1. Scouring for Mushrooms

Pippin: 16, Merry: 24 (or 10 and 15 in Man years)
1406 SR 

“Be quiet!”

“I am!”

“I thought I heard something.”

“That was my stomach.”

They wait for a moment’s breath, straining their ears for the slightest hint of the slightest footfall. They hear nothing.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

They slowly inch forward. Merry reaches out to separate the branches of the bush they are hiding in and looks out cautiously. A long, soft trail runs away from them on either side, and directly ahead is a low fence to keep the hogs out. Beside him, Pippin’s stomach grumbles again, loud enough to give his cousin a start.

“Pippin!”

“I can’t help it.”

“We just ate.”

“Only an apple.”

They check the path one more time. Merry gives a low, sharp whistle and waits again. When no dogs come running, he declares the time has come.

“Get the bag ready.”

Pippin holds it up, an exasperated expression on his impatient face. He has been ready as soon as he woke up this morning and is only waiting for his friend to stop goofing around. Merry nods and they crawl out of their hiding place. Keeping low to the ground, they quickly run for the fence, pull it open and slip inside. The earth here is even softer than the trail outside, the scent of it sweet in the early morning dew. But sweeter still is the prize it grew for its victors: a cluster of the fattest mushrooms any hobbit could hope to set their eyes upon.

They set to work quickly, freeing handfuls of mushrooms from their earthly prison in mere seconds. When their bag is full, they slip back out of the gate, back across the path and into the bushes. The raid takes less than half a minute. Now comes the most dangerous part: to not celebrate until they are far clear of Maggot’s fields. For there are many early morning laborers about on the roads, going to work and preparing for the day ahead, and any one of them could call them out for their crime should they suspect anything. Thankfully, Merry has a solution to this as well.

“Frodo showed me this path once,” Merry says, and veers to the left just before reaching the road. Up ahead, Pippin can see the faintest sliver of a path through the barley. Merry leads them confidently, with Pippin following close behind, holding on to his cousin’s coat tails so as not to be separated from him. “Be careful right here,” Merry says after they had walked a good 100 yards. “It slopes down quite sharply. If you’re not careful, you could slip and break something.”

Pippin nods, understanding more than his cousin knew. So, this is where Merry had slipped and broken his arm all those years ago, before Pippin was even born. He had always told Pippin that one day he would show him the location. Pippin peeks over the cliff and spies out the way down. The slope is steep, but there are many rocks and patches that can serve as steps if the feet traveling them are small enough. Still, the dirt is loose and muddy. Merry hesitates.

“I’ll be careful,” Pippin promises, with a reassuring touch to Merry’s shoulder. “I’m not nearly so clumsy as you are.”

“Clumsy? I am not,” Merry retorts, and with that he steps over the cliff wall and cautiously leads the way down to the road below. They go slowly, making sure their footholds are secure with each step, and they manage to reach the bottom without any mishaps.
 
The road is silent and empty but for them. They have escaped undetected. Pippin pulls out the bag, unable to deny his stomach any longer. They grab a handful each and munch happily on their loot.

The mushrooms are absolutely delightful, and Merry imagines how wonderful they would taste cooked up in a nice omelet, or in gravy over mashed potatoes, or on a sizzling sirloin steak with the head cook’s special sauce. He grabs another handful and pops three of the morsels into his mouth, regretting only slightly that he couldn’t hand these over to the cooks.

Pippin, on the other hand, is having no regrets at all, except maybe a vague thought that they should have brought two bags instead of one. And bigger bags. Yes, they would have to bring much bigger bags next time.

They trot at a happy pace, speaking very little and eating until they have their fill, which just happens to be when they run out of mushrooms. By that time, they are approaching the main road once again, now a good mile south of Maggot’s fields. They receive only curious glances from the workers in the fields and on the road but nothing more than that, and Merry says a silent thanks that Pippin isn’t trying to act too innocent and give them away.

By the time they return to Brandy Hall, first breakfast is being served in the dining hall. As the first wafts of the meal float out to greet them, Pippin’s stomach grumbles, loud enough to raise the heads of those closest to them.

“Are you ever full?” Merry asks, chuckling softly.

“Not as of yet,” Pippin exclaims and makes a beeline for the serving table, with Merry following close behind.
 

End of this ficlet.
 
 

 
GF 4/27/04

2. A Long Expected Party, Part I

Pippin is 11, Merry 19 (about 7 and 12 in Man years)
19 Halimath, 1401 SR

Pippin sat on the fence in eager anticipation for the sound of hooves hitting dirt and cartwheels rolling. His Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda would be staying at Whitwell for the three days prior to Bilbo’s 111th birthday party. Most of the Brandybucks that would be attending had taken a similar approach for their accommodations, coming to fill the guest rooms at Great Smials and thus lessen their journey for when the day of the party arrived.

Pippin has been bouncing with excitement since the beginning of Halimath, each passing day bringing with it greater anticipation, so that not even Pervinca could wear out his energy, try as she might. His exasperated mother was at the point where she would strangle Bilbo for creating such a frenzy, had she not been looking forward to the event herself. She was waiting just as eagerly as her son for the arrival of her sister- and brother-in-laws. She knew her nephew would distract her son and keep him out from under foot with his endless questions.

She glanced out the window and spotted Pippin still perched on the gate at the end of the lane and even from that great distance, she could see the gate vibrating as the anxious Took failed to contain his energy. Merry couldn’t come soon enough. Of course, Merry brought with him his own problems. Eglantine shook her head and wondered what kind of mischief her son and nephew were concocting.

And mischief was being concocted. If this party was half as big as everyone was saying it would be, Merry and Pippin would be able to get away with all manners of high-jinx. They had begun their planning in the summer, when it was first revealed to them that Bilbo was planning an extravagant affair. For not only was it his 111th birthday, it was also Frodo’s coming of age. They had a long list of tricks to unveil to their unwitting relatives, and they had an extra special treat planned for their favorite cousin.

At long last, Pippin heard the clomping of the ponies and the jittering of the cart. He jumped off the gate and hit the ground running. He flew up the road, nearly startling the ponies as he peeled around the corner to meet them. Saradoc slowed the cart, assuming the young hobbit would jump up to ride with them back to the smial, but instead his son jumped out. The friends embraced and Merry swooped down to grab Pippin in a bear hug and then walk with him down the road. Saradoc started the cart again, with Merry following behind, close enough that his parents wouldn’t complain and far enough that he could talk to Pippin in confidence if need be.

He began by telling Pippin all about their journey from Buckland. Almost half of Brandy Hall was turning out for the event and the expansive mansion oddly quiet. Those that wouldn’t be heading straight for Hobbiton were coming here to Tookland first, and they had traveled a good deal of the way with many of them. They had camped along the East Road the night before, the adults sleeping on soft rolls in the carts, the children scattered about the ground telling tales long into the night.

Merry had taken the opportunity to speak with Pippin’s friend Ilberic. Ilby had agreed to help with any pranks that he could, and Merry knew just the one for him. He was the smallest of the three and could get into places the other two could not. They were to catch up with him at the party, and it was this particular change to their plans Merry most wanted to speak with Pippin about. And he knew just how to reveal it to his friend to minimize any protests.

Merry paused in his talking and slowed his pace slightly. He waited until a good fifteen feet separated them from his parents and then whispered, “And guess what?”

“What?” Pippin asked.

“Gandalf’s going to be there, with fireworks.”

“Oh, I know that already,” Pippin said. One of the Shirriffs had brought that rather exciting piece of information down from Hobbiton a few days ago, and the news had spread through Tookland like wildfire.

“Yes, but did you also know… No, maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”

“What?” Pippin asked, his curiosity instantly peaked. Merry couldn’t possibly know something he didn’t know; that wasn’t allowed.

“No,” Merry teased, “I don’t want to ruin all the surprises.”

“But Merry,” Pippin complained in desperation, a tone he knew Merry would give into in a heartbeat.

“All right,” Merry said, then lowered his voice yet again. “Bilbo’s housing dwarves at Bag End.”

“Dwarves!” Pippin shouted, forgetting himself.

Esmeralda turned to look back at them briefly. What were those two getting up to now? She shook her head and turned back around as the cart pulled up to the house at last. She and her sister-in-law were going to have their hands full with those two.

“Sh!” Merry warned as they neared the others, then added, “We’ll talk later.”

Pippin nodded and helped his cousin with his bags as their parents greeted each other and embraced. He was surprised to see his father had come in off the field. He must have been keeping an eye on his son as well for sign of their guests’ arrival, for he had washed up and changed into one of the fresh shirts he kept in a wardrobe in the barn. Pippin’s sisters were lined up, pressed and prim as well. As they greeted their aunt and uncle formerly, Pippin realized that he had flown right past them in his hurry to get to Merry earlier. Blushing with only mild embarrassment, he rushed over and greeted them properly now, his mother giving him a knowing smile.

Everyone helped to unload the cart, the children taking what they could – the food mostly, with warnings not to eat any of it. The guests settled into their rooms, Saradoc and Esmeralda taking the best guest room, Merry settling himself into Pippin’s room. They then sat down to an elvenses that lingered on and on as the adults caught up and talked about one boring thing after another. Finally, after the food was finished and the dishes were cleared by the servants, the children were excused to do as they pleased. The lasses went to the parlor to talk about the party and what they were going to wear and which lads they were going to dance with and other silly lass things. Merry and Pippin dashed out the door and down the lane toward the fields.

“We have to see the dwarves,” Pippin insisted as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’ve been wanting to see one since I was little. Who knows when there will be dwarves in the Shire again?”

“They’re not likely to be at the party,” Merry said. He had been pondering this particular dilemma since he first heard the news come down from the Brandywine Bridge at the beginning of the month. Fatty’s letter from Budgeford confirmed the rumors as he said he saw a band of dwarves heading down the East Road, driving a laden cart, and more carts had come through in just the last few days.

On the rare occasion that dwarves were spotted passing through the Shire, they were riding through on ponies and usually traveled by night. Merry knew the Dwarves had caves in the Blue Mountains and that they traveled back and forth from there to their other caves in the East at times. For them to now be traveling down the East Road with laden carts could only mean one thing: they were coming to see Bilbo.

He had of course written Frodo in an effort to determine if his hunch was correct, but his cousin was being terribly close on the subject. His reply only said that Bilbo had acquired firecrackers and other unusual gifts from Dale in a cartload that had recently arrived over the bridge but said nothing about dwarves. In fact, he ignored that part of Merry’s letter all together. His cousin could be such a tease at times, but Merry could see right through him, even in a letter.

There had to be dwarves at Bag End, Merry was certain. If there weren’t, Frodo would have just said so. But what he had said was that the cart came from Dale. Merry placed the pieces of this particular puzzle together very quickly: no one had seen any of the Big Folk driving any carts anywhere in the Shire, so none of the Men from Dale had delivered that cart or any of the ones that followed, which meant that the dwarves of Lonely Mountain must have been driving the carts, and that meant that one of Bilbo’s friends from his tales, or maybe all of them, might be here as well. Merry would finally get to meet them!

Or would he? For he didn’t doubt his other assumption: that they were unlikely to be at the party. They would stay at Bag End. Merry wanted so desperately to see a dwarf and now to know they were so close… Merry had a plan, but he needed Pippin to go along with it and was hoping the lad would actually come up with a similar plan on his own.

“So how do we sneak out of the party?” Pippin asked. For the solution to the problem was very simple to him. If the dwarves wouldn’t be at the party, then they would have to leave it to see them.

Merry smiled with relief. Pippin would go along with it now, he was certain.

He shook his head. “We’ll have to wait till nightfall at least, let the adults get some ale in them, and we’ll have to be on our best behavior until then. It’ll be hard to sneak out if we’re already in trouble for something else.”

Pippin’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. So much for all their lovely plans. He turned and headed back to the smial.

“Where are you going?” Merry asked. They still had much planning to do.

“To let the tadpoles out of my closet,” Pippin called dejectedly over his shoulder. He had so wanted to see the look on Lobelia’s face too.

“Pip!” Merry jogged over to Pippin’s side. He couldn’t stand to see him so unhappy, and besides, there was no need to throw away all of their previous planning. Some of it would come in quite useful. “Keep a few. We’ll need them to create a diversion.”

Pippin’s face split in a delightful smile. Good ole Merry! Of course they would need a diversion, and he knew just the tadpoles for the job.

To be continued…

GF 5/5/04

This part references events that take place in “Took Madness” and “Under the Harvest Moon”.

3. A Long Expected Party, Part II

Pippin is 11, Merry 19, Sam 21, Frodo 33 (about 7, 12, 13, and 21 in Man years)
22 Halimath, 1401 SR

The day began well before first breakfast. Pippin woke early, when the sun was still low on the horizon, and he pounced on his peacefully sleeping cousin. “Wake up!” he shouted.

“Mphf,” came the disgruntled reply from within the rumpled sheets. An instant later, Merry was wide awake as well, for the day of The Party had finally arrived.

Soon, they’d be on their way to Hobbiton, to the Party Field. Merry wondered, not for the first time, what kind of presents he would get. Bilbo was known for giving new presents every year and Frodo always gave him something extra special. The food he understood was being catered in from all the bakeries in and around Hobbiton and Bywater. Most of all, he could hardly wait any longer to get there and see his best friend and favorite cousin.

Pippin wondered about these and many other things as well. He was still disappointed that they would not be able to make any fun of their own. No longer would they be sneaking tadpoles into lasses’ hair, or sneaking real pies and replacing them with mud ones, or hiding under tables to tickle unsuspecting feet with quill feathers or letting ants loose to crawl up diners’ legs. By far the hardest sacrifice of them all was they would no longer be stealing any fireworks, for if everything went as planned, they would not be at the party when the light show started.

Merry saw how hard these sacrifices were for his young friend and came to a conclusion. After they saw the dwarves, if there was time, they would still pull their prank on Frodo. This seemed to console Pippin, so Merry thought no more of it.

Truth be told, Merry was rather curious to see what kind of games the working-class children would be playing. Bilbo and Frodo usually only had close family and friends for their birthday parties. This would be the first time that Merry could recall when hobbits, rich and poor, would be attending. And the working-class would be going as equals, not servants. He was eager to meet more of the townsfolk Frodo spent so much of his time with. He knew Gaffer Gamgee and his son Sam, of course, and had met the younger Gamgee daughters a few times, but beyond them he knew no one else.

Eglantine and Esmeralda prepared a large first breakfast, which would have to tide them over until they got to the party. The children bounced excitedly in their seats, though that didn’t slow down their eating in the slightest. As soon as they were finished, the matrons ushered the children outdoors so they could finish their preparations in peace. Tina nodded her head toward her son, who was making a show of walking on top of the fence.

“I found some rather interesting contraband in his wardrobe the other day,” she said to her sister-in-law.

“I heard them say something about dwarves as we rode in,” Esme added. “Bilbo always has such strange visitors about. It’s a wonder they didn’t try to sneak up to get a peek at them earlier.”

“What should we do about it? You know they’ve got something up their sleeves,” Tina said. She could practically hear the wheels turning in her son and nephew’s heads for the last three days, and the way they suddenly stopped whispering whenever an adult entered the room and put on their ‘I didn’t do it’ faces only solidified her suspensions.

“You know,” Esme said, interrupting her sister-in-law’s thoughts, “it occurs to me I haven’t heard Pippin play his fiddle in quite a long time. Has he got much better?”

“Oh, yes, he’s become quite good. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind playing for you. Several of the other children have organized a band for the party, you know? Peregrin can play with them.”

“I’m sure Merry would enjoy the performance as well,” Esme noted casually.

“I’ll go get Pippin and tell him the good news. He’ll be thrilled,” Tina said conspiratorially.

Pippin was not thrilled, but Merry was secretly relieved. This took care of the problem of keeping the impatient youngster out of trouble for the day and freed him to both spend time with Frodo and scope out the area for the best place to unleash their diversion. Ilberic could keep Pippin company until the time for action came. Considering Ilby’s mother would even allow her son near Pippin again. After that incident by the river a year back, Hilda was extra cautious about her child’s safety, especially in the presence of the Thain’s impulsive son.

A long and grueling carriage ride later, they arrived at the party, which was already in full swing. The children spilled out of the carriages and were instantly lost in the crowd, only to be spotted a moment later as they got in line to receive their presents and greet their hosts. Tina and Esme would allow their sons an hour or so of play before reining them in. After all, they would be much easier to handle once they spent some of their energy.  

“Frodo!”

“Merry! Pippin! You’re here!”

The cousins embraced each other in a fierce group hug.

“I thought we’d never get here!” Pippin complained. “Is there still food?” he asked with concern.

Bilbo chuckled to see the three together. Frodo’s friends never failed to cheer him up and the old hobbit had no doubt his heir would be left in good hands after his speech tonight. He turned to his other guests as Frodo reassured a very worried Took.

“Have no fear, Pip,” Frodo laughed. “You won’t be starving at this party, or any other given by a Baggins. In fact, Bilbo made sure there would be so much food not even you could eat it all, Peregrin Took.”

Pippin scoffed at this. “I could too,” he said and headed for the nearest table to prove his point. Pearl shook her head and went after him.

“Pippin, you haven’t got your presents yet!” she called.

By the time she returned with her brother, who had succeeded in stuffing down two chocolate-covered cupcakes in the ten seconds it took her to catch him, the adults had joined the children and were greeting their hosts and receiving their gifts. Pippin tore open his presents, a set of fire crackers and a fishing kit from Bilbo, and from Frodo, a waistcoat with many inner pockets in which to hide things. Merry nodded in approval. That waistcoat would come in handy, as would the items in the fishing kit.

“What did you get?” Pippin asked.

Merry held up his gifts, a set of sparklers and a pocket knife of fine quality from Bilbo and a pocket watch of Frodo’s that Merry had always favored. “Thank you Frodo,” he said, touched by the gift. He knew how much the cherished watch meant to his cousin, who had also received it as a gift, from Merry’s grandfather Rory Brandybuck. Merry wondered if he could get his grandfather to tell him the story behind the watch, as Frodo had always kept extremely close about it.

Frodo finished handing out the rest of his presents, then dismissed himself to spend some time with his best friends. Once they were well out of earshot of the adults, Frodo turned to his cousins with an expectant expression.

“So, what sort of entertainment will you two be providing today?” Frodo asked.

Merry shook his head. “None, I’m afraid. Pippin’s been recruited to play with the band. I was going to check out the games, if there are any.”

Frodo raised his eyebrows in doubt but asked no further questions. He led them around the Party Field, introducing them to the various guests by their name and occupation: Sandyman the miller; Goodheart, Cotton and Fairchild all farmers; Gaffer Gamgee’s eldest sons, Hamson a roper and Halfred, a tile maker; and many others. They were all respectfully polite, bowing low as they said their greetings and stopping their own talk to chat with Frodo and his cousins, commenting on the lovely weather and the delightful food and the wonderful presents. Frodo never kept any of them long, except Halfred who he was quite friendly with. Soon enough, they left behind the various groups of adults and approached the part of the lawn designated for games and dancing.

More introductions were made here, as nearly all the children had found their way to this spot. If Merry had hoped to find less formality among his peers, he was disappointed. Even the children knew their place too well to relax around their betters, even at a birthday party. They came to the last group of children, who instantly stopped playing to bow or curtsy to their host and his friends. All of them, that is, except one.

“And you know Sam already, of course,” Frodo said.

“Hullo Master Merry, Master Pippin sirs!” Sam waved cheerfully from where he stood in the middle of the group, which had been playing tag until Master Baggins and the heirs of Buckland and Tookland had approached.

Merry and Pippin waved back, both of them pleased to finally see a familiar face. Merry had expected distant formality from the young gardener, as had been his treatment since Merry's blunder at the Harvest Moon Dance last year. But Merry did not wonder long at the change, so struck he was with the sudden realization that Sam, who was always so proper and in his place no matter what the circumstances, was actually the most informal of all the hobbits here.

“And you may remember his sisters: Daisy, Marigold and May. And these are the Cottons – Rosie, Tom, Nibs, Jolly and Nick. Everyone, these are my cousins and dearest friends Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took.”

Almost simultaneously, the children replied, “Good afternoon Master Merry. Good day to you Master Pippin.”

Merry just barely contained a sigh at the formalities. Pippin on the other hand barely gave them any thought. Frodo only smiled with a teasing gleam in his eyes. Merry noticed Sam giving him a sympathetic shrug and was grateful when the young gardener waved them into the circle.

“You can join us if you like, sirs. We were only just getting started with this round.”

“Go on, have fun,” Frodo said, nudging them forward. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.” And with that he was gone, headed back to the gate entrance where more guests had arrived.

“Well, come on sirs,” Sam said. “Begging your pardon, but you can’t join the game from out there, and we can’t continue until you join.”

“How do you play?” Merry asked as he and Pippin joined the group. He had been watching them from the corner of his eye as Frodo had led them around and thought he had the basics figured out, if this was anything similar to the tag they played at Brandy Hall.

“Oh, ‘tis simple enough, sir,” Sam explained. “Whoever’s It, which would be Nibs there at the moment, is the one as does the tagging. If he tags you, you become It and he gets to sit down. The last one in who doesn’t get tagged wins.”

“What do they win?” Pippin asked.

“They get to pick the next game. Nibs won the last game, and decided he wanted to play tag again.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Merry said. “We’re in. But you have to promise not to go easy on us.”

A lad about Sam’s age, named Tom, gave them a wicked grin Merry knew only too well. “Oh, we promise.”

“Cross our hearts,” said Nick.

“I should warn you sirs,” Sam said softly to them, “Nibs is fast. And he tends to tackle, no matter how much we try and break him of the habit.”

“How fast can he be?” Pippin said unconcernedly, confident he could outrun any of these children, and outrun them he did.

Merry, to his disappointment, only lasted a couple of rounds before being tagged by Jolly and it took him close to ten minutes before he was finally able to tag Daisy. He sat down exhausted and caught his breath. Merry had always thought himself to be in good shape, but he had to admit he had trouble keeping up with the farmers’ children and was quite grateful to finally be on the sidelines.

He cheered on Pippin, who was still running about with endless energy. As the game wore on, and the players began to slow down, they were tagged out more quickly. At some point, Frodo returned and sat to watch with him as the final two, Nick and Marigold, easily evaded Pippin’s touch. Pip finally resorted to an old trick. He feigned exhaustion, clasping his side, and remained that way for several minutes before he was able to catch Nick off his guard, making Goldie the winner. The Gamgees cheered for their sister and everyone began giving her suggestions for the next game. Pippin came over and sat exhausted in Frodo’s lap.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Frodo warned. “I was sent on a mission. Your mother says you’re to go to the music tent and begin warming up with the band.”

Pippin groaned. “But I’m having fun,” he pouted.

“Come on Pip,” Merry said. “I’ll help direct, and Frodo can show you how to tune a harp.”

“Since when do I know how to tune a harp?” Frodo asked with a laugh.

“Since now.”

“As much I would like to,” Frodo replied, “I have to get back to my guests. I can see a couple of the Banks cousins coming back through for more presents.”

“Now really Frodo,” Merry said lightly. “Will we be getting to spend any time at all with you today?”

“The guests should all be here by dinner,” Frodo said. “Then there’s supper of course…” He trailed off, he features momentarily troubled. Then just as quickly he was smiling again, his eyes twinkling. “There’ll be a cake bigger than any you’ve ever seen, and Bilbo’s got something special planned for his speech. It should be most entertaining. Now, the both of you best get going, and no getting sidetracked. I don’t want Tina and Esme coming after me, demanding to know where you are and why I haven’t done my duty.”

With that, they headed off to one of the tents at the edge of the field where the Took musicians were warming up, and Frodo returned once more to the field entrance. Merry glanced quickly over his shoulder at his departing cousin. There was something Frodo wasn’t telling them and Merry wondered what it could be.  

Eglantine and Esmeralda were impressed with their sons’ stellar behavior. Not a single mishap had occurred all day. Pippin quickly got over his pouting and was soon stealing the show from the other musicians, much to the crowd’s delight. Merry alternated between watching the band and playing with his other cousins or the group of children he had befriended earlier. There were a couple of times Ilby Brandybuck had attempted to speak with Pippin between performances, but either his mother Hilda or his brother Doderic would come and quickly usher him away.

Tina felt a twinge of irritation at this. Really, it wasn’t her son’s fault Ilby had become lost last year. She almost approached Hilda at one point to try to put this silliness to rest, but that was the moment Lobelia Sackville-Baggins arrived, with Otho and Lotho in tow. Hilda was Lobelia’s youngest niece and Lobelia instantly became glued to her side, much to the young lass's dismay. Tina quickly abandoned the idea of approaching Hilda. Trying to talk sense into the fretful lass with Lobelia close at hand would be impossible and not worth the headache.

Dinner came and was soon devoured. Twilight was upon the field and lanterns were lit. The band was taking a break and Pippin instantly found Merry in the crowd. The two began searching for Frodo, who had once again given them the slip after mealtime, during which he had spent most of his time in conversation with their Uncle Merimac. Mac had a passion for boats and so spent much of his time on the River and had many stories to tell.

Esmeralda felt sorry for her son. He had been looking forward to this visit with Frodo for so long, and now the newly come-of-age host was too busy to spare him more than a few minutes. Esme spotted Frodo at the opposite end of the field, helping direct another barrel of ale to the drinks table. Perhaps she would speak with Frodo and offer to hostess for an hour or two. The poor lad did look tired and more than a bit frazzled. He could use a rest. Yet just as she was standing up to go to him, a loud shrill shriek rang through the air from one of the dining tents. Hobbits went running to see what was causing the commotion.

Esme dashed to the tent and found Paladin and Eglantine trying in vain to calm Lobelia, who was flapping about the tent with a tadpole in her hair and, from the way she was squirming and holding her leg, another one up her dress. Several hobbits were standing back watching the spectacle, most of them laughing and not offering any help. Hilda was frantically yelling at Tina to do something. Bilbo came running in and dispersed the crowd as Tina went over and expertly scooped the tadpole out of Lobelia’s hair. But, what to do about the one up her dress?

“Sorry, Lobelia, you’re on your own with that one,” Paladin said, as Hilda began swatting at Lobelia’s legs with a broom. Esme sighed heavily and bravely joined the fray.  

