to take them all on if it hadn’t worked. I realized then that you were a lot smarter than you ever let on.”

Fatty blushed at the praise. “But that was different. That was just taking care of Folco--like you would’ve done for Pip. You and Pippin and Sam are so brave to be leaving the Shire.” He gave a shudder. Even talking about it made him a little queasy.

“Not everyone’s meant for the same kind of courage. Choosing to sit at Crickhollow like a piece of bait when you know there may be someone looking for Frodo is pretty brave, I’d say.”

“I just want to help Frodo.”

“I know, Fatty. So do we all.”

xxxxx

Back at Bag End, Pippin was thoroughly bored. He had packed, unpacked, and repacked, his pack. He had driven Frodo to distraction asking questions, the most burning of which was “When do we leave?”

Finally his cousin told him to go outside until lunchtime. Frodo was trying to get ready himself, but was delaying, in the hopes that Gandalf might yet arrive. He had decided to leave in the evening after tea.

Outdoors, the tweenager found a few ways to stave off the boredom. He found the empty wine bottles from the day before, and lined them up on the garden wall for targets to throw stones at. Smashing them was very satisfactory, but his speed and accuracy meant they were all broken very quickly, and then he had the tedious task of cleaning up the broken glass. (Hobbits are meticulous in the matter of glass shards.) Then he went and climbed the Party Tree. Though it was not the first time he had climbed it, it was his first chance in a long time. He could not help but think it was also his last chance.

He climbed quite high, and was still up there when Folco came looking for him to call him to lunch.

xxxxx

Merry and Fatty stopped at The Floating Log in Frogmorton for lunch. They were making quite good time.

Fatty took a sip of his ale. “Merry, how are you fixed for funds for this journey?”

“I started saving up last fall, when I first started thinking about it. But paying Da for the last two ponies is going to take quite a bite out of it, and too, with Pip coming along, I’ll be covering the both of us.” Merry grimaced. The Thain kept his son deliberately short of spending money; it was not an unwise precaution, considering the tweenager’s impulsive nature. But he knew Pippin would probably have no more than a pocketful of change when they left the Shire.

“I was wondering about that. Do you think we might have time for a brief stop in Budgeford?”

“You want to stop and see your family?”

“Well, yes, but mostly, I’ve a bit of coin tucked away. I think that you will have more need of it than I.” Fatty noticed the look on Merry’s face. “Don’t get all prickly with Brandybuck pride on me here, Merry. This is for Frodo’s sake, and Pippin’s.”

Merry pursed his lips, and thought for a moment. “Yes, well, you are probably right. I don’t know that you will ever see a copper of it again though.”

“I don’t expect to, even when you come back.” Fatty tried to make himself sound optimistic; but it really was not his nature--he still felt that going outside the Shire was courting disaster. The only problem was that staying in the Shire was going to bring disaster as well.

Merry gave a thoughtful sniff. “Right.”

xxxxx

Frodo, Pippin, Folco and Sam made a light lunch with a few of the leftovers from the night before. The giant cake had been carved down to about a third of its original size, but it was still a lot of cake. Only Pippin wanted any after they had finished the rest of the lunch. Frodo cut it for him, and it was a much smaller piece than he would have cut for himself.

Folco finished eating early, and took his leave. He wanted to head home before it got any later.

“Goodbye, Frodo,” he gave his host a brief embrace. “I’ll come see you in Buckland in a few weeks.”

Frodo returned his hug, his eyes shining. “Thank you for all your help, Folco. I’m going to miss you.”

Folco ruffled Pippin’s head. “Goodbye, Pip. I’ll see you soon.” And then he left. He had already put his pack by the kitchen door.

“Sam,” asked Frodo “didn’t you tell me that Daisy and May will be bringing the children to visit the Gaffer?”

“Yes, sir. I fancy they think having the grandchildren there will cheer the Gaffer up from me leaving.”

“Well, why don’t you take the rest of the cake down to Bagshot Row. I think the children will enjoy it, and we certainly can’t finish it all before we leave.” When Pippin looked as though he were going to say something, Frodo quelled him with a look.

“Why thank you, Mr. Frodo, I think the little ones will find it a right treat.” He bundled it up in a dish towel, and went away with it. Pippin watched sorrowfully.

Frodo laughed. “Pip, you’ve already eaten more cake than all the rest of us put together. Much more and your teeth will be falling out of your head.”

Just then there was a knock at the door. Pippin hastened to get it. He was not amused by criticisms of his eating habits.

When he opened the door, there stood Lobelia and Lotho. “You’re early,” he said rudely, and prepared to slam the door in their faces. But Frodo was behind him, and forestalled him. He did not look happy.

“Come in, Lobelia, Lotho,” he said wearily.

“Ours at last!” said Lobelia, as she stepped inside. It was not polite; nor strictly true, for the sale of Bag End did not take effect until midnight. But Lobelia can perhaps be forgiven: she had been obliged to wait about seventy-seven years longer for Bag End than she once hoped, and she was now a hundred years old. Anyway, she had come to see that nothing she had paid for had been carried off; and she wanted the keys.

Frodo was annoyed to no end, but he held his tongue, and escorted his unwelcome visitors through the smial, trailed by Pippin, who was keeping an angry eye on Lotho. The wretch would not have dared turn up like this if Merry were still here.

It took a long while to satisfy her, as she had brought a complete inventory with her and went right through it.

They came to Gandalf’s guest room. “What is that stuff still doing here?” she asked angrily, pointing at the Big bed and chair. “It’s not included, and I don’t want it here!”

“I’m sorry, Lobelia” said Frodo, not sounding the least bit sorry. “but there is no way to take it away.”

Lotho was looking at it speculatively. “That’s all right, Mother. It’s possible that it could be useful some time.” There was an avaricious gleam in his eye that Pippin did not like at all.