“It worked!” Ilberic called in an ecstatic whisper as he joined Merry and Pippin at the edge of the Party Field. “Even better than we planned. Lobelia came over, all on her own, she didn’t even notice me.”

“What did Lobelia do?” Pippin asked, his face etched with longing. He had so desperately wanted to be the one to place the tadpoles on Lobelia, but then he never would have been able to escape the tent unnoticed.

Ilby dramatically reenacted Lobelia’s discovery of the tadpoles, first the one squirming up her leg, and then the one in her hair that his mother had shakily pointed at when she returned to the table with more ale. He even managed to scrunch up his face in perfect imitation of his detested great-aunt, and soon all three of them were laughing uncontrollably.

“Good job, Ilby,” Pippin said as he wiped a tear from his eye.

Merry caught his breath. “And I’m pretty sure Mother saw us ‘looking’ for Frodo, nowhere near the tent at question. We’re home free. Now, come on, while they’re still distracted.”

They slipped into the shadows and were soon on the lane that led up to Bag End. They kept low and close to the bushes, for they could easily be seen otherwise if anyone on the field should happen to look up. They escaped unnoticed and soon Merry was steering them through the gate and up to the dark and silent smial. Listening carefully, they slowly made their way around Bag End. At the kitchen window there was a light and voices could be heard, laughing and singing.

“Sounds like a party,” Merry whispered. He led them to the back door, which was never locked and they noiselessly slipped inside.

The first thing they noticed was the smell – pork roast and cider and freshly baked bread. The second thing they noticed was the lights – they glowed and flickered in many of the guest rooms as well as the kitchen, but the tunnel itself was dark, as was the front of the smial.

“I think we came in the wrong way,” Pippin whispered.

Merry nodded but led them on. He figured most, if not all, of the dwarves were in the kitchen. They slipped silently down the hall, peeking into what rooms they could. All were vacant of an occupant, but they saw other things – walking sticks, traveling packs, even an axe or two. Ilby spotted a small locked chest at the foot of one bed that Pippin confirmed was not normally there.

“Do you think there’s gold in it?” he asked. His whisper was barely audible but Merry raised a finger to his lips anyway, for they were nearly at the kitchen. They lay down flat on the ground and inched forward until they were able to just barely peek into the kitchen.

There they were, a small band of dwarves, three in all. They were sitting at the table or upon the countertops, eating a private feast of their own making. Their song ended and one of the dwarves sitting on the counter began speaking enthusiastically to the others. And he was speaking Dwarvish! The others responded in the same guttural, clipped language. They were not much taller than the tallest hobbit, but they had beards down to their bellies and wore boots of metal and thick leather tunics. They were eating heartily and drinking deeply, and took no notice of their surroundings. The hobbits inched in a bit further.

Ilby was the one to notice the leader, or who they assumed to be the leader for his tunic alone was red, and a long gold tassel tied together his cream-white cloak, and on his shirt embroidered in golden thread was an emblem of a dragon atop a lonely mountain. He wore on his finger a ring with a clear white gem and his beard was grey. They stared at him for several minutes, in awe of his commanding presence and easy manner. Then Pippin nudged Merry and pointed. One of the dwarves was smoking a pipe!

Merry wasn’t sure how long they spied, but it must have been close to an hour by his reckoning, for all of a sudden a loud boom could be heard outside. The night sky blazed with green and white lights through the kitchen window.

“The fireworks have started!” one of the dwarves exclaimed in the Common Speech.

Beside him, Merry could feel both Ilby and Pippin tense. “The fireworks, Merry,” Pippin said.

“They’re getting up!” Ilby warned. They scooted quickly back into the passageway and hid in the shadows. Thankfully, the dwarves dashed out the kitchen through the far doorway and down the tunnel to the front of the smial.

“Looks like we chose the right way after all,” Merry said, then standing up, he beckoned his cousins to follow him back down the tunnel. They snuck back outside and over the fence. With the dwarves in front, they would have to cut across the hill and come back to the Party Field by the rear, near the serving tents.

Another firework exploded overhead, this one of butterflies in a field of gold and white flowers. They stopped to admire the display, then continued on their way, talking excitedly now of what they had seen and heard. They even tried to imitate the Dwarven speech as best they could as they made their way to the large tent that housed the Party Tree. Supper would be served as soon as the fireworks were over and they all wanted a good place in line.  

Their triumphant mood didn’t last very long however. Their presence, or lack thereof, had not gone unnoticed. Tina spotted them near the tent and escorted Pippin back to the band. Hilda came and whisked Ilby away an instant later, checking him for signs of injury, and before Merry knew it, he found himself left on his own again. He looked about for Frodo, but could not find his friend anywhere.

Most of the day had passed this way, Merry alone and looking for Frodo. As co-host, much of Frodo’s time had been spent greeting guests and seeing to the smooth running of things. The few moments Frodo had found to spare with him had usually passed in silence, as they watched some game being played or Pippin hamming it up for the crowd. Merry found himself spending most of his time with his cousin Berilac and others from Brandy Hall, or with Sam and his friends. Not that he hadn’t had fun or enjoyed being on friendly terms with the young gardener again, but he missed Frodo’s company sorely.

He spotted Frodo now, speaking with Bilbo. The older hobbit seemed to be explaining something urgent and Frodo was listening attentively. Merry sighed and turned his attention back to the fireworks. A giant explosion that sounded like a roar ripped through the sky and a fiery red and gold dragon swooped down over the Party Field before exploding into a burst of scarlet blooms. The crowd cheered frantically and then began moving into the tent.  

An hour later, the crowd was frantic once again, but not with cheering. One hundred and forty two hobbits stood in shocked silence when, before their very eyes, Bilbo Baggins disappeared with a bang and a flash. Then one hundred and forty two hobbits began talking as fast as their tongues could wag and the tent was soon buzzing with gossip and old tales.

Merry looked through the crowd to where Frodo was sitting. His cousin at least didn’t seem surprised and actually seemed to be enjoying the reaction of his various relations. Until several minutes later that is, when an angry Otho Sackville-Baggins demanded to know what was going on and several like-minded hobbits crowded in to hear the answer, effectively blocking Merry’s view of Frodo. The last he saw of his friend, Frodo’s expression had gone from pleased to troubled to distressed.

Merry quickly assessed the situation. Frodo’s earlier melancholy at the play field. If his cousin had been worrying about this moment, that could explain why he had been so elusive all day. He would have been tempted to tell Merry of his worries, and that would have ruined the old hobbit’s surprise. The dwarves at Bag End. They had been packed, ready to depart, traveling cloaks on and walking sticks at the ready. Bilbo’s speech. He had said something about Frodo coming into his inheritance tonight. Then Bilbo disappearing, revealing a secret he had long kept hidden from everyone.

“He’s gone,” Merry muttered to himself. Bilbo had gone and Frodo had known all along and never told him. He looked back through the crowd of angry, pressing hobbits. He couldn’t catch a glimpse of Frodo through it all. He stood to make his way to the front of the pavilion and help his friend with the pressing mob.

“Merry!” Pippin shouted, coming up and tugging at his sleeve.

“What?” Merry asked, irritated at the interruption. He had to get to Frodo.

“Did you see? How did Bilbo do that, Merry?”

“I don’t know, Pip,” he lied.

“Well, how do you think he did it? We need to find out so that we can try it. And do we get to play with Frodo now?”

“Sorry, Pip, but it’s not a good time,” Merry said. The crowd finally broke apart as more ale was poured out for everyone, and Merry noticed with a start that Frodo was no longer at the table, nor anywhere else in the pavilion. He had been given the slip once again. “That’s the last of that,” he said under his breath.

“The last of what?” Pippin asked. “And you promised. I want to prank Frodo now.”

“No Pip,” Merry said in his sternest voice.

“Why not?” Pippin asked, crossing his arms. He had been well-behaved all day and now he wanted to have some fun, especially since Bilbo’s trick had already served to liven up the place. One little prank by them now was bound to go unnoticed.

Merry turned to his young friend and attempted to explain. “Don’t you understand, Pippin? Bilbo’s gone.”

“I know, but he’ll be back and then we can find out how he disappeared.”

“He’s not coming back.”

“What do you mean?” Pippin asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t he come back? It’s his party.”

“Look, Pippin,” Merry said, his patience beginning to run low, “I have to look for Frodo, see how he’s doing. I’ll explain everything later, as soon as I know for certain what’s going on. You stay here.”

“But – ” he began to protest, but Merry was already gone.

Merry pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the gossip about Mad Baggins that could be heard all around. Merry gritted his teeth at the hated nickname but didn’t stop to defend the old hobbit. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with.

By the time he got outside, Frodo was nowhere in sight. The hobbits outside the tent were beginning to notice the ruckus within the pavilion and were wondering what the uproar was about. It wouldn’t be long before word of Bilbo’s trick got out to them, but for the time all was calm and Merry took advantage. He quickly surveyed the surrounding field. No Frodo, but he did spot Sam just a few tables down, struggling with an icing-covered Nibs.

“Sam!” Merry called and went running over to the table. “Have you seen Frodo?”

Sam looked up from his task. “Mr. Frodo just came through about ten minutes ago, sir.”

“Ten minutes!” Where had the time gone? “Which way did he go?”

“I didn’t see sir. If there’s anything you need, I can get it for you Master Merry,” Sam offered.

“I need to find Frodo. I think Bilbo may have left the Shire for good, Sam,” Merry said. “I want to make sure Frodo’s all right… That he’s still here.”

Sam became worried at this. He scanned the field quickly. “Rosie!” he called as the young Cotton lass came by. “Take Nibs for me. I’m going to help Master Merry look for Mr. Frodo.” Once relieved of his charge, Sam turned back to Merry. “Well, sir, the way I see it, Mr. Bilbo can’t leave the Shire with naught but the clothes on his back, and he’s got guests to collect. We’d best make our way up to Bag End.”

Merry eyed the gardener closely. None of this seemed to be surprising Sam very much and Merry wondered just how much he knew. “Have you met the dwarves, Sam?”

“Oh aye, sir,” Sam answered, his face lighting up. “The strangest folk you ever could meet, with lots of strange tales and songs, and clothes and whatnot. They even cooked us dinner one night, and that’s not a night I’ll soon be forgetting! And they can smoke to put a hobbit to shame. But they sure are funny, sir, and they have them some mighty grand songs.”

Merry didn’t know how to respond to this, but for the first time in his life he wished he were a gardener. Sam must have been conversing with the dwarves every day for these last three weeks, and from the sound of things, he seemed to know quite a lot more of what was going on than Merry had been able to piece together, though he did seem every bit as concerned about Frodo as Merry was. Merry would have asked more questions, but time was wasting. They split up and made their way through the field, checking every conceivable place that Frodo could be, all the while making their way towards Bag End.  

For the second time that night, the smial rose up before Merry, dark and silent. Merry stood looking at it, wondering what he would find inside. He and Sam went up to the door and Merry pushed it open effortlessly. He stepped inside. The tunnel was completely dark. No longer were there any lights shining out of doorways or in the kitchen.

“I guess we should split up again,” Merry said. “I’ll search in here, you search outside. We’ll meet up at the back of the smial. He’ll be here somewhere,” Merry said, as confidently as he could. Then he turned left into the parlor, leaving Sam at the door.

Sam watched him enter the smial, then turned back down the garden path and made his way around back to the elm tree. Finding the reading bench there empty, he continued farther up the path, to the tree atop the smial overlooking Hobbiton. He heard the snuffling before he could make out the slumped-over figure of his forlorn master.

“Mr. Frodo,” he said with concern. He sat next to Frodo and wiped at the tears upon his master's with a handkerchief. He noticed then that Frodo was shivering. “You should have worn your cloak sir, it’s cold up here.” Without another thought, he removed his patched-up wool jacket and draped it about Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo made no response, so Sam pressed on, trying to fill the heavy, silent air. “I didn’t really think he’d leave,” he said.

Despite Merry’s suspicions, Sam hadn’t been in the know regarding Bilbo’s plans, or anything else, but the gardener was of a quiet nature and had a knack for going unnoticed and learning things. He never gossiped, for that wouldn’t be proper, but he knew much more than folk gave him credit for, and what he didn’t know he could usually guess, especially where it concerned Frodo. Sam had guessed Bilbo might take a trip for a while, but when Merry had said he’d left for good, Sam knew it to be true.

“Neither did I,” Frodo said quietly, his voice filled with such sadness it tore Sam’s heart. “But everybody leaves,” Frodo continued as he looked down the East Road with vacant eyes. “No one ever stays, do they Sam?”

“I’ll stay sir. As long as you want.”

Frodo smiled sadly. “I know.”

Quick, Sam, think of something to distract him. He searched his mind for an early memory, back when Frodo had first arrived at Bag End, and he and Bilbo had been so happy. “Do you remember how Mr. Bilbo would teach me to read?”

Frodo’s smile was genuine now. “Yes. He’d teach you a poem or song and then have you write it out. I remember the first word you learned to write. After your name that is. Do you remember?”

“I do. It was oliphaunt.”

“Bilbo never did start out small, did he? ‘Tackle the big things first my lad, and leave the smaller things for later.’ ”

“He said that to me once also, though I forget why. … Do you really think oliphaunts exist sir?”

“Why not? Certainly far stranger things have wound up being real.”

Sam nodded at the statement, then stood up and with his hands clasped behind his back began to recite the poem.

Grey as a mouse,
Big as a house,
Nose like a snake,
I make the earth shake,
As I tramp through the grass;
Trees crack as I pass…*

Merry heard Frodo’s laughter as he reached the end of the smial. It seemed to be coming from outside, from above him. He heart leapt to hear it and he followed the sound up the garden path. By the time he reached to summit of the great smial, Sam had retaken his seat next to his master and they were both looking over the Party Field, pointing at the various hobbits running about and speaking quietly to each other. Frodo laughed again at something Sam said.

“Frodo?” Merry said, making his presence known.

Frodo looked back at the sound of his best friend’s voice and stood up to greet him. Sam also leapt to his feet, his hand clapped to his forehead. “Oh, ninnyhammer! I’m sorry Master Merry, I forgot. I was supposed to take you down to him, sir,” he explained to Frodo.

“It’s all right, Sam,” Frodo said. “Why don’t you go down to the Party Field instead and let Merry’s parents know where he is. Then organize the other gardeners and start hauling folks back to their homes. After that, I want you to get some rest. You’ll need whatever energy you can muster to help with the cleaning up tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. Good night sir, Master Merry. And I’ll be up tomorrow after the clean up before I head home to see if you need anything.”

“Thank you Sam, for everything,” Frodo said, patting his gardener on the shoulder, and with that, Sam was gone.

Frodo turned his attention at last to his friend. It had been difficult avoiding him all day. He had wanted nothing more than to confide in Merry from the moment he arrived. “I’m glad you came.”

“Of course I came. You didn’t think there was any possible way you’d escape a prank like that without explanation, now did you?” Merry joked.

Frodo laughed. “I suppose I should have known better,” he joked back.

“Yes you should have. You know the inquisitiveness of Brandybucks better than that.”

So finally, after a day of painful evasiveness, Frodo sat with his cousin and explained everything from the beginning, about Bilbo deciding to leave and at last handing over Bag End to his heir. Merry listened, never interrupting, though it was clear there were a great many details Frodo was leaving out. He asked no questions, but offered to stay and help with whatever tomorrow may bring. Frodo gladly accepted the offer and embraced his friend gratefully. “Oh Merry, whatever would I do without you?”

Merry patted Frodo on the back and released him from the embrace. He smirked at his cousin. “Steal the jacket off your gardener’s back apparently. Really, Cousin, you should be more considerate.”

Frodo looked down at the jacket still draped over his shoulders, forgotten until now. “Poor Sam! He must be freezing by now.”

Merry shook his head. “He knows you’re warm. He’ll be fine enough,” he said. Then something on the road caught his eye. “Ah, there are the folks. Best go down and greet them.”  

Saradoc and Esmeralda agreed to let Merry stay at Bag End alone with Frodo. They knew how much Frodo relied on Merry, who had often been the only one able to cheer the lad when he was living at Brandy Hall. They wouldn’t dream of separating the two now, after the events of tonight.

But Saradoc was upset. He always knew the Road would call to Bilbo again, but he had hoped Bilbo would put it off another few years at least, for Frodo’s sake. To leave the lad on his birthday, his coming of age no less, was careless of the old hobbit. Frodo may be officially an adult, but he still needed support to become comfortably settled into his new role. To be thrust into the position of Master of the Hill by a trick of poor taste that landed Frodo in the hot seat was beyond tolerance. Saradoc doubted he would ever see Bilbo again, but if he did, he would give the old fool a stern lecturing for his treatment of Frodo tonight.

Esmeralda was of similar mind as her husband, though she was also more forgiving. She doubted this was as shocking for Frodo as it was for everyone else. Bilbo wouldn’t have left without giving his heir some sort of forewarning. She only hoped she could convince the lad to come to them if things became too much, or if he needed advice or anything else. Frodo was always so stubbornly independent, from the time he was a wee child, and living with a stubborn, independent bachelor the last twelve years hadn't gone far to remedy that.

Pippin begged to be able to stay with his friends, but everyone was against it. Paladin and Tina didn’t want to impose the hassle upon Frodo who, despite his calm demeanor, seemed ready to unravel at any moment. He didn’t need a child under foot come morning, when all of Hobbiton and Bywater and many of their relations who were camping in the area would return to hang upon the bell. Tina offered to stay behind to help in any way she could, but Frodo insisted that with Merry’s help everything would get taken care of.

Seeing he was getting nowhere with the adults, Pippin pleaded with Merry to stay, giving him the pout that always worked when he wanted his way. Only this time, it didn’t work. Merry was sympathetic to Pippin’s wishes, but he felt the same as their parents: Pippin would only get in the way. Pippin stomped out of the smial when he heard Merry’s verdict, his arms crossed and shoulders drawn tight with resentment. He refused to come inside again, going to sit in the carriage and vent. He didn’t even slow down when Merry called to him to wait.

Minutes later, the carriages left, heading back to Whitwell. A pony was left tied to the gate for Merry’s use when he was ready to return to the farm, where his parents would wait for him. He was given strict orders to not keep them waiting more than two days. There was no one left in charge at Buckland, as even old Master Rory had come to the party and he would be taking his time in returning to visit with numerous relations along the way, with Merimac going with him to make sure his father didn’t get sidetracked at all the inns.

Frodo returned briefly to the party. Folk were still demanding to know what was going on, and by this time even those who had not been in the pavilion had heard all about what happened. He made a general announcement that everything would be sorted out come morning and said nothing more. He returned the jacket to Sam, who accepted it gratefully, then returned home.

By the time he returned, Merry had made tea and had the fire going in the parlor, filling the room with light and warmth. The two friends spoke long into the night, remembering Bilbo’s many oddities with affection and admiration, until they finally drifted off to sleep where they sat on the old hobbit’s favorite red rocking chair.
 
 

To be continued…
 

GF 5/23/04
 

* – from The Two Towers, The Black Gate is Closed

4. The Pact

24 Halimath, 1401 SR

“Thank you for your help Merry,” Frodo said as Merry sat upon his pony. It was the morning of the second day after the Party and Merry’s time was up.

“I’ll come and visit again as soon as I am able,” Merry said. “I could probably get away after harvest.” Merry was not happy about having to leave his friend so soon. He could still see the shock in Frodo’s eyes, and he didn’t like that the wizard had left so unexpectedly yesterday afternoon. Merry had “accidentally” eavesdropped on part of their conversation and he had not liked what he heard. From Frodo’s silence at dinner, he could tell that Frodo hadn’t liked it either.

“It may be too cold to travel after harvest,” Frodo said now, thinking only of his friend’s comfort.

“Oh no you don’t, cousin. You won’t weasel yourself out of a visit,” Merry said. “But you’ll be fine by yourself until then? Maybe I could convince Father to let me come back immediately, once I smooth things over with Pippin. I could stay on a couple of weeks.”

Frodo smiled, grateful for his friend’s concern. He did not know how he would have made it through yesterday without Merry’s help. Between Lobelia and Otho, his numerous other relations running the tunnels and arguing over Bilbo’s gifts, and that tussle with Sancho Proudfoot, he had been sorely tempted to just pack it in and take after Bilbo as fast as his feet could carry him. To top it off, Gandalf had arrived and left just as quickly, speaking very mysteriously and clearly troubled about Bilbo’s ring. It had been one worry after another and Frodo was exhausted. He would accept his friend’s offer of help and company in a heartbeat, but he didn’t want Merry to feel obligated should Saradoc object.

“Only if Uncle Sara has no reservations,” Frodo replied. “I don’t want you coercing him into letting you stay here.”

“Of course not,” Merry vowed. Then he smiled mischievously. “That’s what Mother’s for.”

Frodo laughed and swatted the pony lightly on the rump. The pony started slowly. “Get on with you then. And I want to hear more about those tadpoles someday. You should have told me. I would like to have seen that.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merry said with a too-innocent smile. He waved good-bye and checked his pony into a gait. He turned east when he reached the Road and began rehearsing what he would say to make Pippin forgive him.  

Merry set out to find Pippin as soon as he arrived at his uncle’s house. He knew his young friend was upset with him and he was eager to get back into his good graces, hoping it would not be too difficult. He had never seen Pippin angry before and it worried him more than he cared to admit.

After stabling the pony and greeting his parents, he went out in search of his cousin. He found Pippin in the first place he looked: the little pond at the far end of the lower fields. Pippin was busy pushing aside lily pads in search of frogs, fish and whatever else he could find. Merry approached from behind and sat down next to him. He smiled and nodded toward the pond.

“How’s the hunting?” Merry asked and was promptly ignored as Pippin abandoned his task and walked away. Pippin was angrier than he had thought. He stood up and followed his cousin closely.

“Have you used that fishing kit yet? I thought we’d ride out to the river later today or early tomorrow morning. Or you could bring it to Buckland, or we could wait for the next time we’re in Hobbiton. There’s good fishing in the Water.”

If Pippin was listening, he gave no indication of it and continued walking aimlessly away from the fields. Had Merry not been so desperate to make amends, he would have felt ridiculous to be tagging after his young friend as he was.

“I still have my sparklers,” Merry said. “Maybe after dinner when it gets dark we could light them up.”

Pippin stopped and looked around. Was he listening, or looking for the best way to lose him? He waited to see what Pippin would do next and was encouraged when the lad sat down under a tree, even if he did continue to ignore him by pretending to watch the ants climbing up the tree’s trunk.

Merry kneeled in the grass behind him. Charm would get him only so far. It was time to switch to pleading and reasoning. “Pippin, please,” he said. “I’m sorry, all right. I know you wanted to help, but I wasn’t even sure that I would be able to help all that much. As it happened, Bag End was stampeded by every single one of our pushy and rude relations yesterday. It was no place for a child. You would have been trampled.”

Pippin picked up a twig and coaxed some ants onto it. He watched them crawl up and down the small branch for a few moments, and finally spoke. “I’m not a child,” he pouted. “I could have helped.”

“Perhaps you could have,” Merry said. He doubted it still but was he was willing to say anything at this point to keep Pippin talking to him. “We certainly could have used your cheer after we evicted Lobelia from the grounds.”

“Did she say anything about the tadpoles?” Pippin asked excitedly, momentarily forgetting that he was angry.

“No, she was more interested in the will and sneaking things into her umbrella.”

“We should have put a tadpole in her umbrella,” Pippin said with regret. Why hadn’t they thought of that?

“Hindsight is always clearest,” Merry agreed. “I know Frodo could have done with some cheering up right about then.”

At the mention of Frodo’s name, Pippin’s glum mood returned. His smile faded and he squinted at his friend with scrutinizing eyes. “Why don’t you like sharing Frodo with me?” he asked at last.

“What?” Merry said in surprise. How could Pippin think such a thing? Pippin was always with the two of them at family functions and gatherings. Though he did admit he liked spending time alone with Frodo, but that wasn’t at the exclusion of Pippin. There was simply a bond there that his young cousin could not understand. “I share him with you. You know our group isn’t complete if you’re not along. It’s just, he’s more a brother to me than a cousin. I don’t have any siblings of my own and neither does he. We’ve always sort of relied on each other to fill that hole.”

“Well, you’re the only brothers I have too,” Pippin replied. “Do you have any idea what it’s like living with three older sisters? They’re always trying to dress me up like a doll or make me model their dresses.”

Merry raised his eyebrows at this revelation, suddenly very glad indeed he’d never had an older sister. No wonder Pippin was always so eager to see any of his male cousins and to sleep in Merry’s room when they came to Buckland, rather than the guest rooms with his sisters. Merry knew now what he had to do.

“Tell you what,” Merry offered, “next time something important comes up with Frodo I’ll let you help. We might even be able to convince our parents to let us visit Frodo at the same time, as long as Frodo approves of it. The three of us could be brothers to each other. What do you say?”

Pippin grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I say: you owe me one.”  

There was no way he would get away with this. He muttered under his breath, cursing his diabolical cousin for making him prove his word. He had hoped to return to Bag End when he and his parents left tomorrow for Buckland, and had thought he would take Pippin with Paladin and Tina’s consent to prove he had meant what he said. But Pippin had a different idea and now Merry would be lucky if he wasn’t on restriction until Yule.

He stepped swiftly and silently to the bedroom window. The weather was warm still and the window stood open to the night breeze. He peeked inside and squinted into the darkness, trying to make out where the sleeping forms lay. Bracing himself for all manner of madness to break loose, he lit the makeshift fuse, tossed the bundle onto the bedroom floor and ran for it.

He was halfway back to Pippin’s room when the sparklers went off, waking the lasses with startled yelps. He heard the adults banging out of their rooms just as he reached Pippin’s window and jumped inside. He locked the window shut and jumped into bed, settling in and pretending to be sound asleep just in time for the bedroom door to open.  

Saradoc and Paladin looked at the still forms of their sons and shook their heads. Obviously, their sons were not sleeping. No one could sleep through the racket the Took daughters were making. One day, their sons would be expert troublemakers, but they still made mistakes from time to time. Had they wanted to put on a convincing show, they would be sitting up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and acting confused about the noise.

Saradoc and Paladin looked at each other, conversing with their eyes.

‘Do we punish them?’

‘No, the lasses will take care of that.’

They smiled. The lasses were just as diabolical as the lads, though their sons had yet to realize that. They nodded in agreement and shut the door softly behind them.  

Several tense moments followed after the bedroom door opened, and Merry was positive they were caught and done for. But then the door closed again and he could hear the sound of footsteps retreating back to the lasses’ room. A few more moments later, the lasses had calmed down and silence reigned through the house once more.

Rather than being relieved, Merry was worried. Why hadn’t their parents punished them? This was not a good sign.

“Merry?” Pippin said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes Pip?”

“You didn’t really have to, you know?”

“Yes I did. That’s what a big brother would do, after all. Do you forgive me now?”

Pippin smiled and wriggled closer into his cousin’s embrace. “I forgive you always.”

Merry brushed Pippin’s curls away from his face and kissed his forehead tenderly. “Good night, Pipsqueak.”

“Good night, Mer-Bear.”

The End.

GF 6/26/04

5: Pimpernel, Pervinca and Pearl’s Perfectly Plotted Prank

Frodo 33, Pearl 26, Pimpernel 22, Sam 21, Merry 19, Pervinca 16, Pippin 11 (about 21, 16, 14, 13, 12, 10 and 7 in Man years)

Yule, 1401 SR

“We head for Bag End tomorrow,” Pearl said. “We’re all still resolved to do this?”

Pimpernel and Pervinca nodded earnestly. They were sitting on their beds in the dark, since they were supposed to be asleep, and they each had a determined look on their pretty faces.

“It’s far past the time Pippin and Merry get what’s coming to them,” Pimmie stated. She thought back on all the years of pranks the two miscreants had played on them, ending with that set of sparklers thrown into their bedroom window three months ago. The time for pay back had arrived at last.

Pervinca was instrumental to their plans. She was closest to Pippin in age and temperament and had even been a co-conspirator in some of Pippin’s ploys in the past. As a result, she also knew more about him, and therefore Merry, than the other lasses did. They would need that knowledge before the end. They needed it now, actually.

“You’re certain they’ll fall for it?” Pearl asked her youngest sister now.

“I’m certain that Pippin will. The only hitch will be Merry. He's visited Bag End far more often than he have. He might not be so easily convinced,” Vinca said.

They thought about this conflict in silence. This was a snag they had constantly run into while smoothing out the details of their plan: Merry’s superior knowledge of Bag End.

“But who knows Bag End better than Frodo?” Vinca said. Her sisters looked at her questioningly. She was answering her own silent questions again, but that also meant she was thinking and that was always a good sign. “We have to let Frodo know what we’re planning anyhow. If he’s willing to help us, he may know something that we could use. If not, his word alone should be more than enough to convince Merry.”

Pearl smiled wickedly. The plan had just been perfected. She could see it perfectly in her mind, and it was beautiful. “Let me speak with Frodo when we get there,” she said. “He enjoys a good game himself from time to time. And if he is not willing to help, well, there’s always Plan B.”

The lasses snickered amongst themselves. Yule could not come quickly enough.  

The round green door to Bag End swung open and out popped Merry. He had heard the carriage rolling up the hill and dashed out to greet his cousins, uncle and aunt. He and Pippin embraced fiercely and started chatting eagerly about the upcoming holiday. Frodo came out a few minutes later, followed by Merry’s parents. Once all greetings were made, Frodo showed everyone to their rooms.

Pippin of course would be rooming with Merry, in the room across from Frodo’s and next to Saradoc and Esmeralda. Next to them would be Paladin and Eglantine, and at the far end, in the room closest to the pantries, the lasses would stay.

The lasses smiled sweetly at Frodo when he brought in their luggage. For three lasses who would be staying only four days, they certainly packed a lot of clothes. There were at least two bags for each of them. He noticed also that the lassess were watching him closely, a strangely expectant expression on their faces. Frodo shook his head, both at the lasses’ odd behavior and at their excessive amount of luggage, as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the end of the tunnel.  

“I’m so happy Mum and Da agreed to this,” Pippin said as he bounced on the bed in his and Merry’s room. “Will there be a grand feast?”

“There always has been in the past, though they were never anything as spectacular as Brandy Hall or Great Smials,” Merry said. He had only spent a few Yule holidays at Bag End, but he remembered them all with perfect clarity. “Now that’s Bilbo’s gone, I don’t know what to expect. Frodo may have planned things differently.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Pippin asked. He bent his knees further and pushed up with more force. He was trying to jump high enough touch the ceiling and was convinced he was about to succeed.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” came an amused voice from the doorway.

Pippin abruptly stopped jumping and plopped down on the bed, which continued to waver up and down as it recovered from its abuse. Merry whirled around where he stood and grinned sheepishly at his cousin. Frodo shook his head and left the room, chuckling to himself. All his young cousins were in very strange or playful moods today. When he was halfway down the tunnel, he called back over his shoulder to all his cousins, “Time to wash up. Dinner’s ready.”  

After dinner, cooked with expert care by Esmeralda, the matrons and lasses set about washing the dishes. Frodo, Paladin and Saradoc went outside to smoke their pipes and take in the night air, while Merry and Pippin went into the parlor to start a fire in the hearth. Frodo was on his way to join them when Pearl cut him off.

“Frodo?” she said. “Could you help me locate something in one of the pantries?”

“Certainly,” Frodo said. “What do you need?”

“Shampoo,” she said. So Frodo went with her to the pantry and quickly found the requested item. He handed it to her but she did not take it. “Actually,” she said, “what I really need is your help with something.”

Frodo raised his eyebrows in surprise. This sounded like a conspiracy. Somehow, he had never pictured Pippin’s level-headed oldest sister as the conspiratorial type and he was curious to find out what this was all about. “With what?” he asked.

Pearl stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “With justice.”

Thirty minutes later, she entered the kitchen, bottle of shampoo in hand. Her sisters looked at her inquisitively when their mother and aunt weren’t looking, and she smiled smugly. The board was set.  

“So what do you have planned for Yule, Frodo?” Merry asked later that night as everyone sat in the parlor by the fire, keeping each other company.

“Well, there’s a night social at The Ivy Bush every year that folk here greatly enjoy,” Frodo said. “I thought it would be fun to attend this year.”

In previous years, the job of finding fun things to do had always landed on Bilbo. Now that Frodo was on his own, he would have to shoulder that responsibility and he was worried about the prospect of having to entertain his guests for four days. He figured the social would be the best way to get through at least one of them and it would also allow his relatives the opportunity to get to know the residents of Hobbiton better. Maybe once they saw that he had friends here, they wouldn’t worry about him being on his own so much, even if he himself still wondered if he was up to the task.

Of course, at the first mention of a dance, the lasses were instantly intrigued. They started chattering about what to wear and did they bring the proper accessories. Merry and Pippin rolled their eyes at the talk and mocked the lasses’ conversation behind their backs. Frodo smiled and decided this was the perfect opportunity to put the lasses’ plan into motion.

“I just hope Bag End is still in one piece when we get back,” he said, feigning concern with expert ease. Everyone looked at him curiously. “I should have told you sooner,” he said apologetically, “but I was afraid if you knew, you wouldn’t come. You see, Bag End has a ghost.”

“A ghost?” asked Merry incredulously. “Since when?” Pippin looked at his eldest cousin with confusion and a hint of worry.

The adults raised their eyebrows, wondering where this was going and figuring it was just a simple ghost story to scare their children with on their first night at Bag End. As long as it didn’t get too frightening, they would sit back and see what kind of story Frodo had come up with. Most ‘ghosts’ were greatly known for rattling their chains, or making things go missing, or attempting to eat badly behaving children in their sleep. Frodo’s imagination was a little more lively than the average hobbit though.

The lasses were instantly enthralled. They had not expected for Frodo to get things started already, but they were ready. Pimpernel closely but discreetly watched Merry and Pippin to gauge their reactions, and Pervinca and Pearl prepared to make mental notes on everything Frodo said. Pearl had told him the basics of their plan, but she also said he could improvise whatever he needed to make the story convincing.

Frodo sat back in the rocking chair and managed the most convincing performance he had ever pulled in his life, and he had pulled quite a few. He drew his knees up to his chest, something he did only when he was truly in despair. This got Merry’s attention marvelously. Frodo then bit on his bottom lip, as though contemplating whether or not he should really go through with it and tell them the horrible truth. Finally, he sighed and squared his shoulders, but then hung his head so he wouldn’t have to look at everyone’s frightened faces when he was finished.

“All right,” he said at last. “You really do have the right to know and I’ll understand if you choose to leave.

“The ghost is fairly old actually, he’s been here since old Bungo excavated the Hill to build Bag End. In life, the ghost had been one of the workers who excavated the hill. One day, there was a horrible accident. They hadn’t placed enough support beams in the hole and it caved in, burying several workers. Everyone got out, except for one. He was trapped in the back, near where the bedrooms are, and he was suffocated. They eventually dug him out and carried him away for a proper burial, but his spirit never left.

“He haunts the whole Hill and mostly likes to spend his time down in Bagshot Row, since there’s more people there to haunt and have fun with. He’ll make sounds as if the earth is going to cave in and make the entire smial shake. He’ll go around trying to knock people off their feet, by pulling rugs out from under them or tripping them by some other means. If he’s feeling particularly vengeful, he’ll go and get an armload of dirt and throw it upon people while they sleep. He almost buried old Daddy Twofoot once. The old hobbit woke up just in time to save his nose from being covered in dirt.

“Every once in a while, the ghost will make his way back up here, usually around the anniversary of his death, which was in the spring. That’s why Bilbo was always so eager to come with me to your birthday parties Merry. Not that he didn’t enjoy seeing you and the family, he did of course, but it also got me away from the smial. He was terribly worried the ghost would try to do something horrible to me, as he has a penchant for young hobbit lads and I had chosen the room closest to where he died. Right where you two are, Merry.

“True enough, the ghost has never come up here for Yule before. As I said, he prefers to keep to where the people are. The more people he has to haunt, the happier he is. Unfortunately, the Twofoots are in Overhill this year, and the Goodloves are away, visiting their relations in Needlehole. Even Sam’s brothers were unable to come visit for the holiday. The Hill is entirely vacant but for us and the Gamgees, but as the Gamgees don’t keep rugs on their floor and we have plenty here…”

Merry laughed. “That’s rather convincing, Frodo, you almost had me going there for a moment. But I know for a fact that the Gamgees have rugs. I was down there last year remember, when May fell ill and you wanted to check on her.”

“Yes, they did have rugs then,” Frodo conceded, “until the ghost pulled one out from under the Gaffer last month and he nearly broke his hip. They removed all the rugs after that. Maybe I should put all my rugs away until you leave, even if that is tomorrow.”

“We’ll leave when we are scheduled to leave, no sooner,” Esmeralda said. What an intriguing story her young cousin had come up with. She almost half believed it herself.

After a while, the adults grew weary and called it a night. The lasses, turning their attention back to the dance, decided to go through their bags and start pulling together their attire. Merry and Pippin stayed up, though Pippin was falling asleep against Merry’s arm. Paladin had tried to take Pippin to bed early, but the youngster had refused to leave Merry’s side. Pippin didn’t want to admit it, but the story of the ghost had scared him and he didn’t want to go to bed until Merry was there to keep him company.

Merry sat and watched as Frodo went through the parlor and into the tunnel, pulling up all the rugs and folding them up. “Frodo,” Merry said. “Really, that isn’t necessary. I know it was just a story.”

Frodo turned and looked at his dearest cousin with a concerned expression. “Better safe than sorry. I am not going to give that ghost any opportunity to hurt any of you. Why don’t you take Pip to bed now, and try not to wake him.”

“I’m not asleep,” Pippin muttered in a barely audible whisper.

Shaking his head, Merry helped Pippin to his feet and led his young cousin down the tunnel to their room. 'Really, who did Frodo think he was fooling?' Merry thought as he tucked Pippin and himself into bed. 'Well, he didn’t fool me.'

He closed his eyes and was drifting off to sleep when a floor board creaked outside the closed door. He bolted upright, fully awake and alert, then chuckled as he realized it was just Frodo turning in for the night. He forced himself to relax again and snuggled next to his sleeping companion. “No, not me,” he mumbled as sleep finally took him.  

Sam Gamgee came to work early the following morning. He had a lot of people to cook for and wanted to get started early. He stepped soundlessly through the front door and padded silently into the pantry. After gathering everything he would need in order to make breakfast, he went into the kitchen and set everything down on the counter, then opened up a cupboard to pull out the necessary pots and pans. He plopped these down on the stove top and turned his attention to lighting the oven.

“Good morning Sam.”

Sam jumped at the unexpected greeting and whirled around with his hand over his heart to find Frodo standing at the kitchen door. “Lor' bless me, Mr. Frodo, but you gave me a fright, sir.”

“I’m sorry Sam. Here, let me help,” Frodo said, walking over to the oven to lend a hand.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary sir. I can manage just fine. I’m quite used to cooking for a large family,” Sam insisted and went back to lighting the oven. He wondered why his master was up so early but knew his place enough not to ask.

Frodo decided it was best to stay out of Sam’s way, but he didn’t leave. He had something he needed to ask Sam and he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. His servant was faithfully honest, and Frodo was reluctant to bring him into this prank of the lasses. The only reason he contemplated it at all was that he knew Merry would approach the gardener at some point today and Frodo wanted all the bases covered if possible.

“Sam,” he said after Sam had the fire lit. “I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you?”

“Certainly, sir. Anything you want,” Sam replied automatically.

“Let me explain first before you agree or disagree, Sam,” Frodo said with a smile. If there was one thing to be said of Sam it was that he was always willing to help, but Frodo could not accept his blind obedience on this and tried to make that clear. “This is a personal favor and has nothing to do with your normal duties, so you would be quite within your right to say no. I don’t want you to feel obligated under any circumstances to go along with it.”

“With what, sir?” Sam asked.

Frodo briefly explained everything, from Merry and Pippin’s sparklers to the story he made up last night. “I know Merry, and he’ll ask you if it’s true or not. I was wondering, if you did not mind, if you would go along with it and tell him that it is.”

“That’d be lying, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said uncomfortably. His gaffer would thump him good if it was ever found out that Sam lied to anyone, much less to one of his betters. Yet, how could he say no to his master and ruin his prank on top of it? “I’d have to think about it, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Of course I don’t mind, Sam, I understand perfectly. I’ve been assured the lasses have a back up plan if this one doesn’t go through, so don’t worry about ruining anything,” Frodo said, almost as if he had read Sam's mind. He yawned then and stretched. He was up much earlier than his normal hour and could use a little more sleep. “I think I’ll go back to bed for a while longer. Wake me when everyone is ready to eat.”

Sam nodded and waited until he heard his master’s bedroom door close before he went back to his cooking. He had a lot of thinking to do.  

The lasses were already awake when Sam arrived. They were sitting on their bed and cots, busy finishing their dresses for the dance and plotting the next step of their prank.

“How are we supposed to trip them?” Pimmie asked. Frodo had really thrown them a bramble there, and it didn’t help that he had gone through the smial and put away all the rugs.

Pervinca had this covered however. “That’s easy. Water on the floor, or some other such thing will take care of that perfectly. They’ll try to talk it away as coincidental, and that’ll be even better. The more they try to convince themselves there’s no ghost, the more they’ll believe that there is one.”

“And I’ve already figured it out about the dirt,” Pearl said. “It’ll only be a minor alteration to our original plan. Phase two is today. We’ll have to be on the look out for a way of tripping them, nothing that will hurt them too much. We also need to look for something that will sound like the earth caving in.”

“Rocks,” Pervinca said. “Some rocks in a tin with some dirt. We can go outside their bedroom door and just shake the tin up and down.”

“And wake everyone else up while we’re at it,” Pimpernel countered.

“Then we’ll have to wake them. But that’s the least of our worries. What if Sam doesn’t go along?” Pervinca asked. She had the bedroom door cracked open and was listening to the conversation in the kitchen. “Frodo’s explaining it right now, but it doesn’t sound hopeful.”

“We’ll go to Plan B,” Pearl reminded them. “It’ll work just as well, and really is more fitting to the sort of thing they do.”

“No, it’s too simple,” Pimmie countered. “They’ll just think we’re joking and try to get back at us. That’s why we went to this plan. No, if this doesn’t work, we’ll have to go back to the drawing board.”

“Great,” said Pervinca. “Now Sam’s saying he’ll have to think about it. Pearl, you might have to go in.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Pearl said. “We’ll just stay close to Merry and Pippin today. When they approach him and if it seems like Sam isn’t going to go along, we can always barge in and interrupt the conversation. Now, let’s finish these up and try them on.”

The lasses nodded and returned to their dresses, closing the door just as Frodo stepped into the tunnel.  

“Sam! Just the person I was looking for,” Merry said as he strolled into the kitchen a couple of hours later. Pippin followed closely behind him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning Master Merry, Master Pippin, sirs. Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully,” Merry said, not at all interested in small talk. “Tell me Sam, I heard a rather unusual story last night and I was wondering if you could confirm it.”

Sam turned back to the oven and concentrated on flipping the bacon and sausages. “What story would this be, sir?”

“Oh, just some absurd story about a ghost in the Hill.”

“Absurd,” echoed Pippin. Now that it was daylight again, he found it easier to believe Merry when he said the story was just a joke. Imagine, a ghost in Bag End! They would have heard about it by now if it were true.

Sam didn’t turn around and kept his eyes strictly on the food as he answered. He hoped they didn’t notice his hands shaking, and he prayed desperately this wouldn’t get back to his gaffer. “He told you that sirs?”

“He did. But it’s not really true is it Sam?” Merry said with confidence. “I mean, I’ve never heard tell of it before and you would think something like that would be well known.”

“Oh, but it wouldn’t be, sir,” Sam said. “It’s harmless enough to make up ghost stories and tell them about the fireside. It’s quite another matter when there’s a real ghost, as you’ve got to be careful, see, or you might offend the ghost, and that’ll only make it angrier. No one except those as live there would ever know if a place was haunted, and the information should only be shared if absolutely necessary. If Mr. Frodo told you, it’s only because he believes there’s a danger.”

There, that hadn’t been so bad, and technically most of it was not a lie. The folklore in this part of the Shire did dictate that real ghosts were never mentioned near the areas that they haunted, and if anything odd happened, it was to be assumed it was just coincidence or bad luck. Plus, Mr. Frodo did believe that Merry and Pippin were in danger, just not from a real ghost.

Merry and Pippin were silent for several moments. Pippin was worried again and looking around the smial with suspicious, frightened eyes. Merry was skeptical. “Frodo got to you already, didn’t he?”

Sam removed the bacon and sausage from the skillet and poured in the eggs. “Mr. Frodo’s asleep, sir,” he answered truthfully. “I’m not supposed to wake him until breakfast is ready.”

“And when will that be?” Paladin asked as he and Eglantine entered the kitchen, with Saradoc and Esmeralda following them. They had missed all but the last two lines of the conversation. “That food smells delightful, Samwise.”

“We could have managed that, lad,” Eglantine said, “but it does smell wonderful. Frodo’s always bragging about what a good cook you are. I can hardly wait to eat it.”

Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, mumbled a thank you and stirred the eggs fervently. Within minutes, he gladly announced breakfast was ready and placed the food out on the kitchen table. Then he dashed off to Frodo’s bedroom, bumping into Pippin’s sisters along the way. They gave him silent looks of gratitude as they passed by, which Sam tried not to notice.

When he reached Frodo’s door, he knocked twice and entered. He went to the window and threw open the curtains and window. “Breakfast is ready, Mr. Frodo, and everyone’s awake,” he said in his usual cheerful voice. Then he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and said, “I went along with it like you wanted sir, but I still don’t think it’s proper, begging your pardon.”

Frodo smiled and sat up. “Pardon granted, Sam, but only if you pardon me for involving you without getting your consent beforehand. That was terribly improper of me and I apologize.”

Sam nodded with a smile and stepped out of the room so his master could get ready for the day.  

The lasses waited until they were getting ready for the social to execute the second phase of their plan. They made sure their parents, aunt and uncle were occupied getting ready, then went into the lads’ room while the lads were washing up in the first bathing room.

Vinca had some water with a dash of oil in it. She poured some of this near the wardrobe and spread it out to a long thin puddle. Pimmie and Pearl busied themselves tying a brown piece of sewing thread around the bottom of the bed post and stringing it across the room to the desk. They made sure there was nothing in the way that would cause harm when their brother and cousin fell, then silently stepped out of the room and back down the tunnel. When everything was back where it belonged, Pearl went and banged on the bathing room door.

“Pippin, you better not be making a pond in there. Hurry up, us lasses still need to get ready!” she demanded in her most annoyed and authoritative voice. They heard some mumbling and murmuring inside. A few minutes later, Merry and Pippin came out, clearly not pleased about being evicted.

“It’s about time,” Pimpernel complained in turn. “We hardly have two hours now to get ready. What were you doing in there all this time anyway?”

“Just bathing,” said Merry, which was partly true. They were also going over any and all strange occurrences they could ever remember being witness to in Bag End over the years. They had been trying to decide if any of them gave merit to a ghost when Pippin’s sisters banged on the door.

“Well, I hope you remembered to get more water heated up,” Pervinca said. “We can’t afford to lose any more time.”

“We did,” Pippin said, annoyed now himself. Did his sisters really have to remind him about these things all the time? “And we dumped the old water and even brought out the clean towels. And see? We’re taking the old towels to the laundry bin.”

“Don’t get smart,” Pearl warned and the lasss went into the bathing room, closing the door soundly behind them. A few moments later, they heard the lads entering their room down the tunnel and smirked at each other. They would know soon if their plan worked.

Not more than a few minutes passed before the lasses heard the lads' cries of surprise, first Pippin and then Merry. Merry had gone to the bed to finish drying and brushing out his hair and Pippin had gone to the wardrobe to bring out their clothes. They didn’t have any formal suits with them, but they weren’t too worried about it. They simply picked out the best clothes they had with them, figuring that would be more than fine.

Pippin closed the wardrobe and turned to hand the clothes to Merry. That’s when he stepped upon the oily water. His foot flew straight out from under him and he fell backwards with a startled yelp.

“Pippin! Are you all right?” Merry exclaimed as he jumped up from the bed and went to dash to his friend’s side. Only he tripped himself as soon as he took his first step. It felt as if something had tangled with his feet, but as he picked himself up and looked at the ground he could see nothing. The thread that tripped him had snapped after the impact and the broken pieces of thread had fallen to the ground, where they blended in perfectly with the wood floor.

“Merry?” Pippin asked, panic evident in his voice. “What just happened? It’s the ghost isn’t it? I don’t want to sleep in here tonight.”

“Oh, Pip, come on,” Merry said in as calming a voice as he could manage. “Look, you just tripped on some water. I told you to dry up better than you did. And I probably just tripped my own self trying to get to you. That’s all that happened.”

Pippin nodded but didn’t look convinced. He was perfectly dry and hadn’t dripped water anywhere, and Merry was the least clumsy person he knew. He cast his eyes about the room and took his clothes so he could change next to Merry, constantly bumping into him, he stood so close. Merry put up with it, mostly because he was still shaken himself, but he continued to insist that it was all coincidental.

They managed to forget out the strange occurrence once they got to The Ivy Bush and started dancing. The night passed quickly, and there was much food and drink to enjoy. The lasses were a little overdressed, but they didn’t mind as they got a lot of attention from the lads for it. Paladin, Saradoc, Eglantine and Esmeralda mingled with the other adults and found out that the inhabitants of Hobbiton favored Frodo very highly. Frodo himself had quite a lot of fun dancing with Daisy and May Gamgee and some of the other lasses from in and around Hobbiton.

They returned home late, with a sleeping Pippin being carried by Paladin up the Hill. Paladin put his son to bed, then the lasses went to change into more comfortable clothes as the adults went into the parlor for a late cup of tea. Merry went back to his room, exhausted himself, and turned in for the night.

An hour later, Eglantine and Esmeralda checked to make sure their children were sleeping soundly then turned in themselves. Paladin and Saradoc finished up their pipes a few minutes later, and Frodo went around the smial putting out fires and making sure all was secure for the night. Soon, the house was submerged in peaceful darkness and snores could be heard coming from the happily sleeping inhabitants.

CRASH! BANG! SLAM!

The noise was enough to wake the dead and soon everyone was climbing out of bed, wondering what on this green earth could be making such a racket. Five doors opened nearly simultaneously and everyone poured out into the tunnel, Paladin and Saradoc carrying candles.

“What was that?” Esmeralda exclaimed, her heart racing.

No one knew and everyone stood about for a few minutes, waking up. Then Pippin let out a cry and ran to hide behind his father’s legs. He pointed at the floor. They looked down and lowered their candles to where he pointed. There, in the middle of the tunnel outside the lads’ room, was a pile of dirt.

“It’s the ghost,” Pippin wailed.

Eglantine bent down to comfort her youngest and fixed Frodo with a questioning expression. “Is there really a ghost then?” she asked. Maybe they should leave, if Pippin was this frightened.

Frodo shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Mostly, he’s just content to make noise,” he said. “It’s only in the spring when he gets cranky.” He squatted until he was eye-height with Pippin. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight, Pip?”

Pippin shook his head. “I want Mum and Da,” he said.

“Of course dear,” Eglantine soothed. She took Pippin’s hand and led him into the room.

“Can we sleep with you too?” Pervinca asked her father. Pimpernel and Pearl nodded, their faces full of fear. “I can sleep with you, can’t I Frodo?” Merry asked.

Frodo nodded and let his cousin into his room. Then he turned and began to go inside himself when Pervinca asked, “What about the mess?”

Frodo merely shrugged. “Leave it. It’ll be gone by morning. He's really a very tidy ghost,” he said and fixed the lasses with a brief, but pointed, look. Then he closed the door behind him.

So in the middle of the night, Pimpernel pretended to have to use the privy and Pearl accompanied her. They cleaned up the mess, glad that the second phase of their plan had been so successful. Tomorrow night would be the third and final phase.  

The next day progressed with no incidents. Frodo had a private conversation with the adults and explained what exactly was going on. Paladin and Saradoc laughed. Eglantine and Esmeralda looked scandalized. “Pippin could hardly sleep last night. How could you agree to this Frodo?” Eglantine scolded. “I’m putting an end to this.”