As Lobelia and Frodo went on ahead, Pippin muttered “Useful for what? It’s not like you have any friends at all, much less Big ones.” He did not really intend to be heard, but Lotho’s ears were sharp.

“You’d be surprised, young Took, at the friends I might have. You’d best learn to keep a civil tongue in your head. Being the son of the Thain might not be protection much longer.” Lotho gave him a nasty sneer, and went out after his mother and Frodo.

Pippin wondered what he meant by that. Just bluster, he supposed.

Lobelia insisted on going through each and every nook and cranny. In the end she departed with Lotho and the spare key and the promise that the other key would be left at the Gamgee’s in Bagshot Row. She snorted and showed plainly that she thought the Gamgees capable of plundering the hole during the night. Frodo did not offer her any tea.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Pippin as he watched them leave.

He had an idea.

Frodo sighed. “I think I’m going to take a nap. We’ll be walking well into the night. You might want to consider the same thing.”

“That’s all right, Frodo. I’ll find something to do.”

“Why do I not find that reassuring?”

xxxxx

By mid-afternoon, Merry and Fatty had arrived in Budgeford. They went straight to Fatty’s home at Brock Hall.

Fatty’s parents were pleased to see him. He was seldom at home, preferring to visit his friends around the Shire. They offered the two young hobbits an early tea.

Fatty’s younger sister Estella came in, and ran to embrace her brother. “Oh, Fatty, it’s good to see you!” Not many people realized that his nickname did not come from his more than average plumpness, but was his sister’s baby name for him, when she could not pronounce “Freddy”.

Fatty gave his sister a squeeze. “It’s good to see you, too, kitten.”

After they had refreshed themselves, Fatty told his family he needed to fetch some things from his room for his stay at Crickhollow. His parents were somewhat distressed that he would be going over the River into Buckland, but with Merry there, they could not argue or criticize. After all, it wouldn’t do to insult the Brandybucks, who in spite of being over the River, held as much influence in the East Farthing as the Tooks did in the rest of the Shire.

Fatty kept the visit brief, as he and Merry had decided that they wanted to pass the night at the Bridge Inn, and needed to press on.

xxxxx

Thud…thud…thud…thud…

Frodo wakened to the muffled sound. What in the world?

He got up and padded down the hall. It was coming from Gandalf’s room. He sighed. He should have known.

Pippin was bouncing on the Big bed again.

“Peregrin!”

“Oops.” He stopped bouncing and looked sheepishly at his older cousin. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“But not sorry for the bouncing!” Frodo laughed. “Come on, let’s go get ready for tea.”

As Pippin left, he looked back over his shoulder. Good thing Frodo did not notice that the window was propped slightly open. Or the plate of honey hidden under the bed. Or the jar of ants with the lid slightly askew. He was leaving the Sackville-Bagginses a very nice little homecoming present, he thought.

Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 3, “Three is Company”

xxxxx

CHAPTER 21

Frodo, Pippin and Sam took their tea in a kitchen that seemed strangely quiet and bare. Even Pippin did not have a lot of appetite, though Frodo put that down to the massive quantities of cake he had been consuming.“Our last meal at Bag End!” said Frodo pushing back his chair. They left the washing up for Lobelia. Pippin and Sam strapped up their three packs and piled them in the porch. Pippin went out for a last stroll in the garden. Sam disappeared.

Pippin wandered through the garden. It seemed a bit desolate, ready for winter too soon. He saw Frodo go down the path to the road. Still worrying about Gandalf, probably. He was a bit worried himself. Tooks had known Gandalf for generations. No one had ever heard of the old wizard breaking his word. But what harm could come to a wizard?

Pippin had to admit to himself he was feeling down. He hated that Frodo was being forced into this danger. He hated that Frodo had to give up everything he loved. He *really* hated the Sackville-Bagginses getting Bag End. And this walk across the Shire would be a lot more fun if Merry were along, instead of waiting in Buckland at the other end. He went back to the porch and sat down on his pack. Pretty soon Frodo came back and called Sam, and sent him down to the Gaffer’s with the spare key.

Sam returned in a few minutes.“Well now, we’re off at last!” said Frodo. They shouldered their packs and took up their sticks, and walked round the corner to the west side of Bag End. “Good-bye!” said Frodo, looking at the dark blank windows. He waved his hand, and then turned and (following Bilbo, if he had known it) hurried after Peregrin down the garden-path. They jumped over the low place in the hedge at the bottom and took to the fields, passing into the darkness like a rustle in the grass.

 xxxxx

Merry and Fatty arrived at The Bridge Inn just in time for an early supper. They decided to go to bed early, and get up with the dawn. If they could get an early enough start, they could arrive at Crickhollow in time for second breakfast.

The sun had barely come up when the two friends set on their way.

Merry was cheerful as they started over the bridge, glad to see again the familiar waters of the Brandywine, and the way to his home ahead. But when he turned his head to speak to his companion, he was shocked: Fatty’s face was nearly green, though sweating, his eyes were wide and frightened, and he gripped the boards of the waggon-seat so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Fatty? Fatty?” The other hobbit did not seem to hear him. “Fredegar!”

Fatty turned his head just slightly, and in a raspy whisper said “So--much--water…”

Oh, dear, thought Merry. He had heard his parents talking of hobbits who literally panicked at the sight of the River. But he had never seen it first hand before. He sped the ponies up, but they were only three-quarters of the way across when Fatty lost his breakfast.

As soon as they reached the other side, Merry pulled over. He took out his handkerchief and wet it from his waterskin, to wash his friend’s face. “Are you all right now?” he asked with concern.

Fatty nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Merry shook his head. “No need to be. I’m told the sight of the River affects some hobbits that way.” He leaned over confidentially. “I’ll tell you a secret: I’m that way about heights.”

Fatty gave him a weak smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Then he gave a shudder. “I’m going to have to go back the same way.”