“Now, Tina,” Paladin said, “it’s just a prank. As soon as Pippin finds out there’s no ghost, he won’t be frightened anymore. And I daresay he’ll learn a lesson about messing with his sisters.”

Frodo left the adults to argue over the best course of action and went to find his friends. They were sitting outside in the garden, in the part farthest from the smial. He couldn’t help but laugh when he found them. They did not appreciate his mirth, but he sat down with them and leaned in to whisper to them.

“You know what the ghost doesn’t like and avoids at all times?” he said. Merry and Pippin shook their heads, instantly intrigued. “Garlic. Put cloves of garlic around your bed and you’ll be fine. It’s the smell you see. He doesn’t like it.” Then Frodo left to see to other things. When he checked the pantry a couple of hours later, he was not surprised to find every single garlic clove missing.

The Yule Feast was pleasant, if small compared to what everyone was used to. The food was delicious and they sang many songs throughout the long night. The gift-giving went wonderfully, everyone getting exactly what they wanted. Soon, it was time for bed again and everyone was saying good night.

The matrons stayed up to help Frodo clean the kitchen and put things away. Merry and Pippin said they wanted to help, but they were fooling no one. Even with the assurance of garlic, they were still apprehensive about returning to their room. Eglantine was tempted to let Pippin stay with her again tonight, but Esmeralda restrained her with a staying hand. The lasses wouldn’t hurt Pippin and after tonight, it would all be over.  

It took Merry and Pippin a long time to fall asleep. They were huddled together in the middle of the bed, with garlic hanging all around the four-poster bed and the doorway. At long last, they were breathing deeply and steadily with sleep and Pippin even began to snore softly.

“Finally,” Pervinca muttered softly to herself as she slipped out from under the bed. She tiptoed over to the bedroom door and unlocked it. She poked her head into the passageway and clucked her tongue quietly.

Pimpernel and Pearl entered the room a moment later and closed the door shut behind them. Pearl was already wearing the costume, a black sheet with a white hood, and she had a bucket of dirt in her hand. Pimpernel and Pervinca slipped back under the bed, each of them grabbing a leg of the frame. They put a couple of candles and strikers near at hand.

Pearl glided over to the bed and started sprinkling dirt over her brother and cousin, making low grunting noises for extra effect as she did so. When enough dirt had been poured, she tapped her foot twice. Vinca and Pimmie braced themselves. The bed was heavy and they were hoping they would only have to move it couple of times to wake their victims. They grabbed the front leg on either side of the bed and using their knees for leverage, they pushed up with their backs, lifting and rattling the bed as many times as they could.

“What was that?” they heard Merry say. Pippin simply whimpered. “What’s on the bed?” Merry asked. “It’s dirt!” The lasses slid out from under the bed soundlessly as Pearl began to dump more dirt by the handful now, once again grunting menacingly.

“Merry!” Pippin said. “It’s in here! Do something!”

“What?” asked Merry, near panic himself. Both lads were breathing heavily and the fact that they weren’t bolting from the bed proved how scared they were. Vinca and Pimmie cowered behind Pearl and struck their candles. Merry and Pippin looked up into the growing flicker of the candles to see a white shrouded face hovering above them and screamed for dear life. They were rewarded with laughter.

Pearl yanked the hood off her costume, and Pervinca and Pimpernel stood up and stepped out from the shadow of the billowing black cloth. Merry and Pippin just stared at them, for once at a complete loss of what to think, say or do. Pearl took the strikers and lit the rest of the candles until the room glowed with light. Still, Merry and Pippin stared at them, though their shock was beginning to give way to anger and embarrassment.

Pearl bent over and placed an affectionate kiss on Pippin’s forehead. “Remember that next time you decide to throw sparklers in our room, or anything else for that matter. Sorry for having to scare you. Good night.”

The lasses bowed politely and slipped out of the room. Merry and Pippin could hear them laughing as they walked down the hall. A moment later, their door closed. The two cousins looked at each other, still processing what had just happened. Finally, after many long minutes of confounded silence, Merry turned to Pippin and said, “Your sisters are diabolical.”

“Now do you see what I have to put up with?” Pippin responded.

Then both lads brushed off as much dirt from themselves and the bed as they could. They lay down and closed their eyes to go back to sleep, happy to let the candles burn for the rest of the night.  

“Bye Frodo! See you in Rethe!” Pippin called out from the carriage window the next morning as he and his sisters and parents left to head back to Whitwell. Merry and his parents followed closely after. Merry embraced Frodo tightly before climbing into the carriage. “See you in Rethe!” he shouted also.

Frodo stood by the lane and watched his family drive away. He was sorry to see them go and hoped Rethe would not take too long to get here. He turned to Sam and smiled brightly at him. “Well, Sam, time for the clean up.”

“Right, sir,” Sam said and the two went into the smial to start turning out the guest rooms. They started with the first room where the lasses had slept, and room by room made their way down to the lads’ room. Sam opened the door and they stepped inside.

Frodo knew the sound of that “snap!” and what it meant, but even his reflexes were too slow. A bucket of oil tipped over their heads and doused their heads and shirts. A split second later, a bucket of flour tipped over and completed the job. Gardener and master looked down at their ruined clothes and then at each other.

“This is what I get for conspiring against my cousins,” Frodo said humbly. He should have seen this coming.

Sam moaned regrettably as he fingered his shirt. “My Gaffer’s going to throttle me when he see this mess.”

Frodo laughed. “He doesn’t need to see it. Let’s change, you can wear some of my old clothes while we clean, but wash that first. By the time you’re ready to go home it should be dry. But first, let’s look for any other traps they may have placed for us. No need to change again if we don’t have to.”

“If you say so, sir,” Sam agreed miserably. “Never trust a Took and a Brandybuck,” he muttered under his breath as he followed his master into the booby-trapped room, wondering what other disasters awaited them within.
 
 

End of this ficlet.  
 

GF 7/26/04

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, I just obsess about it all day.

6. Why?
Merry is not quite 13, Pippin is 5 (about 8 and 3 in Man years)
1395 SR

“Merry? Why is the sky blue?”

Merry looked up from his book and down at his little cousin, who was sitting under a fig tree at the edge of his Uncle Paladin’s farm, playing with some building blocks. Pippin was attempting to build a cart, or some other sort of contraption, but was currently looking up imploringly at his older cousin with inquisitive green eyes.

Merry considered the question carefully. Then he put on his most studious face and said, “Because of all the water in the clouds and stuff. Even if it’s not raining, there’s still water up there, so that makes the sky blue, like the lakes and the rivers.”

“Oh,” Pippin whispered in awe and Merry went back to his reading. “Merry? Why is the water blue?”

Merry lowered his book again, stumped. Why was water blue? Well, whatever he told Pippin, it better be a good enough answer to keep the lad occupied for awhile. “Because there are these little tiny creatures living in the lakes and the rivers, and they make it blue, but you can’t see them. You just have to know that they’re there.”

“But why isn’t water blue when you pour it in a glass?”

“Because the little creatures don’t like glass or mugs or such, so they stay with the water in the lake. Without them, the water’s just clear.”

“Oh, all right then.”

Pippin went back to tinkering with his building blocks and Merry returned triumphantly to his book. He had been saddled with watching his little cousin while their parents went into town. He had figured it would be a simple enough job, but he hadn’t counted on so many interruptions and pesky questions. And what strange questions! Did this Took never stop thinking?

He turned the page and continued with his story. His older cousin Bilbo, who had no end of interesting books in his library, had loaned it to him a week earlier when he was visiting Frodo. It was a tale of a mighty warrior who had to rescue a princess from an evil dragon. He was just getting to the interesting part when he heard Pippin get up from the ground and pad his way over to the log upon which Merry was lying.

“Merry?”

Merry sighed and peeked over the top of his book and into wide, green eyes. “Yes, Pippin, what is it now?”

“Are they dangerous?” Pippin asked worriedly.

“Are what dangerous?” Merry asked, confused and slightly concerned. Pippin was rarely scared.

“The little creatures that live in the water? Is that why so many hobbits are afraid of the water and can’t swim? Do they hurt hobbits, because we went swimming yesterday? Is that why I felt bouncy after we got out of the water? Can they make you sick? Am I going to die?”

Oh dear, what he started? Merry sat up and put his book down. He clamped Pippin’s tiny shoulders in both his hands, looked his little cousin long in the eyes and shook his head with finality. “Of course not. Would your parents really let you go in the water if they thought anything bad would happen? The little creatures are our friends, like the fish.”

“Then how come so many hobbits can’t swim?”

“Well, because they can’t, that’s all. They never learn, and since they never learn, they’re afraid.”

Pippin nodded, but still looked confused, though thankfully no longer frightened. Merry waited, knowing another question was bound to pop out of that head at any moment. Sure enough…

“But if they learned, they wouldn’t be afraid?”

“That’s right.”

“So then, why don’t they learn?”

Merry rolled his eyes. Didn’t he just answer that question? “Because they’re afraid to,” he explained again.

“That doesn’t make any sense Merry,” the young Took said accusingly, his hands on his hips. He had expected his older, smarter, wiser and wittier cousin to have a better explanation than ‘they’re afraid because they’re afraid’ and was greatly disappointed to say the least.

Merry couldn’t help but laugh at Pippin’s scandalized pout. “I don’t make the rules Pip. I’m just telling you how it is.”

Pippin sighed and returned to his blocks and Merry happily returned to his story. Now at last, he could find out how the mighty warrior rescued the princess. He turned to the next page, completely absorbed. The warrior was climbing the stairs, his sword drawn courageously before him, a closed door was far ahead, the warrior was approaching it, there was a noise from behind, a shadow loomed, the warrior whirled around to strike at his foe…

“Merry?”

“What now, Pippin?” Merry asked, failing miserably to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Why is the grass green?” Pippin asked, undaunted.

And in that moment, Merry came to a startling realization: he had been duped. He’s no trouble at all; you won’t even notice he’s there. His aunt and uncle had lied to him, they had tricked him into babysitting this endless barrage of inquiries and there was nothing he could do about it. The lasses were gone, relieved of Pippin-duty for a change, and were off enjoying themselves who knows where. The adults wouldn’t be back for another two hours or so. There was no one here but him and Pippin and a handful of servants who could not be expected to drop what they were doing to watch the little nuisance so that Merry could finish his book. This was revenge, Merry knew it. Just because he accidentally spilled grape juice on Uncle Paladin’s brand new silk waistcoat last night. Adults could be so petty sometimes.

“Merry?” Pippin asked again and tugged on Merry’s sleeve, getting annoyed himself at being ignored. “Why is the grass green, Merry? And why is the sun yellow? And why do flowers come in so many different colors? Why do only flowers get to be colorful? Don’t the trees and grass get jealous?”

Merry sighed and put his book aside. This was going to be a long afternoon.
 
 

End of this ficlet. More to come.
 
 

GF 9/15/04

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, I just obsess about it all day.
 
 
 

7. Chocolate!
Pippin 6, Merry 14, Frodo 28, Sam 16 (about 3 ½, 9, 18 and 10 in Man years)
1396 SR

Pippin had tasted many wonderful things in his short life: custards, pies, puddings, jams, cakes, candies and toffees of all flavors. He had never met a sweet he didn’t like. Unfortunately, he had also never been allowed to eat as many sweets as he would like to either. His parents kept a close watch on him and when they weren’t around, the staff and servants knew what he was allowed to eat and what he was not. He never got to eat sweets except at dessert, and then they were small portions at that. His sweet tooth was never satisfied.

Until now.

They weren’t at Whitwell or Great Smials. They were at Bag End and there were no servants to keep an eye on him. No one knew where Pippin was. They thought he was napping but he wasn’t. He had waited until Pearl left the room, then he had snuck out very quietly, like he had learned from his sister Pervinca and his most favorite cousin Merry. He had learned many good tricks from them, but sneaking was the most important one. If you didn’t know how to sneak, you couldn’t do anything else.

Pippin poked his head out of the guest room door and listened intently. He could hear the adults murmuring in the sitting room down the tunnel and across the way. That would be tricky. He would have to pass the sitting room to get to the pantry. He tiptoed down the tunnel and stopped just short of reaching the sitting room. He got onto all fours and discreetly poked his head into the doorway to look inside. All the adults were there, Bilbo, Uncle Sara and Aunt Esme, his Mum and Da, and none of them were facing the doorway! Pippin scooted by quickly and silently and was in the pantry within mere seconds.

Pippin liked the pantries here at Bilbo’s. They were always well-stocked with all sorts of delicious treats. The shelves were also built right into the wall and were stacked just like a bookcase, very easy to climb.

He glanced up at the many shelves, searching for the desired jar. He hoped it wouldn’t be too far up. There was bread, jam, honey, butter, apples and potatoes, peanuts, garlic, onions, carrots, milk. Up and up his eyes traveled, his mouth watering more with each passing moment. If he didn’t find it soon, he would just have to settle with the cupcakes.

His eyes landed on the second shelf from the top and at last he spotted what he was looking for. The sweet, thick, brown syrup peered down at him enticingly. He licked his lips in anticipation and scrambled over to the shelf. He was an excellent climber, ‘too good for his own good’ as his da often said, whatever that meant. How could one be too good at something?

Pippin reached up and pulled himself onto the first shelf. Once he was securely sitting on the shelf, he stood up and got onto his tiptoes, then pulled himself up onto the next shelf. Up and up he went, climbing with lightning speed, completely sure-footed, without a stumble or a slip. Within a couple of heartbeats, he was eye-level with the jar of chocolate syrup. He put his tiny fingers around the jar and tucked the container down the front of his pullovers. Once the jar was secure, he climbed swiftly down and sat upon the floor.

If he loved the shelves at Bilbo’s, he loved the jars even more. Bilbo’s jars didn’t have lids that could be screwed on too tightly so that no one could get them off again. It was just Bilbo and Frodo living here and they liked things to be as convenient as possible, including their jars. Their jars had snap-on lids, which could be put on or taken off as easy as you please. Pippin popped up the simple metal latch and the lid snapped loose. One half-turn and the lid came right off.

Pippin smiled at his prize and breathed in the rich, intoxicating aroma. He dipped a finger into the syrup, brought it to his mouth and tasted for his very first time the delicious, mouth-watering delight that was chocolate.

Little did Bilbo know the trouble he was starting when he served the children their midday snack. He had baked a batch of biscuits and wafers and had set out various jars of toppings: frosting, cream, caramel, butterscotch, and chocolate. The children had a grand time dipping the wafers and decorating the biscuits. Frodo and Pearl had supervised the snack time, making sure no one had more than three goodies each. Pippin had managed to sneak a fourth snack, but he had not been able to sneak a fifth one to try the chocolate.

Well, he was trying the chocolate now and he loved it! He could see why his sisters hadn’t bothered with the other things. Chocolate was much better than frosting and cream. It was thicker and smoother than butterscotch and richer than caramel. It was… chocolate.

Pippin dipped his entire hand into the jar and grabbed a handful of the dark, dripping liquid. He crammed his hand into his mouth and slurped until the chocolate was gone, heedless of the mess he was making on the floor, down his clothes and across his face. He repeated this process again and again, until he reached the bottom of the jar.

He frowned down at the jar and sighed in disappointment. Why did things always have to run out? He grabbed the lid and popped it back on and wiped his hands on his trousers. He climbed back up the shelves and put the jar back in its place. You were always supposed to put things back where you found them and Pippin didn’t want to get into trouble for being careless.

He was reaching the ground again when he heard Frodo and Merry’s voices approaching. If they came in here, he would have no place to go except… He ran to the cellar door, reached up on his tiptoes and tried to grab the knob.

“Pippin, what are you doing in here?” Frodo asked.

Pippin lowered himself flat on his feet and bent his head toward the floor. He turned around and looked up through his bangs with big, innocent green eyes. “Nothing.”

Frodo and Merry exchanged looks. Pippin was covered nearly head to toe in chocolate and the floor was covered in it as well. “Why do I highly doubt that?” Merry said.

Frodo smirked and looked up on the shelf and saw the now-empty jar. The smirk left his face immediately. “You didn’t eat that whole thing, did you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Peregrin.”

“Yes.”

Merry scoffed. “Thanks for inviting me along, Pip. I would have liked some more too you know.”

“Merry, please, that isn’t the point,” Frodo said. “Pippin ate that entire jar. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“No,” Merry said. “What does it mean?”

He needn’t have asked. Eglantine finally banished Pippin from the smial, and Frodo and Merry were put in charge of watching the lad and wearing him out. There was never a more impossible task to be completed by anyone in all the history of Middle-earth.

“Pippin,” Merry pleaded four hours later, “aren’t you tired yet?”

Pippin skipped around Frodo and Merry, happily enjoying his “freedom” outdoors. He had been cooped up all morning, just because it was a little bit chilly. Now he was heavily donned in a jacket and he was ready to play some more. He ran up to Frodo and tagged him. “Tag, Frodo! Chase me!”

“I’m coming right after you Pip,” Frodo said, making no effort to move. He and Merry were sprawled on the ground, winded from their afternoon of play. They had played sardines, hide and seek, hot potato, tag, dodge ball, kick ball, they had even run races and rolled down the hillside. Pippin’s sisters had come out and engaged him in a game of hopscotch for an hour before tiring themselves. Now they were inside helping with dinner and Pippin was still running about the gardens.

“Look Gaffer!” they could hear Pippin saying at the other end of the garden.

Frodo knew he should get up and rescue Hamfast from the irrepressible Took, but he couldn’t force his limbs to move. Merry managed only to lift his head and call, “Pippin! Leave Master Gamgee alone!” before going limp again.

“Look Sam!” Pippin yelled next. He ran over to Sam and threw him the kick ball. “Let’s play. You kick first and try to get it past me! And then I try to get it past you.”

Sam caught the ball and tucked it under his arm. Pippin was bouncing up and down and Sam smiled at the lad, getting an idea. He held up a finger to tell the lad to wait a minute, then went into the tool shed. When he came back out, the ball was gone and he was holding a small length of rope. He leaned down so he was eye to eye with the youngster. “Are you wanting to learn a new game, Master Pippin?” he asked.

Pippin nodded excitedly. “I do, I do, I do, I do!”

Sam laughed and held out the rope for Pippin to see. “You see this rope here? All you need to play is this. See, you take the rope like so, one end in each hand, and you swing it through the air and you jump over it. Easy as pie,” Sam said and demonstrated a few times for the lad.

“That’s it?” Pippin asked, not very impressed.

“No, there’s far more to it that just that,” Sam said. “You see, when you get good enough, you can try jumping with just one foot, or switching back and forth between feet, or swinging the rope backward, or swinging it fast enough that it hits twice between each jump. You could even run or skip while you jump, all about the garden.”

“Really!” Pippin said and Sam nodded. “I want to try.”

“Here you go then,” Sam said and handed the lad the rope. “Why don't you go over to that clear spot and practice? You should just try simple jumping until you get the hang of it, then you can move onto something more complicated.”

Pippin nodded eagerly and grabbed the rope. He ran over to a clearing and started jumping, or trying to. He was soon caught up in perfecting the timing of swinging the rope and jumping so it didn’t tangle around his feet. He wanted to be able to do it like Sam, without any mistakes.

Merry and Frodo sat up and stared at Pippin in amazement. He was entertaining himself and wearing himself out without any help. They looked over at Sam appreciatively, but the young gardener had already returned to work raking up leaves. “I think I want to adopt Sam,” Merry said to Frodo, who nodded in agreement.

The cousins sat on the ground and managed to gather enough energy to shout encouragements at Pippin. The longer they could keep him playing with that rope, the longer they would have to recuperate. Pippin was a determined little Took. He soon had the hang of it and was trying to perfect jumping with one foot when Bilbo called them inside to eat.

Merry, Frodo and Pippin had fallen asleep in one big lump on the parlor settee. Merry was leaning against Frodo, and Pippin was lying across both their laps, a length of rope held tightly in his one hand, the thumb of his other hand in his mouth.

“Should we move them?” Bilbo said, concerned that Merry and Frodo might develop cricks in their necks from sleeping in their current position.

“Don’t you dare!” Eglantine and Esmeralda said. Pippin had just fallen asleep. They didn’t dare move the child now. Saradoc retrieved a blanket from the linen chest and draped it over the lads while Paladin checked on his daughters. The fires were put out and the adults went to their rooms, whispering quiet good nights in the hall. Three doors clicked softly shut.

Pippin smiled mischievously and slowly rolled off his cousins’ laps. He tiptoed across the tunnel and over to the middle pantry. He let his eyes adjust to the dark and searched the shelves. Now, where had Bilbo put the leftover pumpkin pie?

End of this ficlet. More to come.

GF 11/27/04

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, I just obsess about it all day.

I’m rating this ficlet PG, just to be safe. Enjoy!
 

#8: The Trouble with Lasses

Merry: 28, Pippin: 20, Estella: 25, Pervinca: 25
13 Thrimidge, 1410 SR

Pippin’s POV

Merry just doesn’t understand it. I try to explain it to him, but he just won’t listen. I think it’s because he doesn’t have any sisters and so he doesn’t spend any time with lasses really. He’s no doubt been brainwashed by Aunt Esme to think that lasses are lovely, fair-spoken creatures and that they only misbehave to get back for something that was done to them. He’s been led to believe that lasses never start trouble, that they simply are incapable of anything devious. He’s obviously forgotten about my sisters’ little prank on us a few years back, but I haven’t. I remember everything they’ve ever got away with.

See, I have three older sisters, so I know the truth about lasses. I figured it out a long time ago: lasses really are worse than lads. They’re diabolical! They do all manners of inconceivable things and they get away with it just because they’re lasses. All they have to do is pretend they didn’t know what they were doing was wrong, or they blame the lads and we get in trouble instead. Or they cry. They’re really good at crying and do you think any father would scold his daughter when she’s crying? Of course not! Oh, but if I try the same thing, Da just tells me to be a big lad and act more responsible, because I’m going to be Thain one day. It’s just not fair.

You can’t trust lasses. I knew it was coming to trouble as soon as Estella (and therefore my sister since they’re best friends) started hanging around wherever we went. I tried telling Merry, but he wouldn’t listen. He said I’m too young and don’t understand, but I know more than he does about lasses. I told him to not let them hang about, but he let them anyway.

I mean, this is Pervinca I’m talking about! She’s the worst of them all. Everyone thinks she learned all her troublemaking from me, but it’s really the other way around. I learned it all from her (and Merry of course). So I knew that any friend of Vinca’s would be just as bad and I was right. If Berry had been there, he would have backed me up, but he was back at the Hall helping Uncle Mac with something. If Frodo had been there, he would have stopped it straight away, but he was having his customary tea with Aunt Esme and Uncle Sara.

So it is just Merry and I out this afternoon. We go to the River to watch the workers construct a new boat. I’ve never seen a boat built before, but Merry has and he answers all my questions since the workers are too busy to listen. When I get bored of that, Merry suggests going for a walk along the River and maybe going for a swim. It’s warm today and so a swim would feel nice.

We don’t have any swim clothes with us, so we have to walk down the River a ways and around a bend so there’s no one around. But we walk too far, because soon we can hear a pair of lasses giggling nearby, disturbing our peace and quiet. I know immediately who it is and I can hear them splashing about in the water. Merry knows who it is too. He groans under his breath and slows down.

“Come on Merry,” I say, “let’s go somewhere else.”

I know Merry is tired of Estella and Vinca. He let them tag around after us all week and while he was polite about it at first, he’s been agitated by them the last couple of days. He didn’t even talk to Ella at all during his birthday party last night. In fact, he avoided her altogether. So I figure he’ll listen to me now and leave before anything can happen. But instead he gets that mischievous gleam in his eye and starts walking again. I follow reluctantly. No good can come of this, whatever ‘this’ is.

We walk through a bit of brush and see their dresses and underclothes lying on the ground. They’re in the water, playing and laughing, and they don’t see us at first. There’s a big rock where they’re at and all we can see are their heads bobbing up and down as they splash each other. Merry positions himself between the river and their clothes.

“Well, well, what have we here,” Merry says innocently.

The lasses scream and cling to the rock. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, you insufferable brat!” Estella says. “Pippin!” Pervinca yells.

Oh, no, we’re in trouble now. Big, big trouble. What is Merry thinking?

Merry keeps his innocent face on. “You’re quite a long a way from the Hall,” he says and he’s trying to sound concerned. He looks around dramatically. “And without any escort besides. That isn’t proper at all. What would your parents think?”

“Please, Merry, let’s just go,” I hiss under my breath and tug his hand.

“An escort? Here? Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing?” Vinca says and I can tell she’s getting angrier by the minute. She’s glaring at us like she’s ready to throttle us where we stand.

“Ridiculous is it?” Merry says. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that. An escort, for starters, would have seen to it that you weren’t come upon unawares. And he would make sure no one stole your clothes.” And now he smiles sweetly and starts to bend down for the dresses.

“Meriadoc, don’t you dare!” Pervinca shouts.

“He won’t do it,” Ella says calmly. She’s gotten over the shock of finding us standing there and is looking up at Merry shrewdly. Yes, we’re in very big trouble.

“Merry, let’s go,” I try again, to no avail.

He doesn’t hear me. He’s looking at Ella, still smiling sweetly. “Oh, I won’t will I? And why not? I don’t see anything stopping me.”

Estella shrugs. “Very well then. Take our clothes. Let’s see how far you get with them. Of course, you’ll probably hide them somewhere, which means we’ll either have to go look for them and hope no one sees us, or we’ll have to wait until someone comes along to get them for us. I think we’ll wait, don’t you Vinca?”

“Wait?”

“Yes, we’ll wait, either until someone comes along, or it’s dark enough to get out and look around. Of course, that would prove rather interesting wouldn’t it? If someone comes along, we’ll have to explain how our clothes got all the way into the woods. And if we wait until dark, then everyone will be wondering where we are. They’ll have to come look for us, unless Merry tells them where they might be able to find us, and then he would have explain what he did. So you see, he’s not going to take our clothes, are you Merry?” And she smiles sweetly now as Merry narrows his eyes and seethes. She would wait too, no matter how cold she got.

Merry looks down at the dresses, considering the situation. I wait and don’t bother saying anything since he seems to have forgotten that I’m here anyway.