“Hopefully that’s a few weeks into the future.” Merry twitched his mouth mischievously. “And it could be worse--you could have to take the Ferry.”

“Good grief! No!”

Merry chuckled. “If you’re feeling better, we need to go. We’ve only the rest of today and part of tomorrow to get the house ready.” Privately, he thought he’d have a word with his mother. She might know of something that would make Fatty’s trip back over the bridge a bit easier.

They took the narrow road that led southeast, through Newbury, and soon came to the little lane that led to the cottage, just a couple of miles north of Brandy Hall, not far from the Hedge.

The two hired waggons were in front, already mostly unloaded. The round door to the cottage stood open, and a feminine voice could be heard “Move that table a little bit further to the left.”

Merry pulled the cart up next to one of the waggons and leapt down. “Mum!” he shouted.

Esmeralda came out of the cottage. “Son, you’ve finally arrived.” Merry stepped into a quick embrace.

Fatty had now climbed down from the cart, and Merry turned to introduce them.

“Mum, do you remember Fredegar Bolger? We call him Fatty. Fatty, I know you recall my mother, the Mistress of Brandy Hall, Esmeralda Brandybuck.” Merry always enjoyed showing off his beautiful mother, and his face shone with pride. The last time his mother had seen Fatty had been years ago at the Great Smials, at the funeral of old Lalia Took. They had been mere children at the time.

Fatty’s first thought was that if he had not been introduced, and did not already know better, he would have thought he was looking at Pippin’s mother instead of Merry’s, so strong was the resemblance to her nephew.

Esmeralda and Fatty exchanged the usual introductory pleasantries, and then turned to go into the house.

They entered into a wide pleasant hall. To the left was a front room, and beyond that a large spacious kitchen, to the right another room which could be used as a study, with the master bedroom beyond. Down the hall were two doors on either side, for a total of four guest bedrooms, and at the far end, a door opened into a large tiled room which contained only a single large copper tub, and a small stove for heating water.

Aided by the lists and diagrams her son had sent, Esmeralda had already overseen the unloading and placement of much of the furniture. Now that Merry was there to take over that task, she and the two lasses she had brought with her turned to hanging curtains and putting on the linens.

By the time luncheon came around, everything had been unloaded and placed except for half a waggonfull that was being taken on to Brandy Hall for storage. They transferred these items into the cart that Merry had driven, and he paid the carters the other half of their fee, so that they could return to Hobbiton before it got much later.

Then they took a break for a light lunch of cold sliced meats, bread, cheese and fruit.

xxxxx 

Pippin thought it seemed as though they had been walking forever that morning. It was unusually warm for early fall. They were looking across the Woody End towards the Brandywine River. The road wound away before them like a piece of string.

“The road goes on for ever,” said Pippin; “but I can’t without a rest. It is high time for lunch.” He sat down on the bank at the side of the road and looked away east into the haze, beyond which lay the River and the end of the Shire in which he had spent all his life. Sam stood by him--his round eyes were wide open--for he was looking across lands he had never seen to a new horizon.

Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 3, “Three is Company” ( Except in this chapter, Merry’s letter is also in italics. )

xxxxx 

CHAPTER 22

After luncheon, Merry decided they should take the remaining items down to Brandy Hall. Esmeralda had also selected a number of items that had belonged to Primula and Drogo that she thought Frodo might appreciate having. After they unloaded the items for storage, they would bring those heirlooms back to Crickhollow with them.

“While we’re there, Mum, can we pick up a couple of extra bathing tubs? That bathroom could easily accommodate three tubs.” Merry thought it would be a capital idea to be able to offer all three of the travellers a chance to clean up after their long walk, instead of having to take turns. It would please Pip, at any rate.

“Certainly, son, that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Esmeralda was so pleased to have Frodo coming back to Buckland, though she was more than a little puzzled. She knew how he loved Bag End, and she also knew that the money was not really a problem. Buckland held so many sad memories for her husband’s cousin. But it was his childhood home, and his closest family were here, now that Bilbo had left. Maybe he had just beome lonely, rattling around that great hole all by himself. He had not always been so much a loner as he later became. When he was a small child, he had been such a delight, open, loving--the pet of the Hall. But after his parents’ death, all that had changed--he was still loving, but he was no longer open, and he did not want to be the pet of anyone except the mother and father he no longer had. It was not until Merry came along that she had again seen any joy on Frodo’s face; but even afterwards, he still had bouts of melancholy that only Merry could erase.

Perhaps she could talk to him, get him to confide in her. She had been the closest thing to a mother he had, after Primula was gone.

When they pulled up at the Hall, Merry’s cousins Berilac and Doderic were there to help them unload and load.

Esmeralda had chosen out only a few special pieces to be sent over: two nice side tables, Primula’s rocking chair, Drogo’s pipe table, a mantle clock, a small carved chest; the silver cutlery that had been a wedding gift from Bilbo, Primula’s wedding dishes, and quite a lot of soft items--tablecloths, blankets, quilts, coverlets--most of them either gifts or made by Primula herself. She had been very gifted with a needle.

Merry found himself getting teary-eyed. Though he’d never known Frodo’s parents, he knew how much his cousin loved and missed them, even now. What a shame it was that Frodo could not stay here among these things they had loved.

He heard someone approaching the cart, and hastily scrubbed at his face with a sleeve. Wouldn’t do to have someone wondering why he was blubbering.

It was his mother. “Merry, would it not be a good idea if you and Fredegar return here for supper, and stay the night here at the Hall? Once Frodo and Pippin arrive, you will be much too busy to spare any time for us.”

“Yes. Yes, mother, that is a good idea.” Now he felt like blubbering on his own account--this might be the last night he would spend with his family, and he couldn’t even let them know it. He had to stop this. If his parents guessed something was wrong, and pressed him, he was not sure he could lie effectively.

Fatty came to the cart, carrying an armload of linens. “This is the last of it, Merry.”