“Very well,” Merry says at last and sits down. “Then I appoint myself as your escort. Just let me know when you’re ready for your clothes.” He smiles now, thinking he’s scored a point.

Vinca growls and Ella rolls her eyes and, if I’m not quite mistaken, swears under her breath. Vinca leans over and starts whispering in Estella’s ear. I worry even more now, because I know what this means. They’re collaborating, scheming. I’ve seen this many times before and since it’s Pervinca and Estella, I know it will come to nothing good.

They giggle, a bad sign. I glance at Merry and he frowns. He at least has the sense to know that the lasses shouldn’t be giggling in their position, but they are. They whisper some more and giggle again. Then they look over at us and smile much too sweetly. They have that coy expression on their faces that I know far too well.

“Actually,” Pervinca says, “I think I’m ready for my clothes now. Aren’t you, Ella?”

“We have been in this river quite a long time,” Estella says. She gives Merry a calculating look and continues in her falsely innocent tone, “I’m quite ready to dry off and get back to the Hall. Now, Merry, as our escort, and a perfect gentlehobbit besides, you won’t look will you?”

I’ve never seen Merry move so quickly before in my entire life. He covers his eyes with lightning speed and does the same to me, nearly taking my eye out as he claps his hand over my face. I can only hear now and I know that Pervinca and Estella have come out of the river by the sloshing of the water, and Merry most definitely swears under his breath.

“It seems we forgot to bring towels with us Ella.”

“Well, we’ll just lie on the rock and let the sun dry us.”

Merry swears again and his hand is sweating and shaking. We can’t leave now, because with our eyes closed we can’t see where to go. We’re stuck here now and the lasses are just laughing and chatting as if there is nothing out of the ordinary about this at all. Time seems to stop and my legs are going numb from sitting cross-legged by the time we hear them walk behind us and grab their clothes. They take their time dressing and they’re quite clumsy about the whole affair. Merry’s hand over my eyes shake and sweat even worse than before and he’s muttering swear words nearly nonstop but I don’t think the lasses hear him.

“Merry,” Estella calls sweetly a while later. “Aren’t you going to escort us back to the Hall now?”

Slowly, we peek out from Merry’s hands and see them fully dressed and waiting near the path back to the Hall. We breathe sighs of relief, but poor Merry is rather rattled and flustered by all this. His plan, whatever it had been, failed completely. That doesn’t happen to him often, so I guess that’s why he’s all red and shaky. He manages to stand up and gamely walks toward them. I follow close behind. I don’t trust these lasses with my Merry for a second.

Estella and Pervinca are still smiling sweetly. Vinca thumps me on the head and grabs my shirt and pulls me ahead. I only just see Estella slip her arm through Merry’s before my sister and I are walking in front of them. No one says anything all the way to the Hall, but for some reason, Merry grows even more flustered than he was when we left the river. The lasses stop behind the stables, where there’s no one else around and Estella finally releases Merry from her grasp. But Merry doesn’t move. He’s glued to the spot and seems to have forgotten how to use his feet.

“Now, Merry, it just occurred to me that I never got a present from you last night,” Estella says, but she’s not angry about it. She smiles again and starts straightening Merry’s collar. “I’ll just have to take a present for myself I suppose.” And she grabs his collar and pulls him into a kiss! Ew!

I can only stand there in complete shock. This is the worst thing a lass can ever do to a lad. She’s infected him now, you see? When she and Vinca finally leave, laughing as they go of course, Merry can only stand there, stunned and disoriented. I have to do something, so I take his hand and lead him into the Hall and to his room.

Now he’s lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with that far away look he gets when he’s plotting some prank or scheme. But he’s not plotting anything now. He’s numb, I can tell. I hope he doesn’t get sick, but I’m not so sure he’ll be able to survive this. I’ve seen older lads fall into this illness that lasses can give them and they’re never the same after. I’m angry with Estella for doing this, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If I go to Da or Mum, I know I’ll wind up getting us into trouble for being down by the River and Vinca and Ella will get off scot-free. But that’s the trouble with lasses; they always get away with everything.
 

Merry’s POV

I told Cousin Wilco to leave his cousin Estella at home this visit out, but she somehow found out that Pervinca would be here and she begged her father to let her come. Wilco apologized when they arrived, but the week was already ruined. That’s what always happens when Estella’s around.

It didn’t always used to be like this. Estella used be just like one of the lads; she would play just as rough and give us all a run for our money. She didn’t shy away from any prank or ploy we might come up with and she was good at most games. She was also smaller than all of us and could get into places the rest of us couldn’t, so it was always a good idea to have her along, for practical purposes.

The last few visits however, Ella’s been spending nearly every waking moment with my friends and me. That is normal enough, but she’s different now. She acts less and less like a lad with each passing month. Her dresses are always clean and finely pressed, and the sleeves have ruffles now. Her hair, usually pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, is now well brushed and flowing freely down her back, pulled back only a little at the top with a ribbon or two. She’s taken to bathing with some special soap, I can tell because I can smell it whenever she lingers too close. She used to smell like dirt and sweat, normal-like, but now she always smells like flowers. I’m afraid to say that Ella has turned into a lass.

Just like all lasses her age, she annoys every lad she comes into contact with, but she seems to have taken a penchant to me for some reason. She’s always hovering every time I turn around and making a nuisance of herself. She looks at me all the time and is constantly talking about all sorts of things I couldn’t possibly be interested in. The most annoying thing about her is how I can always still hear her voice when I’m lying in bed at night, and somehow that flowery soap of hers works its way into my clothes so that I can smell her even when she isn’t around, making it nearly impossible to stop thinking about her.

So I told Wilco, who always somehow winds up escorting her, to leave her at home. But she came anyway. Typical of her really. That at least didn’t change. She never used to listen all that much before either. You say ‘go’ and she stays. You say ‘stay’ and she leaves. This must be some universal habit of lasses where they always do the exact opposite of what you want them to do.

I let it be, hoping that with Pervinca here, they’d go off and leave us alone, but that doesn’t happen. In fact, it gets worse. With Vinca here, Ella acts even more like a lass than ever before. They talk constantly about clothes and hair and they’re always laughing and giggling about something or another. And they talk about lads, right in front of us, as if we can’t hear them! They talk about how this lad is cuter than that lad, or how this one is smarter, or sweeter, and they don’t even care when we make gagging noises to hint for them to be quiet. They just look at us and roll their eyes and go on with their inane conversations.

So we start ignoring them. We just play our games and plot our schemes and don’t pay them any mind. I think this upsets them, but they can’t honestly expect everything to stop just because they’re around. Really, they should stop being rude and go off and entertain themselves and leave us alone already. Estella especially, since she’s now developed a tendency to nitpick anything I do or say, and the more I ignore her, the more she nitpicks. I’m at the end of my tether, but Frodo says I have to be nice to her, because she’s my guest and I should play the proper host. Sometimes, Frodo can be really annoying.

I decide not to listen to him and ignore Estella all through my birthday party. After all, she isn’t supposed to be here and I don’t have a present for her anyway. And there is no way I’m dancing with her like she was hinting at all day. I spend the night instead with Pippin and Berilac and we have drinking contests. We drink punch of course, since we’re not old enough to drink ale yet – or Pippin isn’t anyway – and it’s more fun with punch in any case since you can’t get drunk and pass out. I get through the entire night this way without having to hear any of her prattle.

She decides to get back at me by ignoring me at breakfast this morning, but how this is supposed to be a punishment I have no idea. Lasses. They just don’t make any sense. But at least she’s leaving me alone for a change, and she’ll thankfully be returning to Budgeford after dinner. I’m about to be free of her for good. Well, for a few months at least.

Pippin and I go to the River to watch the workers build a new boat. I’ve seen plenty of boats being built and Uncle Mac is an expert boatman. He knows all about them and so I know a lot about them too. Pippin tries asking the workers how and why they’re doing everything, but they’re not like Sam. They won’t stop what they’re doing to answer questions and then stay an hour or two past dark to get all their work done. They just keep right on working and pretend Pippin isn’t there. So I answer Pip’s questions for him.

When he stops to think of more questions, I start telling him about a fish Mac caught once when he and Berilac were down by the sea. It was a giant fish and took up almost the whole boat. They had a time of it reeling it in and that fish fed the entire Hall for supper when they got back. Pippin just nods and lies on his back to look at the clouds. He has that expression he gets when he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, but he goes along with it as long as I keep talking. He’s annoying when he does that, but I can prove it to him. We still have the bones from that fish and we when get back to the Hall, I’ll show them to him. I tell him this and he just nods again.

Finally Pippin gets bored and I decide we should go swimming. It’s warmer today than it has been all week and we always try to go swimming at least once when he visits if we can. So we walk along the River looking for a good, private place we can skinny-dip since neither of us have our swim clothes. And that’s when we run into them, Pervinca and Estella. I groan in annoyance. I finally get a day away from them and they still manage to wreck it somehow! But then I realize they must be here skinny-dipping too, and I get an idea. I’ll show Ella for ruining the week. I’ll teach her who’s the boss.

Pippin says we should go, but I ignore him. I know this is going to work. The lasses will be petrified and they’ll have to admit that I’m in the position of authority. They’ll have to promise to leave me alone on future visits or I’ll leave them there without their clothes.

Somehow, it doesn’t quite work out that way. I don’t even get to my proposition before Estella butts in and uses more logic than a lass has the right to possess. She obliterates my plan before I can even put it into motion and she smiles at me like she knows exactly what she did and she’s not the least bit sorry for it. Well, I can still show her.

I sit down, knowing they can’t get out of the water as long as we’re there. I pretend to be concerned about their safety and offer myself as an escort. I can see this new plan is working quite well. The lasses are powerless to do anything and Ella herself said she would wait there until nightfall. Of course, I plan to get up much sooner than that, as soon as my point is made and they promise to leave me alone. I figure half an hour should do it.

Then they laugh. Why are they laughing? They’re naked in the water, freezing cold no doubt, and we have their clothes. How could they possibly find anything funny about this? Pervinca smirks over at us. I can see how she might think she has a bit of position here, being as Pip is her kid brother and she could get revenge on him later, but I fail to see why Ella is so smug all of a sudden. Until Vinca speaks.

“Actually, I think I’m ready for my clothes now. Aren’t you, Ella?”

“We have been in this river quite a long time,” Estella says. She gives me that look of hers that means she’s figured something out and continues in that ‘innocent little lass’ tone I’ve heard so many times before, “I’m quite ready to dry off and get back to the Hall. Now, Merry, as our escort, and a perfect gentlehobbit besides, you won’t look will you?”

It’s not long before I realize what she means. She starts to stand up, casual as you please, and it’s all I can do to cover Pip’s and mine eyes before either of us sees anything we’d be whipped blind for seeing. I hear them getting out of the water and padding around by the banks. I hope that they’ll hurry up and get their clothes and get dressed and I wonder why I don’t hear them approaching. I think I say a couple of choice words under my breath in my panic. This isn’t supposed to happen this way. They are ruining everything.

“It seems we forgot to bring towels with us Ella.”

“Well, we’ll just lie on the rock and let the sun dry us.”

Another few choice words fly out of my mouth. I seem incapable of stopping them. I can’t believe these lasses! Whoever heard of such inappropriate behavior! They should be ashamed to be doing what they’re doing. I know Uncle Pally would belt Vinca’s bottom until she couldn’t sit for a month if he saw what she was doing right now, but there’s no way on this good earth I’m going to ever tell anyone about any of this.

The lasses start talking, about lads again if you can believe it. They’re unbelievable! They just talk and talk, and it’s all I can do not to get up and run away in a blind panic. Then, if that isn’t bad enough, when they finally do start getting dressed, they stand far too close to us. Vinca keeps stepping on her brother. I can tell it’s her because she keeps saying “Sorry Pip” every time he says “Ow!”

Which means Ella is the one standing behind me. I can feel her legs against my back as she’s doing whatever is it she’s doing and at one point, she reaches down to grab my shoulder, to steady herself from falling over I assume. Her hand and legs are still cold from the river, but for some reason, my skin begins to burn where she’s touching me, and the warmth spreads up to my face and I can tell I’m blushing brighter than fire. She thankfully lets go and steps away after a couple of seconds. Finally I can hear them walk away and I think I’m about to be free of this horror when I hear, “Merry, aren’t you going to escort us back to the Hall now?”

Slowly, Pip and I peek out from behind my hands and we see them waiting by the path back to the Hall. Aside from their still-damp hair, you would never guess they had just been skinny-dipping, and they’re standing there expectantly. I want to smack myself for getting into this position. Could this afternoon possibly get any worse? The very last thing I want to do is walk Estella and Pervinca back to the Hall after all that. But I have no choice. I offered myself as an escort and they’re waiting for me.

I manage to pick myself up and somehow keep my feet under me. Pippin’s pulled away from me rather brutally by his sister and I’m left with Estella. I look at her, wondering what abominable thing she is going to do next. She slips her arm through mine and starts walking, just as if I were escorting her into a ball or something.

I can feel my heart beating a mile a minute and I’m getting dizzy I’m so short of breath. It doesn’t help that Ella is pressing herself to me and she keeps looking over at me and smiling sweetly. What does she want with me already? Why can’t she just leave me alone? What does a fellow have to do to get some peace?

After what seems like forever, we reach the stables and Estella lets me go. I wait to see what she does next, hoping she just leaves and goes somewhere so that I’ll never have to see her again. I realize with dread that we still have dinner to get through before she and Wilco return to Budgeford. But she doesn’t leave. She just keeps standing there, looking at me.

“Now, Merry, it just occurred to me that I never got a present from you last night,” Ella says, and smiles again. Then she reaches out and starts fixing my collar, which doesn’t need fixing, and her fingers brush lightly against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

So this is why she’s tormenting me. To get back at me for ignoring her at the party last night. Of all the nerve! She deserved to be ignored! She deserved much worse than that actually, she deserves – “I’ll just have to take a present for myself I suppose,” she continues, interrupting my thoughts.

She grabs my collar and pulls me toward her and before I know it, her lips are pressed to mine. Everything stops. Everything ceases to exist but her. The lavender shampoo she used in her hair that morning, the vanilla lotion she spreads on her delicate skin, the taste of strawberries on her mouth, her fingers at my collar, burning my neck. I lift my hand and am about to run my fingers through that silky soft hair of hers when she pulls away and lets me go.

“Thank you for bringing us back safely Merry,” she says and smiles again. Her teeth are pearly white and her chestnut curls hang loosely over her shoulders, just begging to be brushed behind her back. She and Vinca leave then, and all I can do is stare after them, stare after her.

Somehow, I wind up in my room and Pippin is there, worried sick about me I can tell, but I’m not able to reassure him. I’m not sure he would believe me even if I attempt to anyway. I look at the clock on the wall and I see that it’s past the dinner hour. Which means Estella’s gone. She’s gone and she won’t be here tomorrow or the day after. She won’t be back for months. Just when I want her to be here, she leaves. But that’s the trouble with lasses; they always leave when you want them to stay.

End of this ficlet. 

 
 
 
GF 11/30/04

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, I just obsess about it all day.

So, what was Estella’s POV of that day by the river? This isn’t exactly Merry and Pippin centric, but it was just begging to be written.
 
 
 

#9: The Trouble With Lads

Merry: 28, Pippin: 20, Pervinca: 25, Estella: 25
~ 13 Halimath, 1410 SR ~
 

Estella’s POV

Vinca has gotten me to do some pretty saucy things before, but this one takes the cake.

It starts out innocently enough. Vinca and I decide we have enough of the lads acting like a bunch of aloof idiots, so we use our last day together to go swimming. We find a secluded spot of the River and test the water. It’s cool, but not cold. We swim about for a bit and talk about the last week and before too long I’m complaining, as usual, about Merry Brandybuck.

I don’t know why my heart decided to settle itself on him, but every time I see him, it gives a little flutter and jumps into my throat. Try as I might not to, I just can’t seem to stop myself from falling for him, and it confounds me completely. After all, he’s an obnoxious, pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed know-it-all, and the older we become the more impossible he gets. He spends nearly every waking moment that he can with little Pip and the two of them tear up Tookland and Buckland on their rampages of disaster. They’re always into something and they hardly notice anyone else, unless that someone else also happens to be looking for trouble, or is Frodo Baggins. But the way I hear it, Frodo caused his own share of trouble in his youth, so I don’t find it entirely comforting that they have his influence now. I at least haven’t seen them benefit any from it.

And yet, as much as he drives me to madness, I find myself pining constantly over Merry. His wavy brown curls, his impish grin, that little cleft in his chin, his smoky grey eyes… His complete and total pig-headedness. Why? Why does it have to be him?

That is the reason I begged Father to let me come with Cousin Wilco to Brandy Hall. In part to see Merry, but mainly to see Vinca. I needed to talk to her desperately, but instead of talking me out of my obsession, she immediately put me up to all sorts of games and ploys to try to find out how Merry feels about me. She insists that Merry ignoring me is a good sign. “He wouldn’t ignore you if you didn’t mean anything to him.”

I’m not sure this makes any sense, but she sounds so confident and knowledgeable when she says it. She also spends a good deal more time around Merry than I do, so I figure she knows what she’s talking about.

We lean against the rock and tread water. We’re in the process of deciding if Merry ignoring me at his party last night was a positive sign or not. I didn’t even get a present, not a nod or a scowl of acknowledgement. I’m getting tired of the games and think I should ask him outright, but Vinca disagrees.

“That’s a conversation I’d like to see,” she says and she commences to play-act Merry and me having such a conversation. “‘Oh Merry, I was just wondering how you feel about me.’ ‘What do you mean how do I feel?’ ‘I mean, do you like me at all?’ ‘Me? Like you? Not likely.’ And then he and his friends will laugh their heads off and go play more kickball. You can’t just ask a lad how he feels, Ella. You have to be sneaky about it.”

“But why?” I say and try not to whine. I just want to know where I stand with him for a change and all these games and guesses are taking their toll. I sink into the river and mope.

“Because lads don’t know how to answer questions like that, it’s too over their heads,” Vinca says. “No, we’ll have to think of something really sneaky, something he won’t suspect. If we want a truly honest answer out of him, we have to pull him out of his comfort zone.”

So we start making our plans and Vinca gets some very colorful ideas. She has me laughing in no time, no doubt that was her main plan all along, and we don’t notice that we have an audience until we hear Merry’s smug voice behind us on the riverbank.

“Well, well, what have we here,” Merry says innocently.

It is instinct more than anything else that make us scream and grab onto the rock and hide ourselves.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck, you insufferable brat!” I shout, my heart beating a mile a minute. I wonder how long he’s been standing there, listening to us. If he heard me call him ‘cute’ I think I’ll die right here where I am.

“Pippin!” Vinca shouts next to me and I see Pippin quail under her glare. Vinca and Pip may be siblings, but that doesn’t mean that she won’t clobber him if need be.

“You’re quite a long way from the Hall,” Merry says, in that faux concerned tone of his. He looks around dramatically. “And without any escort besides. That isn’t proper at all. What would your parents think?”

I see Pippin grab Merry’s hand and beg him to leave. I beg for Merry to leave also, but during that tiny exchange of theirs, I feel Vinca’s hand grab my own under the water. She squeezes it just so and she has that look in her eyes that means we should play along. “Playing along is the best way to find out what exactly a lad has in mind, and then you counter plan,” she is forever telling me. It’s so quick, it’s no wonder Merry and Pippin miss it.

Vinca turns back on our intruders and that angry glare is back an instant later. “An escort? Here? Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing?” she says and I begin to calm down. It doesn’t seem that they heard anything we had been saying. Merry is just being his typical impossible self.

“Ridiculous is it?” Merry says. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that. An escort, for starters, would have seen to it that you weren’t come upon unawares. And he would make sure no one stole your clothes.” He smiles in that wickedly cute way of his and reaches down for our dresses.

We both realize the same thing at the same time and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing right there. We had wanted something sneaky, something he wouldn’t suspect, and Merry had just unwittingly delivered it. He had set his own trap and walked right into it.

Vinca doesn’t miss a beat. “Meriadoc, don’t you dare!”

“He won’t do it,” I say now. It’s like holding power in the palm of my hand. We have absolutely nothing to lose and Merry won’t know what to do with himself.

It’s almost beautiful, the way it unfolds so perfectly, so seamlessly. Vinca and I hardly have to look at each other for guidance, we know each other so well. And we know Merry well enough to know just what to say to get him to give up his mischief. And he knows us well enough to know that what I say is true. We would stay in the river all day and wait for help or nightfall if we had to. What he doesn’t know though was that there was no need for us to do such a thing.

We are being scandalous by being in the river like we are, but not to the extent that Merry and Pippin think. You see, Vinca has a knack for designing clothes, and she has made us some swim clothes that are not as cumbersome and bulky as the traditional attire. I don’t know why, but elders seem to think that lasses should be covered head to toe all day and night.

Vinca finally had enough of it one day and decided to make her own swim clothes and she made a suit for me as well. The fabric is light and thin enough so that we can move about freely, but its thick enough to keep everything hidden when wet. The skirt stops just above our knees and the top is a simple, close-fitting bodice, and it has no sleeves to hide our arms or straps over the shoulders or ruffles to cover the top of our still frustratingly-small breasts. So everything essential is covered up, even if we are more exposed than our parents would like.

It’s easy to see why Merry thinks he has the upper hand. He and Pippin are too far away and we’re too well hidden behind the rock for them to see our swim clothes. They clearly think we are skinny-dipping and Merry plans to use this to his advantage. He has no clue how wrong he is and we will use that to our advantage.

Now Merry’s looking down at our dresses, and we can see he’s upset. His plan so far isn’t working. We wait to see what he’ll do next.

“Very well,” he says at length and sits down. “Then I appoint myself as your escort. Just let me know when you’re ready for your clothes.” And he smiles coyly.

Vinca growls to keep herself from laughing and I roll my eyes and utter a swear word to keep up appearances. Then Vinca leans over and whispers in my ear. “This is perfect!” she mutters excitedly. “We wanted a way to find out how he feels about you. Well, here it is.” And she tells me her plan.

It’s exactly as she says: a win-win situation. Merry and Pippin may be troublemakers, but they know what limits not to push. Even if Merry made no move to cover his eyes, Pippin would, being as Vinca is his sister. So it would work like this. If Merry doesn’t peek, that means he respects me. If he does peek, that means he’s curious. Of course, if he peeks the ploy would be over as he would realize his error, but either way, the joke would be on him. And if he peeks, we would be able to gauge by his reaction if he’s interested at all.

We laugh, our plan perfected, and my hands shake in excited nervousness. We notice Merry and Pippin frowning at us and we turn our smiles on them. Now it’s our turn to be coy.

It is adorable really, the horrified look in Merry’s eyes and the way he smacks his hand over his and Pip’s faces. But we can’t simply put on our clothes. We want to give Merry a chance to peek if that’s what he is going to do. He is far too nervous and shocked right now to think of it, so we say we’re going to lie down on the rock. What we really do is sit on the rock, facing them, and talk about the one subject that never fails to get a contemptuous glare out of him: lads.

He doesn’t peek. Not once. He doesn’t even move. So we go on to Plan B. I stand as close to him as I can while I pull on my underclothes and dress. The closeness causes me to stumble at one point and I have to reach down to grab Merry’s shoulder to keep myself from falling flat on my face. That would have been embarrassing indeed, but still Merry doesn’t move. I do notice the skin on his neck and face glow red, and Vinca nods encouragingly. I guess this is a good thing.

When we’re dressed, we walk down the path a way so they can’t hear us. “Now what do I do?” I ask. I had expected Merry to peek, and then maybe laugh at our clothes. I had imagined he would then dart off to the Hall to find Wilco and tell him about the ridiculous swimsuit his cousin was wearing.

“Now, we go to Plan C. You’re going to kiss him.”

“I’m what!”

“Come on, don’t say you don’t want to,” Vinca says. “It’s the perfect opportunity. He’s completely rattled, out of his comfort zone and all that. His bravado has melted away to nothing. You want to know how he really feels, this is your chance. You can tell everything you need to know from a kiss.”

So I calm the butterflies in my stomach, knowing that I’m about to do this against my own better judgment, knowing there is no way Vinca will let me back out of it. I’m about to kiss Merry Brandybuck!

“Merry,” I say as casually as I can, and I realize that I sound much too happy. Luckily, he doesn’t notice. “Aren’t you going to escort us back to the Hall now?”

He and Pippin peek out from under his hands, and how Vinca and I manage to keep our faces straight when we see their looks of relief is beyond me. Vinca gets Pip out of the way for me and I slip my arm through Merry’s. I’m surprised and delighted at the muscles I feel there. Merry is stronger than he looks.

He’s very polite through the whole walk back to the Hall and as we come within site of the stables, my heart starts to pound even more than before. I think it’s trying to burst out of my chest, but Vinca’s presence keeps me calm. Even if this does turn into a complete disaster, she’ll find some way to make me laugh about it. Eventually.

There’s thankfully no one else outside the stables and I let go of Merry then. I half expect him to bolt for freedom, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there, like he doesn’t know what to expect next. I fortunately have been racking my brain trying to figure out what to do once we got here and I force the shakiness out of my voice.

“Now, Merry, it just occurred to me that I never got a present from you last night,” I say and start playing with his collar. I’ve seen Mother do this to Father a couple of times when they’re teasing each other and think they’re alone, so I know it will work. “I’ll just have to take a present for myself I suppose.” And I grab his collar and pull him into a kiss.

It’s absolutely splendid. It’s everything I ever hoped it would be. This must be how moths feel, when they fly into the flame: completely consumed. And if that isn’t perfect enough, Merry deepens the kiss! I can feel the heat of his hand hovering near my neck, I know he’s about to touch my face and as much as I want to let him, I choose that moment to end the kiss. “Always leave them wanting more,” I heard Pearl say to Pimmie once and now I know why.

I will never forget the look on Merry’s face as I pull away. He looks lost and bewildered and entranced all at once. And I know, without a doubt, that he likes me.

“Thank you for bringing us back safely Merry,” I manage to say and grin with giddiness. Vinca pulls me away and we run around the corner of the stables where I burst into relieved laughter and Vinca laughs also.

“Did you see?” she says when we’re safely in my guest room. “I told you it would work! I knew he fancied you.” And I sink to the floor and touch my hands to my mouth and laugh some more.

Now Wilco and I are returning to Budgeford. I didn’t see Merry at dinner and it worries me, but Vinca assures me it means nothing. If anything, it’s a good sign and she tells me all the reasons why. So we’re right back to where we started really, with Merry ignoring me and Vinca and I guessing what it means. But I’ve seen that look in his eyes and I know at least that he’ll never think of me in the same way again.

I still think it would have been easier if I could have just asked him how he felt about me, but I know Vinca’s right. He wouldn’t have known how to answer that question without acting like a buffoon. But that’s the trouble with lads: they take forever to grow up.

End of this ficlet.

GF 12/5/04

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, I just obsess about it all day.

For Isilhen Daegol, who wanted a Hero!Pippin fic. :)
 
 
 

#10: Pippin the Bullroarer

Pippin: 9, Merry: 17, Everard: 19, Ferdibrand: 16, Freddy: 19 
Afteryule 1399 SR
 

Winter was thick over the Shire, and it was the worst one in record. The wind blew fierce and biting cold, so cold it cut straight through to the bone and froze you from within. Snow was on the ground in heaps and mounds. The rivers were frozen solid, down to the very riverbed, and strange things were being reported. It started with wild birds and small game animals dwindling in number, then livestock started disappearing. Then, during the weak sunlight hours of Trewsday morning past, the first sighting was made: the wolves had returned to the Shire and they would not be so easily gotten rid of this time around.

Farmers brought their livestock into hastily-built shelters, parents kept their children close. It was the only way to ensure safety to those vulnerable to danger. Unfortunately, everyone was vulnerable, the old, the young, the strong, the weak. The Thain sent out the call for everyone to be on their guard and stay inside, and everyone readily listened. Everyone, that is, but for one small group of reckless teens, thinking themselves invisible. They slipped unnoticed out of the Smials to take a stroll to the frozen solid river.

They failed to notice the faint howl on the faraway wind, but I did not. I heard them with my heightened senses and I knew danger was nearing. I took up my crossbow and followed their tracks quietly and stealthily through the snow. I had to find them. No one could stand against the deadly wolves and live to tell the tale. If I did not find them, they very well may never be seen again. This I could not allow, for I cared for them all and among them was the one whom I loved the most. I had to ensure their safety. I alone could rescue them from this formdab… formimina… terrible danger, for I am Pippin the Bullroarer.

~*~

“However did you manage to lose him?” Everard Took asked, clearly impressed.

“It was nothing,” Merry gloated. “I have more than enough experience getting rid of annoying Tooks, no offense to current company intended.”

“None taken,” Ferdibrand laughed. “But how did you do it? Do you know magic?”

Merry laughed now. “No of course not, but I do know Pippin’s stomach. A big heaping plate of warm and gooey sugar biscuits was all it took to distract him. He didn’t even notice me leaving.”

“Oh, well that’s wonderful then,” Freddy said dryly. “Give that monster chocolate. You’ve delivered us from the pipsqueak only to turn the whole Smials against us. Way to go.”

“No plan is flawless,” Merry said, unconcerned. “It’s a minor setback.”

“A setback that is going to cause the Thain to kick you out on your bum when we get back,” Everard pointed out with a chuckle. Everyone knew that Pippin was not allowed to have sweets. It was just common sense, a natural law of existence, like how the sun always rose in the east.

Merry only shrugged and continued trudging through the snow. Freddy, Ferdi and Everard followed in silence, concentrating on their next step, until they were standing on the riverbank. They stared out at the ice and Ferdi shook his head in bemusement.

“Are you certain this is going to work?” he asked. “I never heard of this ice fishing before. Won’t the fish be frozen?”

“The ice is only on the top,” Merry said. “The water is still flowing and the fish still swimming underneath. All we have to do is saw through the ice, making a big enough hole to pull our prizes through, and then we fish. Easy as pie.”

“My feet are cold,” Ferdi complained next. Merry handed him a pair of soft leather boots, stuffed with hay. “You want us to cover our feet?” he asked incredulously. These Brandybucks were one ridiculous notion after another.

“Just put them on, unless you want your feet to freeze to the ice, and then you’ll just have to stay there until it melts, won’t you?” Merry said.

He sat on the snow-covered ground and slipped on his boots, then made his way onto the ice while the others struggled clumsily with their own footwear. He found a perfect location and pulled out his saw and began cutting the hole. By the time his friends joined him, he had the hole finished and the lines ready. Everard and Freddy set the crates they had carried from the barn around the hole to serve as seats, and they all settled down to enjoy an afternoon of fishing.

~*~

I found them! My finely honed tracking skills came through again. My cousins were safe for now, but they soon would not be. I heard the wolves closer now, but my cousins were still unaware of the danger they were in. They foolishly went out onto the ice, and just as I expected, they immediately became stuck on the slippery surface. They called out for help, but that only attracted the wolves to them. The howling turned to barking and yapping, and now the teens realized their predic… their predtic… their danger. Their pleas for help redoubled and I knew that I must act quickly or all of them would be lost.

I clutched my crossbow and centered myself, preparing for the battle ahead. There would be much bloodshed, but the wolves would realize their defeat and flee to the distant hills. Of course, a tracking party would have to be sent out to finish the job, but that could wait until the teens were safely inside once more.

I stepped out of my hidden lookout and charged for the river just as the first of the deadly, large wolves stepped into the clearing. More followed after and they were faster than I thought they would be. I suddenly feared I might not be able to reach the river in time. No! That could not be! I must do something!

I pumped my legs faster, ignoring the burning in my lungs as they call out for air. I reached the river just as the lead wolf did. The wolf took no heed of me and that was its mistake.

“Die, wolf! Die!” I shouted fiercely and jumped upon the beast.

~*~

“This is rather peaceful,” Ferdi admitted after a few minutes. The boots, as cumbersome as they were, did keep his feet warm and the soles were notched so that they did not slip on the ice.

The friends smiled contentedly at each other and enjoyed the silence of the icy world around them. An occasional gust of wind blew through, bringing the colder air with it, but for the most part, they were comfortable and warm in their jackets and gloves.

Then Freddy’s brow crinkled in concern. “Did you hear something?”

“What?” asked Everard, unnecessarily.

Just then, a small bundle of excited Took energy burst through the nearby bushes and leaped onto the river. “Die, wolf! Die!” he cried and swung a rolling pin about with all his might.

After getting over their initial fright, the teens looked down at Pippin with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Merry just shook his head. He should have known better.

“Pippin, what are you doing?” he asked his dear little cousin.

Pippin was lying on his back, fighting off an imaginary foe of some sort, a wolf Merry supposed. “I’m rescuing you,” he explained between what he no doubt thought to be deadly punches but looked more like comical pantomime. “The wolves have come back and they were going to eat you.”

“Well, thank goodness you got here in time,” Everard said, humoring his cousin. “We were nearly done for.”

“This is just great,” Freddy said. “You wound him up on sweets and now he’s here. What are we going to do?”

“That’s easy. Just let him fight the wolves off while we fish,” Merry said. “Just, don’t engage anymore. He’ll try to drag you into the game.”

“If you say so,” Ferdi said uncertainly. They sat back down and picked up their lines, keeping a casual watch on their tiny intruder. So much for an afternoon of peace and quiet.

~*~

They were pleased to see me and praised my perfect timing. They wisely huddled away from the action and let me do my work. The other wolves held their position on the riverbank. This was their code. If their leader won the battle, they would attack full force and I would have no hope of beating them all back. If I won, they would leave and never return.

I realized that I was Merry’s last hope and this strengthened my resolve. I rammed my crossbow in the pack leader’s furry face, knocking out several sharp, canine teeth. The wolf fell away with a yelp and I saw my chance. I stood up, aimed and shot with deadly accuracy. The wolf yelped and fell to a heap on the ice, setting the other wolves to yelping and howling mournfully. I turned on them with a menacing growl and they ran away with their tales tucked between their legs.

“And don’t ever come back!” I shouted triumphantly. I won, I rescued my Merry and his friends! But of course, that was only to be expected, because I am Pippin, the Bullroarer.

~*~

“Look at the way he’s dressed Merry,” Everard said as Pippin shouted in triumph. “He didn’t even put on a jacket. We need to get him back to the Smials.”

“No, you stay here,” Merry said with a sigh. “I’ll take him back.” He stood up and went over to his cousin. He squatted down and tried not to laugh at Pippin’s victorious smile. “You’re a lifesaver, Pip. I’m mightily impressed.”

“Really?”

“Of course, it’s not everyday someone risks their life to save mine. I am forever in your debt.”

“Your gratitude is reward enough,” Pippin said proudly, puffing out his chest.

Merry laughed. “That may be so, but I’ll have to see you get something for your bravery all the same. Now, I expect that extra energy will start wearing off now that the threat is gone and you’re going to start feeling the cold. You know better than to come out in the snow without the proper clothing, Pip.”

“But I had to save you,” Pippin explained. “You saw how close that was. That wolf was about to rip your head off. If I had stopped to dress up, I would have been too late. It’s a small sacrifice to make for you, Merry.”

“That may be so, but you could get sick,” Merry said. He could just imagine the lecture he would get from Aunt Tina if Pippin took sick from this, not to mention what his own mother would have to say.

Merry took off his jacket and draped it around Pippin’s shoulders. Pippin was small enough that the jacket reached all the way down to his ankles. Merry next removed his scarf and wrapped it around Pippin’s neck. “There, that should keep you warm. Now let’s get you back inside.”

Merry reached down and picked up his cousin. Only Pippin didn’t come. What he did instead was let out an ear-shattering scream.

“That hurt, Merry!” Pippin shouted angrily, his eyes watering from the pain. He smacked Merry on the chest.

Merry looked down at Pippin in confusion and shock, his heart racing from the scream. The others looked on with concern, no longer interested in fishing. None of them had ever heard Pippin scream like that before. What was going on?

“Merry,” Pippin said, a note of panic in his voice. “I can’t move my feet.”

The blood drained from Merry’s face and his friends quickly stood up in alarm. They realized immediately what had happened. The snow on Pippin’s feet had melted and glued him to the ice. He couldn’t move an inch.

“Merry, they’re cold,” Pippin said.

“I know they are, Pip,” Merry said and knelt next to his cousin. He forced himself to remain calm and his mind raced for a solution. “You’re going to have to be brave for me now Pip. Can you do that?”

Pippin nodded uncertainly.

“Of course he can,” Everard said in light tones. “He defeated a whole pack of wolves just now. He can do anything.”

Pippin nodded again, remembering the wolves. He had defeated them very swiftly and effortlessly. He could do this too, whatever ‘this’ was. He could be strong for his Merry, who was scared about something. He sniffled and stood up straight and smiled bravely.

“Did we bring a bucket?” Merry asked.

Freddy nodded. You always bring a bucket when you go fishing.

“Good. Fill the bucket with water,” Merry instructed. “We just need to wet his feet again and that should melt the ice. I hope.”

“This water is freezing, Merry,” Ferdi said worriedly. He was afraid the water might freeze upon hitting the ice and then Pippin would be even more stuck than he was right now.

“I know, but it’s still warmer than the ice and it will melt it. Pippin can take it, can’t you Pip?” Merry said with a smile to his little cousin.

“I’m the Bullroarer,” Pippin said weakly.

Freddy brought the bucket, filled to the rim with icy water. Merry took it and carefully poured the water little by little around Pippin’s feet. Everard stood behind Pippin and as Merry poured, he pulled up on Pippin’s feet, gently and slowly. The plan worked and after a couple of minutes, they had Pippin free from the ice. Everard handed the small, shivering bundle to Merry, and Pippin instantly clung himself to his older cousin.

Merry raced up to the Smials while the others stayed behind to clean up. He no longer cared what lectures he would receive. He had to get Pippin inside, warmed up, and looked over by the healer.

~*~

It was all part of my plan. Really, it was. Now Merry was with me, sitting by my bed, which Mum said I had to stay in for the rest of the day. This must be my reward for beating off the wolves, much deserved rest and my Mer-bear here to play with me. Er, I mean, to keep me company, because the Bullroarer doesn’t play.

“Pippin, the hobbit icicle,” Merry said with a smile.

“I’m the Bullroarer,” I said indign… indiditn… proudly.

“That you most certainly are,” Merry said and ruffled my hair. “My valiant protector.”

“I’ll always protect you Merry,” I said. “What does valiant mean?”

“It means you’re brave,” Merry said. He tucked the blankets around me again, taking special care with my feet. He had been doing that all afternoon and it was getting annoying, but I let him do it because he’s my Merry and I knew he liked to feel useful.

Then I remembered why I had went to look for him in the first place, how I had noticed he was gone. I reached into my breeches pocket and held out a crumbling biscuit. “I saved you one,” I said.

Merry must really like biscuits to cry like that. I guess Aunt Esme never lets him have sweets either.
 
 

End of this ficlet.

 
 
 
 
GF 12/12/04

Taking Care of Merry

Pippin is 14, Merry 21, Frodo 35 (Approximately 9, 13, and 22 in Man years)

14 Rethe, 1404 SR; Whitwell
 

Pippin’s party was not going well. Oh sure, he had family and numerous cousins about, more food than he could wish for – and he could wish for quite a lot – and his presents had been received with happy exclamations. Frodo was here and he was telling the most entertaining story to an eager cluster of young hobbits, taking over Bilbo’s role with ease. But all of it was spoiled because the most important hobbit of all was not at the party.

Merry had arrived with his parents four days earlier. He and Pippin had a grand time that day, running about the farm, catching lizards and playing Smaug the Dragon. Merry even let Pippin play Smaug, though he kept laughing every time Pippin roared.

The following day, Merry had woken with a soar throat. Eglantine made him gargle with warm salt water, which Merry had been hard pressed not to spit out before she said it was time, but he had to admit it did improve his throat. After second breakfast, they were allowed outside to play, and Pippin clambered up an apple tree and tossed the juiciest fruits down to Merry. Then they went floating in the pond, munching on their apples and playing Shapes with the clouds overhead.

The next day, Merry had again woken with a sore throat, and a runny nose besides. He didn’t say anything this time though. He simply snuck a couple of handkerchiefs from the linen closet, and he and Pippin had run up to Waymeet to wait for Frodo. When Frodo arrived, they followed their beloved older cousin back to Whitwell, walking much slower so they could catch up and hear everything their cousin had been doing. When they reached the house, they helped him unpack, patiently waited as he caught up with the adults, and finally dragged him out after supper for some night fishing and a camp out by the pond. This was very convenient, for whenever they polished off one bag of snacks, they could dash into the house and retrieve another.

Then yesterday morning came. Frodo and Pippin woke not to the rooster’s crow but to Merry’s uncontrollable coughing. His throat was aching and scratchy, he could hardly speak, his nose was backed up, his eyes were watering, his head was pounding, every muscle in his body was sore and stiff, and his face was flushed with fever.

Frodo rushed them back to the house and the healer was sent for immediately. Eglantine and Esmeralda squared Merry away in the far guest room and tucked him into bed. They were preparing tea when the healer arrived. One look at Merry was all she needed to make a diagnosis. “Flu,” she announced. “It’s been going around and has been keeping me quite busy this month. Not surprising that it's thriving in Brandy Hall as well.”

And so Merry had been stuck in the guest room at the back of the house, and only his mother, and the healer were allowed to see him. Attending the party was out of the question. Esmeralda assured Pippin that Merry was mostly sleeping and wasn’t very good for company. Frodo did his best to play with Pippin and show him a good time, but there was simply no substitute for Merry.

Now Pippin was surrounded by various relations, all of them having a grand time, and all he could do was stare at the solitary gift left sitting on the table, waiting to be given to its recipient. Merry’s gift.

Pippin waited for an opportunity to sneak away and it came near the end of the evening, as everyone was preparing to leave. He noticed Esmeralda saying farewell to the departing cousins and knew this was his chance. He grabbed his present from the table and dashed soundlessly down the hall.

He slipped into Merry’s room and closed the door silently behind him. The room was dimly lit with a lamp and a handful of candles, and Merry was sleeping restlessly, propped up on pillows to relieve congestion. Beside the bed, on a stuffed green chair, sat Frodo, reading a book. Or at least, he had been reading. He smiled warmly at Pippin, not at all surprised to find his youngest friend had found a way to sneak back here.

“You shouldn’t be here Pippin,” Frodo warned kindly.

“But I’ve already been sick this month,” Pippin explained and walked over to Merry, placing the present on the side table. “I tried telling Aunt Esme but she wouldn't listen. Is she coming back?”

“I gave her the night off,” Frodo said. “It is not often she gets to see her brother and sisters.”

“Well, it is not often you get to see everyone either,” Pippin said, trying to sound as dignified and grown up as Frodo. “I’ll take care of Merry. You should go mingle.”

Frodo’s smile widened into a grin. He knew it has been a sore test for Pippin to stay away from Merry the last two days, so he put down his book and went to the door. “Perhaps I’ll stretch my legs for a bit,” he mused. “I’ll be back in an hour, but you must promise me that should Merry have trouble of any kind, you will fetch Esmeralda or your mother immediately.”

“I promise,” Pippin said and dashed over to hug Frodo around the legs. Frodo bent and kissed the top of his curly head and existed the room quietly. He would tell Esmeralda and Eglantine where Pippin was so they wouldn’t worry and then go outside to take a pipe with Saradoc and Paladin.

Pippin was settling into the chair when Merry stirred. “Mum?” he murmured, his eyes still closed.

“Hullo Merry,” Pippin said cheerfully and beamed brightly when Merry peeked his eyes open to look at him. “Are you feeling better yet?”

“No,” Merry replied shortly. He sat up a bit more and suppressed a cough with effort, letting out a slow, careful breath as the fit passed. “My head hurts, I’m all warm and hot, but if I take the blankets off, I start shivering. My throat hurts, my neck hurts, everything hurts. I can’t get comfortable enough in here to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. Mother tells me I was asleep all morning, but I don’t believe her. I feel so tired.”

“Poor Mer-bear,” Pippin said and crawled onto the bed to hug Merry tightly. He lay down next to his cousin and rested his head on Merry’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and less healthy breathing. He frowned. “Your chest is all rumbly.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” Merry said with a chuckle. He absently ran a hand through Pippin’s curls and felt his cousin relax alongside him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party. It sounded like a good one.”

“It was all right,” Pippin said, “but I only got to have one piece of cake since you weren’t there to sneak me any more. I brought you your present.” He sat up and reached over to the side table and handed Merry the small, wrapped box.

Merry took it and tore off the paper. He opened the box and laughed. Crammed inside, there was a jumble of marbles, small wood soldiers and tiny stuffed hobbit dolls, as well as various carved animals, rattle toys and noisemakers. “What is this?”

“All the toys you would let me borrow and I would always forget to give back,” Pippin said. “You complained last time I went to visit, so I went through my room and found them all.”

Merry sat up and kissed his cousin on the brow. “Thank you Pip, that’s the best present ever. How about we keep these here, so I’ll have something to play with when I come to visit.”

Pippin nodded eagerly. “I’ll keep them in the box,” he promised, meaning he would put them back in the box each time he finished playing with them. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Much better,” Merry said. He closed the box and set it on the bed next to him before settling back into the pillows exhaustedly. “If only I weren’t so hot and tired.”

Pippin perked up at this and jumped off the bed. He was out the door before Merry could even ask what he was doing. Pippin ran to the linen closet and pulled out a particularly soft hand cloth. He then ran back to the room and stopped at the ewer. He stood on tiptoe and dipped the cloth into the water. When it was adequately soaked, he dashed over to Merry, who had been silently watching him with an amused expression on his flushed face, and placed the dripping cloth over Merry’s forehead.

Merry laughed. “I think you’re supposed to drain the water out a bit first Pip,” he advised.

“Oh,” Pippin said. He grabbed the cloth back up, went back to the ewer and squeezed out as much water as he could. He jumped back onto the bed and placed the cloth on Merry’s forehead again. “Better now?”

“Tremendously,” Merry said. He reached over to pull Pippin down to lay next to him again, but Pippin was off the bed and out the door before he could blink. Merry stared out the door, bewildered. What was his cousin up to now?

He found out soon enough. He tried desperately not to laugh when Pippin came back, holding his old, motley and stained (despite various washings) stuffed pony. Pippin climbed back onto the bed and handed the pony, who was appropriately named Bandobras, to his cousin. “Here Merry,” he said, his face a study of absolute seriousness. “You can have Bando tonight. He always helps me sleep.”

“Thank you Pippin,” Merry managed to say without grinning too much. “I shall never sleep more soundly, I’m certain.”

With that Pippin finally settled down next to Merry again, and Merry wrapped one arm snuggly around him, while the other held Bandobras the Pony. Pippin snuggled into his friend’s side and closed his eyes, once again listening to the steady rhythm of Merry’s heartbeat, and he was almost certain Merry’s chest sounded better already.

They were fast asleep by the time Frodo returned from his pipe. He stood in the doorway, watching his friends sleep, bathed in the gentle glow of candlelight, and burned the picture into his mind. Then he went to fetch their parents so they could do likewise.
 
 

The End.
 
 

GF 1/29/05

A/N: In “A Mid-Year’s Walking Trip,” Merry and Frodo discovered that Sam and Pippin had an unusual pact: if Pippin was able to behave himself while staying at Bag End, Sam would send him home with treats to enjoy until his next visit. For her birthday, Dreamflower requested a follow-up story, wanting to know when, and if, that pact ever ended.

#12: What Goes Around

Merry is 58, Pippin 50, Fenton 21, Théodoc almost 16, and Faramir 10. (About 41, 32, 13, 10 and 6 ½, in Man years.)

Afterlithe 1440 SR
 

Diamond was frazzled and very nearly at her wits end. Why she had thought she could entertain such a gathering on her own was beyond her. She should have listened to Estella and enlisted the kitchen staff to prepare the food like she normally did. She had wanted to do everything herself though, and she was now regretting what could only be considered an irrational whim of her quickly-approaching confinement.

Her sisters-in-law and Estella were helping, bless them. Pimpernel and Pearl and her two daughters were breezing expertly around the kitchen, and Estella and Pervinca were bravely tackling the destruction in the formal dining room.

Now, if only Diamond could find her firstborn. Faramir was being far too quiet, and that was never a good thing, especially when his favorite cousin came calling. The two of them together could tear apart the Shire if they had half a mind, and they’d laugh and sing tirelessly the whole while.

Diamond walked into the parlor where her husband, her three brothers-in-law, and the seven youngest children were gathered. Pippin had their soon-to-be middle child, Bergil, sitting on his lap. The four-year old was looking up at his father with wide brown eyes, as absorbed as everyone else as Pippin spun a tale from his and Merry’s latest venture to Rohan. Pippin was greatly enjoying the telling, which sounded much more elaborate than the version Diamond had heard the week before. Pippin always enjoyed being the center of attention and his audience was hanging onto his every word. He could easily spend the next hour or more right where he was and never notice the time of day, but Diamond did not have to wait long for his attention. Pippin felt her presence the moment she entered the doorway, and turned to greet her. One look at his exhausted and very pregnant wife had him on his feet and to the doorway within a heartbeat.

“What is it, gem?” Pippin asked with concern. “Are you not feeling well? Do you need to lie down. Are you worried about the others arriving shortly?”

Diamond shook her head, even though she was tired and indeed worried about the others yet to come. They had a full smial already: Merry, Estella and two of their three children, Théodoc and Niphredil (Peridoc had stayed home with hay fever); Pearl and her husband Aldard Hornblower, and their three children, Liliana, Clover and Alaric; Pimpernel and her husband Fendon Burrows, with their two sons, Fenton and Bardobras; Pervinca and her husband Everard Took (a dear and old friend of both Pippin and Merry), and their twin daughters, Summer and Dawn. On top of that, Samwise and his large family were set to arrive soon, fourteen total right there, and they would be bringing Estella’s brother Freddy and his wife Mentha, with their son Archibold and their daughter Cliantha. It was only by great luck that Folco, his wife and their five children would be unable to attend.

Diamond’s head spun whenever she thought of the number of mouths she would soon be feeding, so she pushed the thought aside and focused on the uttermost of her concerns. “Where is Faramir?” she asked. “I’d like the lad to be presentable when the others arrive, even if he will be a mess again five minutes later.”

“Merry took him and Théo outside,” Pippin answered. “They were a bit wound up and needed to run about a while. I’ll fetch them. Are you certain you don’t need any help? I could stop by the kitchens on my way.”

“I’ll manage,” Diamond insisted. “Just get our son washed up if you can, and don’t forget that you and Merry are to speak to your sons about their behavior before the day is done.” She turned into the parlor and raised her voice to the company. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m depriving you of your storyteller.”

The children responded with disappointed exclamations. Their fathers did their best to entertain them with their own stories of less grand and more mundane adventures, that managed to grab the children’s attention all the same. Pippin handed Bergil to Niphredil, then beckoned Fenton to follow him before heading out the door.

Diamond retreated back to the kitchen and found everything in order there. She promised to be back shortly, then continued into the dining room, which was finally beginning to look presentable again after its earlier adventure. The experiment must have been Théodoc’s idea and naturally Faramir had eagerly accepted recruitment. What the purpose had been, she didn’t know, but it had involved a great amount of honey, syrup, molasses, glue and confetti, and had covered nearly all of the dining table. Some had even dripped onto the chairs and floor. She hadn’t thought it would ever get cleaned in time. Thankfully, Estella and Pervinca were masters at cleaning up messes, and one could hardly tell to look at it now that everything had been covered in goop just a few short hours before.

Diamond smiled gratefully at her friends and sighed with relief. She might just survive this night yet. Her son, on the other hand…  

Pippin and Fenton emerged outside Great Smials and blinked into the sunlight. “They’d be by the trees,” Fenton assessed, and sure enough, Pippin spotted Merry off in the distance under an oak, leaning against the bole with an unlit pipe in hand. Neither of their sons were in sight though.

Fenton and Pippin made their way up the steep slope. “Have you nodded off on watch?” Pippin asked lightly when he was close enough to be heard.

Merry looked over and grinned, then pointed upward with the stem of his pipe. “We have squirrels in the family tree, did you know?” he said as Pippin and Fenton came to stand beside him.