“That’s good. Mum, we’ll take this to unload and put away, and then we’ll be back in plenty of time for supper.”

Esmeralda watched them drive away. She had a sudden feeling that something was amiss. Well, if it was, Merry would confide in her or his father. He had always done so in the past, sooner or later.

 xxxxx

Near the Woody End of the Shire, Frodo, Sam and Pippin were discussing the strange rider that had seemed to be searching for someone or something. Pippin had at first hoped it might be Gandalf, but no such luck.

“I wish I had waited for Gandalf,” Frodo muttered. “But perhaps it would have only made matters worse.”

“Then you know or can guess something about this rider?” said Pippin who had caught the muttered words.

“I don’t know, and would rather not guess,” said Frodo.

“All right cousin Frodo! You can keep your secret for the present, if you want to be mysterious. In the meanwhile what are we to do? I should like a bite and a sup, but somehow I think we had better move on from here. You talk of sniffing riders with invisible noses has unsettled me.”  Actually Pippin was more than a little unsettled, he was scared, and he daren’t show it. He glanced at Sam, who shook his head. It was some comfort to have Sam know what he was thinking.

“Yes, I think we will move on now,” said Frodo; ’but not on the road--in case that rider comes back, or another follows him. We ought to do a good step more today. Buckland is still miles away.”

A good many miles, thought Pippin. We should have made a much earlier start yesterday, instead of waiting until dark. We’d be nearly there by now.

xxxxx

Fatty found he was quite enjoying the hospitality of Brandy Hall. Saradoc set a generous table, and he had discovered that he had mutual acquaintances in common with some of Merry’s cousins. He was particularly taken with the charming Celandine, who was flirting outrageously with Fatty, and putting some very interesting ideas into his head.

That is, until Merry walked up and said “Hullo, little cousin. What are you planning on giving me for your twenty-fourth birthday next month?”

Fatty blanched.

Celandine glared daggers at Merry. “Spoilsport!” Stalking off, she bestowed a swat to the back of her cousin’s head.

“Ow!” Merry rubbed his head.

“Twenty-four?” squeaked Fatty.

“Twenty-four going on thirty-three. She leads her father and brothers a merry chase, the way she carries on. I don’t envy the hobbit who falls for her wiles. It’ll be a miracle if she makes it to her majority unwed.”

“Thank you,” said Fatty.

“You are welcome. She is my cousin, after all.”

xxxxx

Three hobbit voices sang softly in the deepening dusk of the Woody End.

Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone.
Tree and flower and leaf and grass
Let them pass! Let the pass!
Hill and water under sky
Pass them by! Pass them by!

This was one of Pippin’s favorite walking songs, one of Bilbo’s, sung now to a rollicking old tune perfect for a brisk walk. But the Tooks sometimes sang it to another ancient melody, soft and melancholy, better for around the fire at bedtime.

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn and nut and sloe
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! Fare you well!

It was a good song for this trip. He began to know how Frodo had felt, saying farewell to the Shire all these months. It was really beginning to sink in that he would be leaving everything he knew, and maybe never come back. But there was going to be so much more to see out in the wide world, in spite of the danger.

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
We’ll wander back to home and bed.
Mist and shadow, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp and meat and bread,
And then to bed! And then to bed!

The song ended. “And now to bed! And now to bed!” sang Pippin in a high voice.

Suddenly Frodo hushed them, and hustled them into the shadow of the trees off the path. There was a sound of hoofs in the lane, some way behind, but coming slow and clear down the wind.

Pippin huddled back beneath the shade of the foliage with Sam and Frodo, as they watched the figure of a black shadow that seemed to seek in their direction. Pippin stifled a gasp, as he noticed the expression on Frodo’s face--his eyes were glazed and unfocused, and his face had gone slack. Sam had noticed as well. Looking alarmed, he started to reach for his master.

But at that moment there came a sound like mingled song and laughter. Clear voices rose and fell in the starlit air. The black shadow straightened up and retreated. It climbed onto the shadowy horse and seemed to vanish across the lane into the darkness on the other side.

“Elves!” exclaimed Sam in a hoarse whisper. “Elves, sir!”

xxxxx

Merry struggled with the letter--what had Pippin said of his own attempts? “Too much or not enough”? He was having the exact same problem as he tried to write a farewell note to his father. He glanced at the crumpled remains of his previous attempts. This was his last try; it would have to do.

Dearest Da,

By the time you find this, I will be long gone. Pippin and I are leaving the Shire with Frodo and Samwise Gamgee.

Please know that this is not a whim or looking for excitement. Frodo is in peril of his life, and rather than bring that peril here to the Shire, he is leaving. You know that I cannot let Frodo walk alone into danger, and Pippin feels the same way.

I cannot promise we will be able to come back, but I promise I will try my best to get us all home safely if I can. I have no idea how long that might take.

I am taking my four ponies, as well as the two cart ponies. You will find a purse with the price of those two beneath the pillow of my bed.

Try to reassure Uncle Paladin and Aunt Tina that I will take the utmost care of Pippin. He would not be stayed, and I thought it better he travel with us than to follow behind alone.

I love you Da, and Mum. That’s part of the reason I go, to help draw the danger away. Please try to understand.

Ever your loving son,

Merry

Merry folded it in thirds and slipped out of his room, down the hall to his father’s study. Carefully he took from Saradoc’s desk the ledger in which he kept an account of wages paid, and opened it to the twenty-eighth of Winterfilth. That would give them a little over four weeks head start. But he would also tell Fatty where the letter was located, in case it was needed sooner. Although he still thought Fatty’s idea a good one, he was well aware that the deception could be discovered sooner than they wished.

As he sat in his father’s darkened study, breathing in the smell of leather and paper and pipeweed, the tears that had threatened him all day found him. He clutched the ledger to his chest and wept as silently as he could, homesick before he had ever gone a step.