They all three looked up into the branches. All that could be seen of the two lads were two pairs of furry feet attached to swinging legs.

“Fam,” Pippin called up. “The Mayor will be here soon and you need to make yourself presentable. Let’s get you down and washed up. You too, Théo.”

Snickers filtered down to the ground, but no other sign was made that Pippin was heard.

“Théo,” Merry tried now, “you bring your cousin down now.”

“But you said we have to stay out here until we run out of energy, and we haven’t done that yet, Father,” Théodoc rationalized from above.

“Then I am amending my original proclamation,” Merry said, sounding very much the Master of Buckland. “By order of the Thain and Master, you’re both to come down from this tree this instant.”

“Dad,” Théodoc said, and both Merry and Pippin could tell from his tone that the lad was rolling his eyes skyward.

“Five more minutes? Please, Da?” Faramir pleaded now, in his tiny whimpering voice that never failed to make his father see reason.

“Very well,” Pippin relented, “but that’s all you get. Fenton will be timing you.”

“Fen!” the lads cried, just now becoming aware that their favorite older cousin was there as well. “Come up and join us.”

“And put a tear in my best breeches?” Fenton said as Merry handed him his pocket watch. “I think not.” He flipped open the watch and read the time. “You have four minutes and fifty seconds.”

“Ah, Fenny, be fair,” Théodoc said. “Cousin Pippin meant five minutes for each of us.”

“I’m still standing here,” Pippin said, chuckling under his breath.

“Five minutes for you both then,” Fenton agreed. “And now you both have four and-a-half minutes left.”

Merry laughed now also and patted Fenton on the shoulder. “Bring them in when their time is up, lad, and see they’re presentable.”

“Yes, Cousin Merry,” Fenton agreed. He would have no trouble getting the lads out of the tree and inside. They listened to him more steadily than they did their own parents and he was often called upon to keep the lads from arguing too much – no easy task, especially when Peridoc was there to irritate his brother.

Merry and Pippin left the lads to their play and walked off a short distance to a nearby tree, whose bare roots offered them a place to sit without getting themselves dirty. Merry sighed and cupped the bowl of his pipe. “When did we become the grown ups?” he asked bemusedly.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Pippin answered. “I’m certain that Frodo had something to do with it. He was forever getting us into things.”

“Then he sailed off before he could be questioned for his crimes, the scamp,” Merry agreed. “At least we learned one thing from him: when you want your children to do something, send a cousin.”

“Ah, yes. My parents were always sending you to get me, and your parents would send Frodo, and we never saw the trickery in it. Not until we had our own children who wouldn’t listen to us, and even then I didn’t see it. It wasn’t until around the hundredth time I had sent Fenny out to grab Fam in that I realized what I was doing,” Pippin added. “Parents are devious things.”

“I never would have guessed it, but you’re right. They were quite devious. I suppose they had to be, to survive raising us,” Merry replied. Then he laughed and nodded his head toward the tree that hid their sons. “That was a good experiment they had going.”

“Yes. I wonder which one would have dried first.”

“The glue would be my wager. It’s meant to dry quickly,” Merry reasoned.

“I don’t know. I think the molasses would have dried faster,” Pippin argued.

“Just because it’s thicker doesn’t mean it will dry quicker, Pip,” Merry countered.

“Hm, well, the honey would be best to see the confetti through at any rate, followed by the syrup,” Pippin put in.

“The honey would have dried last, I think,” Merry continued, pondering the matter seriously.

“No, it would have been the syrup,” Pippin said. “Honey is solid already in beehives, but syrup is runny even inside a bole.”

“Too bad they couldn’t have finished their experiment.”

“Too bad they got more honey, syrup and molasses inside them and on their clothes than on the table.”

“You know what we need?” Merry said with an impish grin. “We need a Sam, someone to bribe them with treats and make them behave when we aren’t around.”

Pippin shook his head emphatically. “No, that would not be a good idea.”

“Why not? It worked on you,” Merry pointed out, but Pippin only shook his head again, all hint of humor gone. “Why wouldn’t it work?” Merry asked, his curiosity peaked.

“It might work for a while, but it’ll get us in the end,” Pippin answered evasively. He ran his fingers through the grass and avoided eye contact, reluctant to explain even though he knew he would have to eventually.

“Oh? How so?” Merry asked.

“Well, remember Aunt Heather and Aunt Amber?” Pippin asked, stalling.

“How could I forget them? They once washed my mouth out with soap just for shouting in the tunnels.”

“Be glad that’s all you ever did to offend them.”

“Pippin, are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to get it from your sisters?” Merry asked. “Is this about the time you, Everard and Ferdi mooned them?”

“No. No, this was much worse.” Pippin sighed. He may as well get this over with.  

It was the summer of 1413. You remember that summer – we went camping with Frodo and Sam in Bindbole Wood and you nearly got us all eaten alive by wasps.

“They were yellow jackets, and you were not nearly eaten alive.”

Merry, please, I still have the scars.

“Scars? You were only bitten once!”

Don’t interrupt. It’s rude.

As I was saying, that was the summer you discovered my secret pact with Sam – that if I refrained from eating Frodo out of hole and smial while I was at Bag End, he would send me home with treats as a reward. That was the summer he made me cinnamon rolls, my very first – and my very last – at least until I came of age and Mother could no longer control my diet.

You see, it was my mother’s custom to have the family over for a few weeks after the Free Fair and I returned on the last day of their visit. Pearl and Aldard were there, and Liliana was just a bairn then, fifteen months almost. Fendon was over for the very first time that day, having just started courting Nell officially.

Aunt Amber and Aunt Heather were over also naturally, making Vinca and I miserable with their rigid rules. Mum and Da couldn’t have been happier of course, because ever since the mooning incident, I was too afraid to cross The Aunts and always behaved when they were around. What they didn’t know was that I had my own way of dealing with their stringency: Sam’s treats.

Now, as you may recall, the deal was that I was only allowed to eat one treat per day, and I always followed that rule. But, the way I saw it, one day with The Aunts were like two days with anyone else. So I went to my room, snuck the cinnamon rolls from my hiding place under the floorboards near my bed, and ate them both.

Oh, Merry, they were so delightful, and Sam had even put strawberry cream icing over them, thick and gooey and dripped all down the sides and in between the folds. They were absolutely divine. I tried to eat them slowly, take small bites, so I could savor the moment, but it was no good. I gobbled them down in under a minute and pouted that I didn’t have any more.

Now, as you may also recall, Mum was forever saying that I became an uncontrollable fiend whenever I had too much sugar, and so she was forever forbidding me from eating sweets. I never understood what she was talking about. True, I might get a tad bit hyper from time to time, but never so out of control as she always claimed. I always figured she was just overreacting, like she did at times, and so I didn’t think anything would come of me eating both the cinnamon rolls in one go.

Now, before I go any further, I should explain that Aunt Amber was a master seamstress and was always making elegant gowns and dresses, with hats to match and all that. One year, she outdid herself and designed a dress so fancy and beautiful that it even won a prize at that year’s Free Fair, and she wore it only to the most special of occasions when she wanted to look her most impressive. As this was to be her first time meeting Nell’s suitor, and since we were to be eating in the formal dining room, she decided to wear the dress.

“So you did something to the dress then?”

I didn’t do anything to the dress.

“Then why are you telling me about it?”

Because, I have to set the scene.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes! So, dinner was over and there we were, all of us sitting in the parlor interrogating Fendon as we waited for the attendants to bring afters. Da said we were ‘just getting to know him’ but we were really interrogating him. The Aunts especially could get anything out of anyone just by looking at them, and they had poor Fendon sweating up a storm under their scrutiny.

Liliana was playing on the floor, scooting herself around and grabbing at skirt hems. Vinca was sitting between Mum and Da on the settee under the window. You remember the one – with the little ledge and all the knickknacks and whatnots on them, including the one that Mum got from Grandmum Banks before she passed. It was a small glass-blown sparrow with a rose stem in its mouth, and it was even painted, though how they did that, I have no idea. It was her most cherished gift from her mum, and she valued it above all else.

“So then something happened to the sparrow?”

Are you going to let me tell the story or not?

“Go ahead then.”

Thank you.

Pearl and Aldard were sharing the divan, and The Aunts were sitting in the two stuffed chairs near the entryway in front of the hutch, where the ornamental plates were stored. Nell and Fendon were sitting on the other settee, keeping themselves a respectable distance apart.

I was on the floor with Liliana, trying not to bounce about too much or chatter up a storm, or twitch or fidget or run around, or anything else I tend to do when I get hyper. After all, I didn’t want to give myself away or get in trouble. I thought I was doing a good job of it, mostly playing with Liliana, helping her roll around or scoot about, or playing peek-a-boo.

Everything was going fine, except that Mum gave me a few cross looks for no reason and Aunt Amber clucked her tongue at me, and Da even said my full name at one point, when all I did was toss a little sac ball to Liliana. Granted, I may have got a bit carried away and may have accidentally tossed it at her face instead of her lap, but it didn’t hurt her. She even laughed. So there was really no reason for Da to get so cross.

Then Fendon said something, I don’t remember what, but it made Aldard and Da laugh for all they were worth, but none of the lasses found it particularly funny – except Vinca of course. The Aunts looked downright scandalized, and Fendon turned as red as a ripe tomato ready for the picking. He was about to be picked apart too, once The Aunts recovered from their shock. Luckily for him, the attendants came in then with afters – butter biscuits and vanilla pudding with boysenberry sauce dribbled over the top – and trays of tea and mulled cider.

Mum refused to let me have any afters and I was left to myself as Pearl took Liliana for her feeding. So I took the sac ball and started tossing it up in the air. That got boring after a while, so I stood up and tried kicking the ball in the air with my feet, which was harder. The third time the ball went astray, it nearly knocked over the glass sparrow. Da took it then and tucked it into his pocket, and Mum told me to sit still and behave myself or I’d have to go to bed early. So I sat still, but that got boring too.

I started digging through the bairn’s toy bag and found a box. I shook the box and could hear something rolling around inside it, but when I tried to open the lid, the latch was caught and wouldn’t open. So I thought I’d shake it a bit as I was trying to pry open the lid, you know, for the extra momentum.

Meanwhile, Fendon was still stammering about, trying to make amends to The Aunts for whatever he had said, and for the most part, he was succeeding.

Everyone finished their afters, but The Aunts wanted seconds, so Fendon offered to get them some. He stood up and was acting quite formal about the matter, when all he was doing was carrying more pudding bowls to them.

Just at that moment, I got the latch to give and the lid popped open. I stopped shaking the box, but not in time. The marble inside all but jumped out of the box, sailed across the room and hit Fendon right in the back of the head. He was knocked forward, tripped over the rug, and stumbled forward before falling right off his feet. The pudding bowls flew out of his hands, hitting the hutch behind The Aunts. The glass pane cracked, the pudding bowls broke and vanilla pudding and boysenberry sauce dripped all over Aunt Amber just as Fendon landed face first in Aunt Heather’s bodice. And can you believe it – they punished me!  

Merry roared with laughter, tears of mirth springing to his eyes. For a long while he could do nothing but gasp for air. “You said… you said… you didn’t do anything to the dress,” he finally got out.

“I didn’t,” Pippin said, a bit miffed. “Weren’t you listening? Fendon was the one who dropped the bowls.”

“So what happened then?” Merry asked, still chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes.

“I was sent to my room. Da came later and I had to give up my secret. They wanted to know where I got it all from naturally, but I couldn’t give up Sam, so I told them I snatched it from Great Smials last time we were there.”

“And?” Merry goaded, sobering slowly and wiping tears from his eyes. Knowing Paladin, that couldn’t have been the only punishment that resulted from that incident.

“I spent the rest of the summer living with The Aunts at Great Smials, cleaning their rooms top to bottom every single day, running errands for them, and helping Aunt Amber make a new dress,” Pippin answered sourly.

“I’m sorry, Pip,” Merry said with a shiver. A summer alone with The Aunts? Merry couldn’t imagine it.

“That wasn’t even the worst part,” Pippin said, interrupting his friend’s thoughts.

“It wasn’t?”

“No, the worst part was going to visit Frodo that autumn for his birthday. My parents came along to see me there safe, and they told Frodo that under no circumstances was I allowed to have any treats, and he was to check my pockets and my bags to make sure I didn’t sneak off with anything. And wouldn’t you know it, Sam was just outside the kitchen window doing his weeding, and he heard the whole thing. So that was the end of that,” Pippin concluded.

A sudden movement under the oak drew their eyes, and they looked over just as Faramir and Théodoc dropped down from the boughs. To their dismay, both lads had managed to smudge their clothes and disarray their hair in just the few short minutes they had been outside. Their wives would not be pleased.

Fenton pocketed the watch and raced the lads down the hill toward the Smials. With Fenton goading them, the lads would be squeaky clean and freshly pressed within minutes, and hopefully neither of their mothers would see them in their current state.

“Maybe if they did the experiment out in the stables,” Pippin mused.

“We’re not supposed to be encouraging such behavior, Pip,” Merry pointed out. “We’re going to have to punish them.”

“I know, but Fam pouts and I can’t stand it,” Pippin said with reluctance. How had his parents managed to punish him and his sisters so many times throughout their youth without feeling guilty? Or, maybe they had felt guilty but punished them anyway. “I suppose a day or two working with the cleaning maids ought to do the trick, but we’ll wait until after supper to tell them?”

Merry nodded and squeezed Pippin’s shoulder supportively. They pulled themselves up and started down the hill. Merry was silent, contemplating, then nodded with affirmation and returned to the previous topic.

“You know, I thought a lot about that deal Sam made with you when I first learned about it,” Merry said now. “I know Sam could be a bit rebellious in his own way at times, but never with whom he thought were his betters. Considering that we now know how devious parents can be, I’d be willing to wager that your parents knew the whole time what Sam was up to.”

“Do you think so?” Pippin mused and looked at the pact in this new light.

“When did this deal start anyway?” Merry asked.

“I was visiting Frodo with my parents one spring, and they were upset with me for always begging for more sweets and Frodo was upset with me for eating his pantries bare,” Pippin said, realization suddenly sinking in. “My parents went out to the garden to discuss what to do with me – I know, because they had that look about them – and when they came back in, Da was chuckling and Mum was fretting. Then the next day, Sam comes in and out of the clear blue, he offers to sneak me the treats. … They did know! They put him up to it!”

“Shall we confront Sam when he gets here?”

“Yes, we shall. And if they did put him up to it, and he went along… What do you say we conclude that experiment while Sam’s asleep?” Pippin asked, a hint of devilry sneaking into his eyes.

Merry shook his head emphatically. “No, that would not be a good idea. You’ll have Diamond upset with you, our sons would use that as reason not to go along with their punishments, and I promised Sam I’d play no more pranks on him. Unlike some other hobbits, I keep my word. Besides, you’ll have Rose to reckon with come morning, and she’s not one I would wish to see angry.”

“Good point,” Pippin said and shrugged. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to try and make him feel guilty about the whole affair.”

Merry laughed. “If you can accomplish that, I’ll eat my weskit,” he said and followed Pippin inside, to rejoin the company and await their friends.
 
 

The End
 
 

GF 7/01/05

I'm rating this one PG, to be safe. ^_^

The Evil Necromancer

Reginard is 29, Everard 18, Merry 16, Pervinca 13, and Pippin 8 (about 18, 11, 10, 8 and 5 in Man Years)

1398 SR
 

“Ha! I caught them all!” Pervinca exclaimed.

“You did not,” Everard countered.

“I did too!”

“You did not! One fell under the chair.”

“Please, Everard,” Pervinca said. “All I have to do is open my hand to prove you wrong.”

“Then open your hand,” Everard challenged.

Pervinca pretended to hesitate, regarding her closed hand as if she were reluctant to follow the command, then opened her hand triumphantly to display all seven buttons in her palm. She smiled smugly and waved the buttons under Everard’s nose.

“Beginner’s luck,” Everard said. “You can’t do eight.” He took the buttons from Vinca’s palm and added one from the pile on the floor. Then he held his hand with the palm faced downward and arranged the buttons on it. He threw a challenging glance to Pervinca, then flicked his wrist, turned his hand palm upward and easily caught all eight buttons. Now it was his turn to be smug.

“Oh, impressive,” Pervinca said, clearly anything but impressed. “I’ll do nine.”

“Don’t you think you ought to try eight first?” Everard said, handing the buttons back to her.

Vinca smiled sweetly. “Not everyone is as slow a learner as you are,” Vinca said cajolingly. “Watch and be amazed.” But to her unending embarrassment, her next attempt was not so successful. She only caught six of the buttons, the other three falling untouched to the floor around her. She tried to hide her blush with a scowl.

“Wow, that was impressive!” Everard said with a laugh. “Your backward progression was truly spectacular, not to mention inspiring.”

“Be careful with all those big words, Ev. You might hurt something.”

“I told you it was beginner’s luck,” he gloated and laughed again when Vinca shoved him to his side.

Merry breathed a loud, put-upon sigh and looked up from his book to glare at them. He wished that Frodo and Bilbo hadn't had to leave for Hobbiton that morning. He could be outside exploring, instead of sitting here as his cousins constantly griped at each other. He was developing a headache, and if he had to listen to one minute more of their squabbling, he was likely to pull hair and not necessarily his own.

“Everard,” he said, putting the book aside and standing up to stretch. “Let’s find Ferdi, Cedric and the others. We can get a team together and play some kickball, or go down to the links for a round of golf. I need to stretch my legs a bit.”

“All right,” Everard agreed easily.

Everard was in the process of standing up himself when the apartment door flew open and Pippin came dashing into the parlor. His little face was pinched tight with concern, and his eyes were wide with alarm. He ran right over to Merry and stood fidgeting in front of him.

“What’s the matter, Pipsqueak?” Merry asked. “I thought Pimmie had taken you to get your hair cut.” He eyed Pippin’s still lengthy curls.

Pippin ignored this question and delivered an urgent one of his own. “What was that thing called again?”

“What thing?” Merry asked.

“That thing in the forest,” Pippin elaborated.

Merry shook his head, at a loss. They hadn’t been to any woodland areas since they arrived at the Great Smials last week for the Thain’s birthday. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pippin stomped his foot and flapped his hands impatiently, his expression becoming more frantic. “That thing, Merry! In that forest!” he said again, as if that would be enough to clarify the situation.

“What thing in what forest?” Everard tried next.

“You’re not making any sense, Pigeon,” Vinca said.

Pippin ignored them both and continued to look up imploringly at Merry, beseeching him to understand. His lower lip began to quiver and tears were forming in his eyes. Now Merry leaned forward in alarm. Something was seriously wrong. “What is it, Pippin?” he asked. “Is someone hurt in the forest?”

Pippin shook his head and stomped both feet, his frustration evident. “No! When Bilbo was with the dwarves and he fought the spiders!” Pippin said.

This gave everyone pause. What could that possibly have to do with anything?

Pippin flapped his hands again and licked his lips. “It was a, uh, a… um… nec- nec-”

“Oh!” Merry said, finally understanding what Pippin was asking, though he was no closer to knowing why he was asking it. “You mean the necromancer?”

Pippin nodded empathetically, sighing with relief at finally being understood, but he was still gravely upset. “That’s a really bad person right?”

Merry nodded. “They’re sorcerers. From what I understand, it’s the worst thing you can come across. That’s why Gandalf went alone to deal with it. Only a wizard can hope to defeat a necromancer.”

“Can it be anyone?” Pippin asked next.

Merry shrugged, still every bit as baffled as he has been since Pippin first barged in. By the looks on Vinca and Everard’s faces, they were just as lost as he was. Where was this leading? “I suppose it could be.”

“How long would it take to get Gandalf here?” Pippin asked, his worry and fretting mounting again.

“Why would Gandalf need to be here?” Everard asked.

“Did you get into the chocolate again?” Vinca asked.

“No!” Pippin said indignantly, turning his head for a brief moment to glare at his sister before returning his attention to Merry. “I saw one, Merry! I saw one! Right here!”

“You did?” Merry asked, doubtful. Pippin was obviously letting his imagination run away with him again. “Where?”

“Here!” Pippin repeated, his exasperated tone suggesting that Merry must not be as bright as Pippin always thought he was.

“I don’t think so.”

“But I did!” Pippin said, nearly yelling he was so distraught. “I was peeking into the sitting rooms, just because, and I saw one. He was sucking out her soul and she was groaning in pain! We have to save her!”

Vinca shook her head. This is what came of listening to Bilbo’s tales night after night for the last week. As much as she loved her older cousin, she wished he would take into consideration how impressionable some children, namely Pippin, were to his stories of adventure.

Merry and Everard exchanged bewildered looks. Everard came up behind Pippin and slowly, carefully, placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder so as not to startle him. “Who was doing what?” he asked.

Pippin turned his worried green eyes up at Everard and suddenly seemed reluctant to answer. He bit his lip and played with the seams of his breeches.

“Who, Pippin?” Merry asked.

Pippin looked back at Merry and whispered, “Reginard.”

“My brother?” Everard exclaimed in disbelief. That was the last name he had expected to come out of Pippin’s mouth. Reginard was such a prude usually and wasn’t in the habit of imitating evil sorcerers. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s one of them! I saw!” Pippin said. “We have to save her, Merry!”

“My brother is not a necromancer!”

“I saw him!” Pippin insisted.

“I’m telling Mum you got into the chocolate again,” Vinca said.

“I did not!” Pippin shouted.

“All right! All right!” Merry said, holding up his hands for peace. He has seen Pippin worked up like this before and he knew from experience that there was only one way to settle this. He straightened up but continued to look down at his cousin as he held out his hand. “Show me.”

“But we need Gandalf,” Pippin said.

“I’ll take the risk,” Merry said and looked as encouraging as he could.

Pippin finally nodded and led Merry out of the apartment, Everard and Vinca following close behind. They followed Pippin along the eastern curve of the outermost tunnel to the front of the Smials. When they reached the sitting rooms, Pippin slowed and studied the doors closely until he found the right one. Then he held a finger to his lips and knelt on the ground. The others knelt behind him and Pippin reached up and slowly, quietly, opened the door. They peered inside, craning their necks and trying to look around each others heads to see through the narrow crack. Pervinca gasped, Merry’s eyes bulged and Everard’s jaw dropped.

In the center of the sitting room, squeezed into a stuffed high-backed armchair, were Reginard and Opal Stonebow. Opal was sitting sideways on Reginard’s lap, her legs dangling over the side of the chair. As they watched, Reginard and Opal whispered happily to each other, Opal playing with Reginard’s hair and collar. After a moment, they kissed and Reginard trailed kisses down Opal’s cheek to her neck, where a red spot showed out clearly against her fair white skin, and Opal hummed happily.

“See!” Pippin whispered, nudging Merry with his elbow. “He’s a neck romancer! He’s sucking out her soul!”

Merry, Everard and Pervinca burst with laughter, scaring the couple in the sitting room to within an inch of their lives. Opal and Reginard jumped to their feet and Opal immediately started straightening her hair and covering her neck with the collar of her dress.

“Everard!” Reginard scolded. At the same time, Pippin looked down at his friends and said, “What’s so funny?”

Vinca sat back and leaned against the tunnel wall for support, wiping tears from her eyes. Merry slumped down to the floor and slapped his hand against the wood boards, and Everard grabbed a stitch that was forming in his side, gasping for breath. Reginard came to the door and yanked it full open, scowling down at his intruders.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Pippin looked between his sister and cousins, thoroughly confused. Why were they laughing? Well, if Merry wasn’t going to do anything… He turned his glare on Reginard and placed his hands on his hips. “We came to save her,” he stated, pointing at Opal.

“Save me?” Opal asked.

Pippin nodded, his face a picture of seriousness. “He was sucking out your soul. He’s an evil neck romancer!”

“What!” Reginard exclaimed, but his question was lost amongst the renewed laughter. His brother and cousins, minus Pippin, were quickly reaching the point of hysteria. Reginard did his best to shout over them and thanked the stars that there was no one in the surrounding sitting rooms to hear any of this. “Does someone want to explain what is going on?”

Pervinca, Everard and Merry struggled to regain control and find their breath, their laughter slowly fading to hiccups and half-suppressed chuckles. Everard wiped his tears on his shirt sleeve and Merry managed enough strength to sit up straight. Pippin kept scowling at them all, not understanding why his Merry was taking this situation so lightly. Opal came up behind Reginard, simultaneously trying to hide behind him and peer over his shoulder to look into the hall.

“What if they say something to someone?” she whispered to Reginard. “Father will not be pleased.” Reginard held out a hand; he would deal with that once he got some answers.

“Well?” Reginard asked. “Does someone want to explain?”

Merry was the first who felt he could talk without laughing again. “Pippin thought…” chuckle “Pippin thought…” chuckle gasp “He thought you were…” giggles “…were a…” Then Merry was doubled over again, laughing so hard he could barely breath.

“I’m losing my patience,” Reginard warned.

“Pippin thought you were a necromancer,” Everard was able to get out.

“He is!” Pippin said indignantly. “He’s a neck romancer!”

“No, Pip,” Merry struggled through his laughter. “Not neck romancer. Necro. Mancer.”

“I don’t get it,” Pippin said, but Merry was in no condition to explain further.

Finally, Pervinca, who was the first to come back to her senses completely, thought of a way to explain it that wouldn’t further confuse her brother. “It’s like there, they’re and their. They’re running late. Their jackets are blue. He’s standing over there. Different words that sound the same but mean entirely different things. So while Reginard might be a neck romancer, he’s not a necromancer.”

“Oh,” Pippin said in a small voice as understanding dawned at last. He peeked up at Reginard and Opal through his lashes, his green eyes apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Reginard said. He took Opal’s hand and led her out of the room and around the group on the floor. He nudged Everard gently with his foot and waited until Everard turned his tear-streamed face toward him. “You and your friends better not tell anyone about this,” he warned.

“Or you’ll do what? Suck out my soul next?” Everard said, still chuckling softly. “You owe us. You owe us, forever.”

“Fine, I owe you but only if no one says anything,” Reginard said and Everard nodded his consent.

Pippin watched as Reginard and Opal walked away down the tunnel then looked down sheepishly at Merry. “So, he’s not an evil neck romancer?” he asked.