Finally he wiped his face roughly with his hand, and replaced the ledger. In his bleary-eyed state, he did not notice that it was not exactly the way he had found it. Then he made his way back to his room and bed.

xxxxx

Gildor Inglorion, of the House of Finrod, had been more than a little amazed to discover the three hobbits in their path that night; and three such remarkable little hobbits at that, though one was the close kin of his friend Bilbo Baggins. For such small mortals, their fëa burned especially bright, and Frodo’s brightest of them all.

Then, to compound his amazement, the smallest, youngest, and apparently boldest, of them had demanded explanations as to why they were being pursued and by whom. This was very distressing, to know that Nazgûl were after these small ones. He had decided to take them under his protection for the night at least.

And just as distressing was the news that they should have been under the protection of Mithrandir. While it was true one did not meddle in the affairs of wizards, he had said that mostly to avoid answering Frodo’s questions. That one of the Istari had seemingly not kept his word was unheard of.

Now that all three of the little ones were finally asleep--really asleep, he thought with amusement, at how one of them had feigned sleep in order to overhear his conversation with Frodo--he could take some action.

He beckoned forth three of his people. “It does not bode well that these innocents are traveling without guidance through the wild. Though I do not know all that Mithrandir had in mind, he was sending them first to Imladris. Novhir and Firré , you will go there to let Lord Elrond know of this news, but take the paths that lead through the forest, for on your way there, I would have you speak to Iarwain Ben-adar, for they may pass his way, and his protection would be valuable. Niledhel, you I would have seek out one of the Dúnadain, Estel or Halbarad if possible, if not, any of their people will do as well; speed is of the essence. These tidings are ill. I would wish we could break our own journey for their sake,” and he looked down with concern at the three sleeping forms, “but at the least we will see that those who can help are forewarned of their peril. Take care, but do not delay.”

Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 4, “A Shortcut to Mushrooms”

___________________________________________________

CHAPTER 23

Merry and Fatty made their way back to Crickhollow immediately after first breakfast in order to put the finishing touches on the little house.

“How soon do you think they will arrive?” asked Fatty, as he arranged books in the shelves of the study. This task was taking him rather longer than it should have, as he kept pausing to read them.

Merry paused in his task of putting some of Frodo’s spare pipes in Drogo’s pipe table. He had placed it, and Primula’s rocking chair next to the study fireplace.

“I think we should start keeping an eye out for them around luncheon, although it could be somewhat later.”

As luncheon time neared, Fatty prepared the meal, and Merry walked down the lane to the road to keep an eye out. After a while, he went back to report no sign of the walking party. He and Fatty ate a quiet lunch; he hadn’t much appetite. There were a lot of leftovers.

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Pippin was hot, scratched, dirty, sore and tired. Although they had been right to get off the road--they had barely begun when they saw one of those Black Riders--this particular short cut was a disaster. If only Merry had been here; he knew the land hereabouts a bit better than…wait a moment:

“Why this is the Stock-brook!” said Pippin. “If we are going to try and get back on course, we must cross at once and bear right.”

Having a general idea of where they were cheered Pippin up a bit, but soon it started to rain. This dampened them, their spirits and the conversation. What was worse, Pippin soon realized they were off course again. He told Frodo this.

Frodo shook his head. “It is no good our starting to go in zig-zags. That won’t mend matters. Let us keep on as we are going! I am not sure that I want to come out into the open yet.”

After a while the rain lessened. They found a spot fairly dry and sheltered to take their lunch. They found that the Elves had filled their bottles with a clear drink, pale golden in colour: it had the scent of a honey made of many flowers and was wonderfully refreshing. Very soon they were laughing, and snapping their fingers at rain, and at Black Riders. The last few miles, they felt, would soon be behind them.

Pippin began to feel pleasantly tipsy. Elves were wonderful creatures who made wonderful things to drink. Pippin started to hum one of his favorite drinking songs. Pretty soon, Sam joined in and they began to sing:

“Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go….”

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When luncheon had come and gone, with no sign of the walkers, Merry and Fatty decided to take their ease for a while, as the house was as ready as they could make it. Fatty helped himself to one of the books. Merry curled up in the rocking chair with a coverlet and dozed. He had slept badly the night before.

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Pippin had been more frightened than he could possibly admit when their after luncheon rest had been interrupted by that strange call. He had much hoped Frodo would shrug it off as a bird--but no, it was clear that Frodo was just as frightened as he. This was a sobering thought. He wished Gandalf was with them, or maybe some of those Elves they had met last night. Wide-eyed he risked a look at Sam, who gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

Then they had finally come out of the woods, only to realize they had gone out of their way, and were some miles to the south of Bucklebury Ferry.

Pippin’s joy at placing where they were--on old Maggot’s property--was not matched by Frodo. When his cousin had explained his alarm, Pippin refrained from laughing. He and Merry had never been caught on their own mushroom raiding expeditions, though they had come close the last time, when he had been seventeen and Merry twenty-five. But since Merry had reached his majority, Saradoc had often sent his son there on errands, and Pippin had sometimes gone along.

Out loud, he merely said “Well, it’s time you made it up. Especially if you are coming back to live in Buckland. Old Maggot is really a stout fellow--if you leave his mushrooms alone. Let’s get into the lane and then we shan’t be trespassing. If we meet him, I’ll do the talking. He is a friend of Merry’s and I used to come here with him a good deal at one time.”

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Fatty closed the book, a far away look in his eyes. He had been reading of the downfall of Westernesse, of Númenor. How differently Elves and Men and Hobbits saw death. To the Elves, it seemed a gift, to escape from weariness and all the sad changes of the world. To Men, it seemed a curse, to be thrust from the world into an unknown fate. To Hobbits, it was simply the way things are: every living thing is born and then dies sooner or later--even Elves, he guessed, when the world finally ended. Life here and now was more important than what might or might not happen when one died. But then Hobbits are a very practical race. He shook his head, and glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It was a quarter after three.

“Merry!” he said sharply.

Merry stopped his gentle snoring and sat upright, instantly awake. “What’s the matter, Fatty?”

“Look at the time!”

Merry glanced at the clock, and felt a twinge of alarm. Surely they should have been here by now! Even allowing for a late start, or dawdling a bit over an ale along the way, they should have been here. Aloud, he said “I think they should have been here by now, but maybe they have stopped too long at one of the inns or something. It was raining this morning.” He looked at the clock again. “Yes, maybe it was the rain has delayed them. We’ll give it a bit more time.”

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Farmer Maggot was a good deal agitated. Strange doings in the Shire, to be sure, and stranger folk. He felt unsettled in his mind, as if something dire was afoot. He tried to put out of his mind the fear he had felt when that rider, all clad and cloaked in black, with his hood pulled down to conceal his face, had come to him, questioning him about “Baggins” and offering him money for information. It wasn’t right.

Suddenly, the dogs set up a clamor. Maybe that fellow had come back! Now old Maggot felt more angry than afraid. He let them out the gate: “Grip! Fang! Wolf! Come on, lads!”

He came forward through the gate, to see that they had cornered three hobbits--well, at least it wasn’t that queer fellow again.“Hallo! Hallo! And who may you be, and what may you be wanting?” he asked.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maggot!” said Pippin.

The farmer looked at him closely. “Well, if it isn’t Master Pippin--Mr. Peregrin Took, I should say!” he cried, changing from a scowl to a grin.

“It’s a long time since I saw you round here. It’s lucky for you that I know you. I was just going out to set my dogs on any strangers. There are some funny things going on today…”

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The time dragged slower and slower. Every tick of the clock seemed to take an eternity. The two who waited had finally given up and taken an early tea, more for something to do than out of any hunger. They did not feel like talking much, either, and when they did it mostly seemed to consist of “What do you think could be holding them up?” And the later it got, the less likely it seemed that it could be anything good delaying them.

Suddenly Merry threw down his napkin and stood up. “I cannot stand this waiting any longer! I am going to saddle up one of the ponies and go to see if I can find them!”

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Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 4, “A Shortcut to Mushrooms”

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CHAPTER 24

Merry went out to the stables and saddled one of the ponies. He was really beginning to feel quite alarmed. Though he still thought it barely possible they had lingered at an inn--and if that was so, he’d wring their necks for all this worry--it did not seem very likely any longer. Frodo knew the urgency of what he was doing, and though his cousin was unaware of it, so did Sam and Pippin.

As he rode past Brandy Hall and down to the Ferry, he ticked off other possibilities in his mind. Least dire, they had taken shelter to wait the rain out, and it had lasted longer west of the River. Not too likely. They had *not* taken shelter from the rain, and soaked through, either Pippin or Frodo had  become sick. Not Sam. Sam never got sick.

One of them had fallen and been injured. Pip was always climbing trees. Merry shuddered. He hadn’t just been trying to make Fatty feel better when he’d admitted to his fear of heights. Well, he had, but still, it was true. He remembered his terror when Pip was eight, and had gone up too high to come down. He screamed for Merry, who had gotten no further than the lowest branch before he, too, was paralyzed with fear. Frodo had to fetch both of them down. It was the first time in his life he had been truly angry at his Pip. What if Pippin had climbed a tree for some reason along the way, and fallen out?

He rode down to the River, and told the hobbit on duty at the Ferry landing that he would take himself across and leave it on the other side for his return. This was not something that was usually allowed, but he was, after all, the Son of the Hall, and there was no argument.

He led his pony aboard, and took up the pole. It was getting late.

Another possibility: they were lost. And if they were lost, it was because they were away from the road. Even away from the road, Pippin knew the area fairly well, and though it was some years past, Frodo should as well. If they were far enough away from the road to be lost, there was only one possible reason. Someone was after them.

And this led to the last possibility he wished to think of--the one that made his stomach clench.

Someone had found them.

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Sam was none too sure of this old Farmer Maggot, even if Mr. Pippin did vouch for him. Imagine him beating poor little Master Frodo, and setting those great dogs on him! Granted he should not’ve been trespassing after mushrooms, but lads will be lads, after all. Was a few mushrooms call to go beating on a little hobbit lad? Disgraceful, Sam thought it. Why when he caught little ones pilfering in the gardens, he just hauled them home to their parents by one ear. That usually did the trick. Well, his ale was none too bad, anyhow. Really, it was pretty good. He sipped quietly, as the old farmer told them of his encounter with the Black Rider, as they had come to think of their mysterious pursuer.

The farmer had come to the end of his tale, and was talking with Mr. Frodo now, guessing about why someone would be looking for him. Those guesses of his were a little too close for comfort, Sam thought. From the look on Mr. Frodo’s face, he thought so too.

But now Farmer Maggot was giving them an invitation. “I’ve a notion. It’s near sundown already, and we are going to have our supper; for we mostly go to bed after the Sun. If you and Mr. Peregrin and all could stay and have a bite with us, we would be pleased.”

From the smells issuing forth from the kitchen, Sam thought his stomach would be pleased as well, but he knew they could not stay. Mr. Merry was going to be frantic with worry as it was.

“And so should we!” said Frodo. “But we must be going at once, I’m afraid. Even now it will be dark before we can reach the Ferry.”

“Ah! but wait a minute! I was going to say: after a bit of supper, I’ll get out a small waggon, and I’ll drive you all to the Ferry. That will save you a good step, and it might also save you trouble of another sort.”

Now that was more like it, thought Sam, beginning to feel a bit more well disposed toward the farmer. He noticed the hopeful look on Mr. Pippin’s face, as well. The tweenager was probably right hungry. That lad was a bottomless pit. He hoped now that Mr. Frodo would say yes.

“In that case, Farmer Maggot, I will gratefully accept your invitation. We have been tramping for two days now, and would be glad to shorten the journey.”

Pippin grinned and gave a little bounce in his chair, and even Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat. It would be good to have a bit of rest and some good hobbit cooking.

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When Merry reached the western bank of the River, he hesitated. Which way should he go to look? He could head south, towards Rushey; or he could head north toward Stock; or he could continue west toward the Stockbrook.

After a bit of thought, he decided to head towards Stock. That was the most logical and likely way for them to have come. Pippin was pretty fond of The Golden Perch, and they would possibly have taken a meal there if they had come that way.

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Supper was plentiful and well cooked. Pippin thought he had never eaten such delicious mushrooms and bacon. And there had been a chicken pie and a huge pot of beans and potatoes cooked with a meaty ham-bone. Bashed neeps. Baked onions. Brown bread. Newly whipped butter. Soft farm cheese. For a sweet, pears and apples cooked with honey and raisins. The tweenager gave a contented sigh and patted his tummy. Tight as a drum. He probably wouldn’t be hungry again for a couple of hours, at least. He looked across the table at Frodo and Sam. They looked fairly sated as well.

Right now the guests were taking their ease with an after-dinner smoke while Farmer Maggot and his sons hitched up the waggon. A few minutes later one of them came to say all was ready, and the three guests rose to take their leave.

Frodo took one of the stout farmwife’s hands in both of his, and with a slight bow and a twinkle in his blue eyes, said, “We thank you for your kind hospitality and for a most excellent supper, Mrs. Maggot.”

She blushed and laughed and, surprisingly, showed a dimple that must have been a devastating feature in her youth. “Oh, now, Mr. Baggins, it’s always nice to have company. You take care of yourself over there in Buckland.”

It was dusk in the yard, when the guests came out. They threw their packs on board and climbed in. The farmer sat in the driving-seat, and whipped up his two stout ponies. His wife stood in the light of the open door.

“You be careful of yourself, Maggot!” she called. “Don’t go arguing with any foreigners, and come straight back!”

“I will!” said he, and drove out of the gate. There was now no breath of wind stirring; the night was still and quiet, and a chill was in the air. They went without lights and took it slowly. After a mile or two the lane came to an end, crossing a deep dike, and climbing a short slope up on to the high-banked causeway.

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There had been no sign of the walking party in the direction of Stock, nor had anyone he had asked seen sign of them. Now Merry was retracing his steps, back to the Ferry, trying to convince himself that perhaps they had simply missed one another. And they could have come along after he had left to go look for them. If he told himself that long enough, would he believe it?

Fog.

He was going to have to give up and go back. He couldn’t keep searching in the fog. It was chilly and damp. He pulled his scarf up over his chin. Clip-clop, clip-clop, the hoofs of his pony seemed loud to his ears. He could barely discern the entrance to the Ferry lane when he heard the rumble of a waggon.

A voice called out of the mist, “Hallo there!”

Merry stopped. That sounded like old Maggot. What was he doing out on a night like this?

“Now there,” said the farmer striding forward. “Don’t you come a step nearer! What do you want, and where are you going?”

That was strange. The old farmer sounded downright frightened. “I want Mr. Baggins! Have you seen him?” asked Merry as he uncovered his dark lantern.

“Mr. Merry!” he cried.

“Yes, of course! Who did you think it was?”

Frodo sprang out of the waggon to greet him. “So there you are at last!” said Merry. “I was beginning to wonder if you would turn up at all today, and I was just going back to supper. When it grew foggy I came across and rode up towards Stock to see if you had fallen in any ditches. But I’m blest if I know which way you have come. Where did you find them, Mr. Maggot? In your duck-pond?”

“No, I caught ‘em trespassing,” said the farmer, “and nearly set my dogs on ‘em; but they’ll tell you all the story, I’ve no doubt. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo and all, I’d best be turning for home. Mrs. Maggot will be worriting with the night getting thick.”

Pippin and Sam clambered out of the waggon, retrieving their packs, and Frodo’s as Farmer Maggot made his farewells to them, and lit the lanterns on the waggon. They would be only too glad to finish with this journey and see the inside of Crickhollow.

Just as the farmer was starting to get back in his seat, he stopped, and reached in to bring out a large basket. “I was nearly forgetting. Mrs. Maggot put this up for Mr. Baggins, with her compliments.” He handed it down and moved off, followed by a chorus of thanks and good-nights.

They watched the pale rings of light round his lanterns as they dwindled into the foggy night. Suddenly Frodo laughed: from the covered basket he held, the scent of mushrooms was rising.

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Sections in italics are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 5, “A Conspiracy Unmasked” ( We have entered the home stretch, the finish line is in sight. )

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Fatty was occupying himself by cooking supper. Surely they would be here soon. It had been a long and lonely evening. He had not even been able to concentrate on reading.

He was beginning to realize how hard was the task he had set himself--to stay here alone for as many days or weeks as he could manage, with no one to see, no one to talk to , nothing to do except read (which sounded delightful until he remembered how hard it had been to keep his mind on a book this evening.)

He mixed up some muffins to put in the oven and took out some jars of pea soup to heat. Along with some sausages and slices of ham, he could fry up some potatoes. He was trying to see what else he could find when he heard the front door bang.

“Merry?” he called, not a little startled after the eerie quiet of his evening.

“Yes, Fatty!” Merry called. “Here I am!” He came into the kitchen bearing a large basket which smelled wonderfully of mushrooms. “I found our stray lambs. They had gotten lost down in the Marish, and were found by old Farmer Maggot.”

“How on earth?”

“I imagine they will explain about it when they get here. They are footing it up from the Ferry landing, and will be here soon,” said Merry. “I see that you have supper well in hand, so I will leave this with you, and I’ll go and prepare the baths.”

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The three walking up from the Ferry were tired and quiet. Each was occupied with his own sombre thoughts.

Frodo was trying to think how he was going to tell Merry, Pippin and Fatty that he was leaving. He owed them more of an explanation than “Sorry for all the trouble you went to for me, lads, but it’s all for nothing. I’m leaving in the morning and likely I shan’t return.” Yet to tell them of the true danger he was in would place them at risk as well. How was he going to manage without Gandalf? He glanced at Sam. He’d be glad of his company, but it was so unfair to drag him away like this.

Sam noticed the look Frodo gave him. His master was wishing he could go alone again. Right brave of him it was, but wrong. Gandalf knew he’d need help; the Elves knew he’d need help; Mr. Merry knew he’d need help, as did Mr. Pippin. Sam had to admit of being doubtful at first about the wisdom of having Mr. Pippin along, but not any more. The lad had behaved very well on this first part of the journey, and proved himself a useful travelling companion. What’s more, the youngster had held his tongue and kept his fear to himself. He would do right well.

Pippin trudged along with his head down. He knew how Frodo’s mind worked. His oldest cousin would be just as protective as Merry been to start with. He wondered how many days he and Merry would have to trail Frodo and Sam before they could safely catch them up without the risk of being sent home.

As they walked up the green path from the gate no light was visible; the windows were dark and shuttered. Frodo knocked on the door, and Fatty Bolger opened it. A friendly light streamed out. They slipped in quickly and shut themselves and the light inside. They were in a wide hall with doors on either side; in front of them a passage ran back down the middle of the house.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Merry coming up the passage. “We have done our best to make it look like home. After all, Fatty and I only got here with the last cart-load yesterday.”

Frodo looked round.

“It’s delightful!” he said with an effort. “I hardly feel that I have moved at all.”

Much to the weary traveler’s delight--especially Pippin’s--Merry led them to the baths at the end of the passage. He left the three of them to the hot water and steam, while he returned to the kitchen to help Fatty get supper on the table. They could hear Pippin singing all the way down the hall. Merry grinned. He loved to hear Pip sing.

“Well,” said Fatty, “did you find out what delayed them?”

“Not really. But I expect they’ll tell us at supper.” Merry was disturbed. From the way Farmer Maggot had acted, something untoward had happened to force them off the road and across country.

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After a lovely supper, in which Mrs. Maggot’s mushrooms once more held pride of place, the five friends sat round, and Pippin told the story of their journey from Hobbiton to Buckland--Black Riders, Elves and all. Gradually he and Merry brought the conversation round to Farmer Maggot’s guesses as to what was going on.

“But you can at least tell us, Frodo, whether you think his guess good or bad,” said Merry.

“I think ,” answered Frodo slowly, “that it was a good guess, as far as it goes. There is a connection with Bilbo’s old adventures, and the Riders are looking, or perhaps one ought to say searching, for him or for me. I also fear, if you want to know, that it is no joke at all; and that I am not safe here or anywhere else.” He looked round at the windows and walls, as if he was afraid they would suddenly give way. The others looked at him in silence, and exchanged meaning glances among themselves.

“It’s coming out in a minute,” whispered Pippin to Merry.

“Well!” said Frodo at last, sitting up and straightening his back, as if he had made a decision. “I can’t keep it dark any longer. I have got something to tell you all. But I don’t know quite how to begin.”

“I think I could help you,” said Merry quietly, “by telling you some of it myself.”

“What do you mean?” said Frodo, looking at him anxiously.

“Just this, my dear old Frodo: you are miserable, because you don’t know how to say good-bye. You meant to leave the Shire of course. But danger has come on you sooner than you expected, and now you are making up your mind to go at once. And you don’t want to. We are very sorry for you.”

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It was done. It had worked. Amazingly, Frodo had agreed to take them with him, with only a minimum of argument. Merry had finally got Frodo to go to bed. Now he had gone out to check the ponies once more before getting a few hours sleep himself. Coming back to the cottage, he saw Pippin standing on the doorstep, breathing in the cool fall air.

He put a companionable arm around his younger cousin’s shoulders. “Are you all right, Pip?” he asked.

Pippin looked at him seriously. “I don’t know. I’m sad, for Frodo. He doesn’t want to do this. And I have to admit, I’m frightened. But it's funny, Merry; in spite of it all, I’m happy.” Now he grinned, that infectious Tookish grin. “We’re going on an adventure. Together.”

Merry gave the shoulders a slight squeeze. “Yes. Yes, we are. Together.”

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EPILOGUE

Fatty sat back and stretched his neck and back, and flexed his fingers. It had been almost five days since his friends had left to go through the Old Forest. Aside from a nearly stupefying boredom, things had gone well so far. No one yet suspected that Fatty was the only one occupying the cottage.

He’d read several books, and finally had taken out his gift from Frodo, to begin trying to learn Elvish; he’d made some progress, and if he kept it up, he might finish with the Lay of Gil-Galad before their little deception came out.

He was a bit concerned that Gandalf had yet to come by, but there was nothing else to worry about.

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Saradoc opened the drawer of his desk to take out the ledger; it was Highday, and time to give out wages.

Odd. That wasn’t the way he usually put it away. And were there water-spots on the cover?

He opened it up, and flipped the pages.

A note?

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Eglantine thought Merry and Frodo must be keeping Pippin very busy indeed. She usually had a letter from him within a day or so of his visits to Buckland.  She hoped he was having a nice time helping Frodo settle into the new house.  But he was *not* going to stay away from home as long this time.  She planned on writing to him, telling him to return in just two weeks.

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Lotho Sackville-Baggins took pen in hand.

My dear Mr. White:

In regards to your inquiry as to sending your agents to the Shire to purchase pipeweed…

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I would just like to thank all who were kind enough to read and review this as it was in progress; also I would like to thank Mary, who was kind enough to beta this for me.  This story turned out a lot longer than I thought it would, and I thank everyone for their patience.