“No, Pip,” Merry said, finally sober enough to keep a straight face. “He’s not evil.”

“He’s a good neck romancer?”

“From the looks of it,” Pervinca said and everyone burst into laughter again.

Pippin stood there for a time, frowning down at his friends as they slumped back bonelessly to the floor, then turned and walked down the tunnel to look for Pimmie. Really, he’d rather be getting a haircut than watch his sister and friends roll about on the floor like a bunch of chuckleheads.
 

GF  4/20/06

Summary: A day of cloud gazing turns into hairy business for the cousins.

Briefly references “A Night to Forget” and “In Darkness Buried Deep”.

#14 – The Quest for the Hairless Cat

Pippin is 9, Merry 17, Frodo 30 (or about 6, 11 and 19 in Man years)
1 Forelithe, 1399 SR
Brandy Hall, Buckland
 

A fair late-spring morning greets us when we wake, so Pippin and I decide to spend it outside on the summit of Buck Hill, rolling in the grass, chasing butterflies and watching the clouds float by.

Not that we have much choice in the matter. As soon as second breakfast is over, Mother chases us from the apartment so she and Aunt Berylla can team up on Frodo and get him courted to one of the many eligible lasses of Brandy Hall. Mother feels it is her duty to see Frodo respectfully and happily settled before he reaches forty, seeing as she had been his foster mother for all those years and that Bilbo doesn’t know the first thing about wooing lasses. I think she’s just afraid Frodo will take up Bilbo’s eccentricities if left to his own devices for too long and remain a bachelor forever. I would tell her she’s likely already too late, but I don’t much fancy having to wash dishes at Father’s birthday party tomorrow night.

So Pippin and I wish Frodo good luck – he’ll need it, poor chap – and go outside into the warm air and bright sunshine. We explore around the smial and through the gardens, then make our way up Buck Hill. After a considerable time rolling down the shallow end of the hill and chasing all the butterflies we can see, we take off our jackets and waistcoats and spread them on the ground to lie on top of them and watch the clouds. The wind today is warm and brisk, and the clouds float by fairly quickly, so that even Pippin doesn’t stand much chance of getting bored.

“That one looks like a lopsided mountain of whipped cream,” Pippin says of one cloud. His clouds always look like food.

“That one looks like a box with its sides puffed out,” I say, pointing at another.

“That one looks like a slice of apple crumble,” Pippin says a few minutes later, licking his lips eagerly.

“That one looks like a lass wearing a bonnet,” I say after some more minutes tick by. I point out the brim of the bonnet and the lass’s ears and chin.

“It looks like an upside-down strawberry shortcake to me,” Pippin says wistfully, and I realize the reason he’s been so quiet is because he’s been imagining eating the clouds. “Do you think we can go into town to that sweet shop today?”

“I’ll ask Mother, but if we do, you can only get one thing and you’ll have to wait for tea to eat it,” I remind him. Aunt Eglantine is a bit strict when it comes to Pippin and his sweets since they make him even more hyper than he already is naturally. He’s only allowed one treat a day, no matter what the circumstances. I point up at the clouds again. “That one looks like a rucksack.”

“That one looks like a plate of biscuits,” Pippin says in his turn.

“That one looks like a pony’s head.”

“That one looks like roasted pork with cinnamon apples. Mmmm.”

“Pippin, you’re going to make yourself hungry,” I warn him.

“It’s almost elevenses,” Pippin points out and I don’t doubt it. His stomach is a truer teller of mealtimes than the sun or a pocket watch.

“That one looks like a cat,” I say, pointing to a round cloud with two tips at the top.

“That’s not a cat,” Pippin protests. “It’s not fluffy enough.”

“What do you mean it’s not fluffy enough?” I ask. “It’s a cloud. Clouds are nothing if not fluffy. And it does so look like a cat. See, there are the ears and the nose.”

“But if it’s a cat, it’d be even more fluffy because of the fur,” Pippin points out, obviously believing that he is making some sort of sense. “It’s not fluffy enough.”

“Maybe it’s a cat with no fur,” I say, and as soon as the words leave my lips I wish I can take them back.

You never can tell what’s going to command Pippin’s attention until it’s too late. Usually, it’s something harmless that won’t cause any trouble but will keep him happily occupied until it’s time to eat, take a bath or go to bed, such as cloud gazing.

Sometimes, it’s something like this and it pushes all other thoughts completely from his head until he’s able to pursue the object of his obsession. It’s one of the things I love most about Pippin, since you never know what’s going to happen. There’s a downside also as it almost always leads to trouble and this close to Father’s birthday, trouble can only lead to washing dishes.

Take last week, for instance. We had been playing in Grandfather’s study waiting for him and Father to return from their duties so we could go with Father into town to look for birthday gifts for Mother. As we waited, Cousin Seredic came into the study with a delivery, a very small cask with a little cork fit snuggly into a hole at the top. It had been so small that even Pippin could easily handle it.

“What is it?” we had asked.

“Some glue Uncle Rory requested,” Seredic had answered. “One of his model boats needs fixing.” Then Seredic had placed the cask on a shelf of Grandfather’s bookcase and left.

I went over to inspect the brand on the cask and noticed that it came from a shop in town, which reputed to have the strongest glue in all of Buckland and even the Shire. It was said that this glue could even secure a full-grown hobbit to hang from any ceiling, which of course is utter nonsense. When I mentioned this to Pippin, he became keen on seeing how heavy a load the glue actually could hold, an experiment I approved immediately.

We ended up gluing Grandfather’s desk clock to the top of the alcove, which overlooks Grandfather’s private garden. I at least had sense enough to put the pillows and blankets on the seat of the alcove and the floor, in case the glue didn’t hold. Waiting for the glue to dry had been the hardest part as my arms quickly grew tired of holding the clock in place, but once the glue had sufficiently dried, both Pippin and I were astonished to see the clock hold its place. That is, until Grandfather and Father returned and it took them half an hour to pry the clock free, taking little chunks of the alcove ceiling along with it. When Father told Mother the story, she just laughed (and thankfully forgot to punish us).

“Why didn’t you just pour hot water on the glue?” she had asked between giggles. My father could only shrug and mutter that he hadn’t thought about that.

Now it looks as though another improbable thought has occurred to Pippin, this one involving cats with no fur. He sits up almost instantly and turns to look at me, his eyes wide with wonder and an imagination run amok.

“There are cats with no fur?” he asks. “Where? I’ve never seen one before.” He looks at me accusingly, as though I’ve been purposely keeping him from seeing such an amazing thing his whole life.

“I was joking, Pip,” I say.

“You were?” he asks, still giving me that accusatory look. He reminds me of Grandfather after he catches one us children in a lie. Everything we say for the next few days he doesn’t believe, even when we are telling the truth.

“Of course I was. There’s no such thing as a cat without hair. You can ask Frodo if you don’t believe me,” I say, hoping that will be the end of that, and for the moment it is. Pippin’s stomach gives a loud rumble, announcing it time for elevenses.

We scramble to our feet, dust off our jackets and waistcoats which we then sling over our arms, and head down the hill. We take the path that lets us into the Hall at the North Door. The tunnels are quiet where we enter but they begin to crowd as we reach the dining hall. We manage to get inside with little trouble and make our way to the main table at the front of the hall. Berilac, Uncle Mac, Bilbo and Father are already seated. Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine are standing nearby talking with Milo and Peony Burrows. Across the hall, Pearl and Pimpernel are sitting with Mentha and Melilot. Pervinca sits in the middle of the hall with Estella and Iris Bolger. Frodo, Mother and Aunt Berylla are nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s your mother?” I ask Berilac as Pippin and I take seats next to him at the end of the table. Pippin turns in his seat to begin his vigil on the kitchen doors. Nothing excites him more than seeing the servers coming out, holding up their trays covered in food and drink. One would think it’s Yule morning, he gets so excited.

“She’s still with your mother and Frodo,” Berry informs me. “I stopped by your apartment on the way over here, pretending to look for you. Frodo seemed fine enough to me, whatever was going on. Bilbo couldn’t stop laughing though; I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not. He made me come here with him, otherwise I would have tried to get some news for you.”

“Frodo will be here soon enough,” I say, grateful that Berry had at least tried. He’s not exactly one for snooping or scheming, so it means something that he made the effort.

I’m not too concerned for Frodo though. Whatever Mother is roping him into, at worst he will only get stuck having to escort some lass to Father’s birthday party, and then he and Bilbo can make their escape back to Hobbiton the following morning. Actually, come to think of it, I’m surprised Mother waited this long into Frodo’s visit to stick him with escorting duties. Perhaps she had wanted to lull him into a false sense of security before springing her trap.

“Merry and I are going to hunt for hairless cats after we eat,” Pippin says suddenly, eyes still peeled on the kitchen doors. “Want to come with us?”

That he can continue to think about nonexistent hairless cats while on the lookout for food is troubling indeed. If I can’t convince Pippin I had only been joking, this is going to be a very long day. I don’t mind indulging Pippin so long as it leads to some point, but this looks to only waste our time.

“You’re looking for what?” Berry says with a laugh. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes in Pippin’s direction. “He does get the oddest ideas.”

“It wasn’t my idea, it was Merry’s,” Pippin says, frowning at Berilac for insinuating that one of my ideas could be considered odd.

“It was a joke, Pip,” I remind him and quickly explain everything to Berilac.

“So do you want to come with us?” Pippin asks again.

“It does sound exciting,” Berry says unhelpfully, “but Father and I have to finish the boat repairs. It started leaking on us yesterday morning. Almost flooded the hull before we could get back to the Ferry landing.”

“How frightening,” says Aunt Eglantine as she and Uncle Paladin join us. Next to me, Pippin starts bouncing in his seat. The kitchen doors are swinging open and the servers are beginning to enter the hall.

“We both know how to swim,” Berilac says, unfazed at the memory. “Besides, the worst of the flooding didn’t start until we were almost at the landing. We pulled it up to shore, drained it, patched it and set it out to dry. Now we just need to make sure the patch will hold, sand it down, go over it with some varnish and put it back in the river to see what it will do.”

The servers come to our table then and set out the tea service, along with water-biscuits, toast, butter, preserves and a large bowl of fruit medley mixed in yogurt. I have just finished serving Pippin and myself when Frodo, Aunt Berylla and Mother come into the hall. Mother and Aunt Berylla look quite pleased with themselves. Frodo smiles pleasantly at everyone he greets, but as he doesn’t stop to exchange pleasantries I know he’s just putting on airs. Whatever Mother and Aunt Berylla have talked Frodo into, he’s not very happy about it.

Frodo quickly makes it to the front table and sits next to Pippin and me. He grabs a handful of water-biscuits, slathers them with butter, and pours himself some cold tea.

“What happened?” I ask in a whisper, leaning across Pippin, who is stuffing as much fruit medley in his mouth as he can get on his fork, to get a good look at Frodo.

Frodo’s lips are drawn into a tight line and his eyes lack their usual mischief. I notice him watching the table where Pervinca, Estella and Iris are sitting. A few other lasses have joined them, including Posy Goold. Frodo and Posy have an interesting bit of history together, a history Frodo doesn’t much care to talk about. Let’s just say, Frodo’s lucky he isn’t married already.

Posy catches Frodo looking at her table and smiles at him suggestively. She even gives him a little wink. Frodo blushes a deep crimson and glues his eyes to his plate.

“It’s not Posy is it?” I ask incredulously.

After Frodo’s last encounter with that wily vixen, Mother has been keen on keeping the two as far apart from each other as possible, but that didn’t stop Posy from wreaking havoc on all the other lads in Bucklebury. Mother has since suggested to Posy’s parents that they marry her off to my cousin Bordoc, the dullest Brandybuck in Buckland history, in the hopes that he would tame Posy and make an honest lass of her. Bordoc deserves better than Posy, in my opinion, but his complete lack of personality means he’s unlikely to find a more deserving lass on his own. He’s already a year past forty, the age at which most chaps are either married or well on their way to remaining lifelong bachelors. Both families are considering the proposal.

Frodo shudders at the very thought of Posy. “No, thank the stars. It’s Iris Bolger. I’m to escort her into town today to help her with her shopping for her birthday next month. Then I’m to escort her to your father’s birthday tomorrow night.”

“Iris is a fine enough lass,” Berilac assures, overhearing our whispers. He leans in and whispers also. “She’s not quite as fickle as most lasses, but she does like to talk about her crocheting. You should try to avoid that subject if you can.”

“That’s unlikely. Every year for her birthday, she gives out something that she crocheted or spun,” I inform my unfortunate friend. “Which means you’ll be spending your afternoon going from one fabric shop to another, talking about nothing but crocheting. It’s a pity you can’t crochet her lips shut. Maybe you can borrow Grandmother’s earplugs that she uses so Grandfather’s snoring won’t keep her up at nights. Just nod from time to time and say ‘I like that pattern’ or ‘that’s a fine color’ so Iris won’t know you aren’t really listening.”

Frodo groans inwardly and dares another furtive glance at Iris’s table. Iris is talking rather excitedly now and the other lasses are leaning toward her, hanging on her every word. Pervinca glances in our direction with a skeptical expression. Her eyes land on Frodo and she shrugs, as though to say she sympathizes with him but can think of no way to rescue him from his fate. Frodo sighs, drains his tea and nibbles at his water-biscuits.

“Look at the bright side, Frodo,” I say, still whispering, as what I’m about to say I certainly don’t want any adult overhearing. “At least Posy won’t be going with you, and I doubt very much Iris is the type of lass to hitch up her—”

Frodo quickly clears his throat and gives me a warning glare. Then he looks pointedly at Pippin, who is listening attentively to every word we say now that his plate is nearly empty.

“Er—uh, to hitch up her pony to your, um, hitching post… on the first outing,” I conclude somewhat clumsily. Berilac raises his eyebrows at this but wisely says nothing. Pippin just looks confused, no doubt wondering what Frodo would be doing with a hitching post of his own.

Frodo’s cheeks burn pink again. “I’m grateful to have your support, Merry. It’s a comfort to me,” he says with forced politeness, a tone he usually only reserves for the Sackville-Bagginses. He’s in no mood for jests, so I refrain from poking any more fun at him for the time being.

He crams the last of his water-biscuits into his mouth and munches on them slowly. He drains his second cup of tea and licks his lips, his composure now regained. “So Iris and I will be going into town today. You lads are more than welcome to join us,” he says and I detect a hint of pleading in his otherwise dulcet tones. “We’ll make a stop at the sweets shop and you can each get a treat. I won’t even tell Aunt Tina about it.”

“Really?” Pippin squeals, so excited at the idea of having two treats in one day that he forgets to be prudent. We quickly shush him. “Really?” he repeats in a loud whisper.

On the other side of Berilac, Aunt Eglantine is closely watching her son, no doubt wondering what had caused such an outburst. “What are you lads planning to do today?” she asks innocently.

“Nothing,” we reply.

“Except Frodo is stepping out with Iris into town today,” I say, smiling sweetly, forgetting my earlier oath to be merciful in my effort to cover up Pippin’s outburst. “He wants company along, so I think he should take Posy and Bordoc, don’t you, Aunt Tina?”

“Absolutely not,” Aunt Eglantine says. She is no more fond of Posy than Mother is. “But if you lads need something to do, you can come with your sisters, Estella and I when we go to the river to collect water lilies.”

“But cats don’t like the water,” Pippin protests.

“Well, no they don’t particularly,” Uncle Paladin joins in, just as confused as everyone else why cats are suddenly so important.

“We need to go to town today to look for the hairless cats,” Pippin continues. “They won’t be at the river so we won’t be able to find them there. They’ll be in town, so we need to go with Frodo.” At least he has enough sense not to mention the sweets shop.

“Hairless cats,” Uncle Paladin says, lifting an eyebrow in my direction.

I again quickly explain everything, then turn to Pippin in yet another effort to convince him of the truth. “Pip, I was only joking about there being cats with no fur. There’s no such thing as a hairless cat and we are not spending the entire day looking for something that doesn’t exist. Tell him, Frodo.”

Unfortunately, Frodo is looking at us with a wicked little smirk on his otherwise innocent face. I’m about to get served my dues for my earlier teasing of him. He quickly puts on a serious expression when Pippin turns his questioning gaze on him, and he chides, “Now really, Merry, why would you tell Pippin there’s no such thing as hairless cats? I’ll have you know, that I’ve seen such cats with my own eyes, and I’m not the only one who has.”

“Really?” Pippin says, if possible now more excited than he had been when the food was brought out. Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Paladin decide that we are just lads being lads and go back to conversing with Father and Mother. Berilac snickers into his teacup, no doubt thinking that I’m getting what I deserve.

Pippin is now looking at Frodo with wide eyes, so enthralled with our older, wiser and more experienced cousin that he entirely forgets his last bite of fruit medley on his plate. “You’ve seen them? Where?”

“Well, right here of course,” Frodo says. “They’re a curiosity particular to Buckland, that Bucklanders like to keep to themselves. Since I’m a Hobbitonian now, I no longer must hold back the truth. Yes, Pippin, there are hairless cats.”

“Can I see one?” Pippin pleads, pouting out his lower lip and making his eyes as big as he can. It’s his most beseeching expression and it almost never fails to get him exactly what he wants.

“Frodo,” I interrupt. “Don’t lead Pippin on so.”

“But I’m not,” Frodo says, looking offended that I should even make such a suggestion. “Like I said, I’m not the only one who has seen them. There are others who have seen these mysterious felines, and I can take you to a couple of them if you like.”

“I like!” Pippin says, bouncing in his seat again. “I like very much!”

“Then come along and I’ll take you to them,” Frodo says and stands. Pippin and I get to our feet and follow Frodo through the dining hall, which has begun to thin now that the mealtime is nearly over.

I have no idea what Frodo is scheming but I know it will be foolproof. Frodo didn’t earn his reputation as the worst rascal in Buckland without reason. Whatever he plots, he almost always pulls off without a hitch and he just as often gets away with it too.

It doesn’t take me long to see where Frodo is leading us. In the middle of the hall, near to the table where Iris and her friends are sitting, is a table occupied by Morton Goodbody and Fendimbras Goldworthy and their wives. Morton’s two-year old son sleeps soundly in his wife’s arms. They spot us approaching and the fellows nod at Frodo.

“Good day, old chap,” they greet Frodo with much warmth.

“Hullo, lads,” Frodo greets in return, smiling brightly.

Now it’s my turn to groan inwardly. Fendi and Morti are just two of that infamous gang of rascals that Frodo used to be a part of when he lived in Buckland. They are responsible for some truly amazing and daring feats of hobbit devilry. The fact that they’re now of age and beginning families of their own is little comfort, since there isn’t anything they wouldn’t do to help Frodo cause mischief – for old times’ sake.

“Pippin, you know Fendi and Morti, surely,” Frodo begins.

Pippin nods. Both Pippin and I look upon the older generation of troublemakers with an air of awe and respect, or at least I used to. Now that they are likely to turn on me, I find my feelings of fondness somewhat lacking. Fendi and Morti smile kindly at us, pretending not to notice my scowl. My own cousins. How could they?

“I’ll have you lads know,” Frodo continues, “that I’ve just named Pippin an honorary Bucklander.”

“Well, naturally, it’s only right,” Fendi plays along.

“It’s about time, I say,” Morti joins in with a sage nod. Their wives just roll their eyes, peck their husbands on the cheek, and take their leave.

“And now that he’s an honorary Bucklander, there’s nothing that needs to be withheld from him,” Frodo goes on.

“I should think not,” Morti says.

Frodo sits down and pulls Pippin onto his lap. I just stand where I am, watching this lie unfold before my eyes with a perverse sense of fascination and pride. Frodo really is a genius, I can’t deny it, even if he’s plotting against me.

“I was just telling Pippin about the hairless cats that roam Buckland,” Frodo says in a fervent whisper. “You see, Merry let it slip that we have such cats and then tried to cover it up, but Pip of course was too smart to fall for that. So I named him an honorary Bucklander, so he can know the truth and still be allowed to leave Buckland to go home. I was just telling him how I saw them once when I remembered that you two have seen them as well.”

Fendi and Morti nod at each other in such a serious manner that even I lean in closer to hear what they say next, so quietly do they speak.

“Yes, well, the hairless cats,” Fendi begins, looking a trifle alarmed. “That’s serious business. Serious indeed.”

“It’s not something a wee lad like you should hear about,” Morti takes over. “You see, the hairless cats aren’t actually of Buckland. They come…” and here he pauses to look around to make sure no one is listening “…out of the Old Forest.”

“The Old Forest,” Pippin whispers. Frodo squeezes him protectively and gives just the slightest shake of his head to warn the cousins to keep the story from growing too scary.

“Yes, the Old Forest,” Fendi says, nodding both to Pippin and Frodo. In a blink of an eye, his whole demeanor changes from intense to flippant, but he still keeps his voice at a whisper. “They only come out at night see, which is why so few hobbits have seen them. They come over the High Hay, climb it just like they would a tree.”

“Mostly they just catch mice and rats and birds, things of that nature,” Morti says, his whisper also more friendly now. Frodo favors them with an appreciative nod. “They don’t like hobbits much though, mostly because hobbits get so scared when they see them, that they chase the poor cats away with brooms.”

“Oh no!” Pippin exclaims.

“Yes, it’s true,” Frodo pipes up, looking sad for the pretend cats. “They keep very close to the forest and very rarely come into any of the populated areas.”

“Then how did you ever manage to see them?” I ask, hoping to catch them in their lie. Unfortunately, they are more than ready for me.

“Why, that time Frodo got lost in the forest of course,” Fendi says, as though explaining a simple sums equation to a slow child. “That’s a hard sight to forget.”

“Indeed,” Morti agrees. “There we were, searching everywhere for Frodo, getting more and more disheartened at ever seeing him again. When suddenly, out of a thicket of trees, here comes this line of four hairless cats. They walked right up to us, circled around us, and walked back into the thicket of trees.”

“Rory and Saradoc didn’t know what to make of it,” Fendi goes on. “Such an unusual sight to see just one hairless cat, but a whole line of them, and acting so strangely! Your Uncle Saradoc followed after them, and guess what he found?”

“What?” asks Pippin.

“Frodo, of course!” Fendi says, with a slap of his hand on the table. “You can imagine our astonishment!”

“Especially since you two weren’t even there,” I mutter, but no one is paying any attention to me.

“I was just barely conscious by that time,” Frodo joins in. “The cats brought me what fruit could be found and one of the cats even gave me some of her milk. It was just enough to keep me alive until Sara could find me. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in Miss Talia’s apartment, but all she gave me to drink was willow bark tea.”

“Wow,” Pippin says breathlessly, his eyes still wide as he stares at his older cousins with renewed admiration. He never imagined before that they survived such a perilous journey, and all because of hairless cats. “So, does that mean I won’t ever see one?” he asks.

“If you’re lucky,” Fendi says.

“They only live deep in the Old Forest,” Morti reiterates, “and only come out very rarely.”

“Yes, even those who do live near the High Hay have rarely seen them,” Frodo says. “What reports we do know of come from sleepless half-blind gammers on moonless nights. They’re not very reliable witnesses. Most likely, they’re just seeing moles running through the fields.”

I narrow my eyes menacingly at Frodo when he says this. Tonight will be a new moon, a fact that Pippin soon realizes also. If I don’t do something quickly, I’m going to end up camping near the High Hay, staying up all night on a pointless vigil for imaginary cats. Before I can say anything though, Iris Bolger makes her way towards us and smiles shyly at Frodo.

“Ready, Iris?” Frodo asks politely, depositing Pippin onto the seat next to him and standing up.

“I am,” she answers and takes his arm when he offers it to her.

Morti and Fendi watch this with much amusement, then they too make their departure. To my dismay, they are no sooner gone than Pippin tugs my hand and whispers, “Merry, you know what we have to do, right?”

I sigh, not wanting to go camping if Frodo isn’t going to be with us. I only have two more nights with him, after all. I consider the cost of sending Posy and Bordoc to town to join Frodo and Iris as payback but quickly decide the trouble it would cause for everyone involved is not worth the effort.

“Merry,” Pippin says, tugging on my hand again. “There’s no moon tonight. Merry!”

“Father and Uncle Paladin will never approve,” I say and then I can almost kick myself for not thinking of the solution earlier. Father! Now, he really had been there when Frodo was found, so he knows better than anyone that there are no hairless cats in the Old Forest.

I look up at the front table and am glad to see Father and Bilbo still sitting there, tucking in a few more bites of fruit medley. I take Pippin’s hand and guide him to the table. We wait patiently for Father and Bilbo to look up.

“What is it, son?” Father asks.

“Pippin wants to go camping tonight near the High Hay to look for hairless cats,” I state without any ado. The sooner this is resolved, the better. Then maybe Pippin and I can go into town and trail after Frodo and Iris. “You know, Father, those same hairless cats that led you to Frodo when he was lost in the Old Forest.” Then I shake my head and make my eyes as wide as they can go, in a silent plead for Father to deny the whole story and tell us we can’t camp out the night before his big birthday party.

Unfortunately, I fail to consider Bilbo’s presence and the influence he tends to have over my father. Bilbo chuckles and winks down at Pippin. “Tonight would be a grand night for a camp out,” he says. “And what an adventure. It’s not most young lads who’ll brave the Old Forest at night.”

“You lads can’t go alone, nor can you hope for much success. We were rather far into the forest when we found Frodo, and most creatures that live that deep inside don’t come to the edges often. They come over the Hedge even less often than that,” Father adds, crushing my hopes. He’s not going to deny it! He’s actually going to help perpetuate this lie! What is happening to everyone today? Have they lost their senses entirely?

I gape at my father openly. “But Father, that isn’t what actually happened, right?” I ask pointedly.

“Oh, come on, Merry,” Father says. “It will be fun. Not to mention it’ll get us out of the smial and out of the way of any last-minute party preparations your mother wants to make. We’ll make a day of it!”

Father does pick the worst times to recapture his youth. Bilbo doesn’t help matters any. “You’ll need sleeping rolls, food for meals, water, cooking gear,” he begins to tick off a list on his fingers. “You won’t have to worry about a tent, the nights have been so fine, but you’ll need a change of clothes, walking sticks, cloaks, lanterns.”

“I’ll leave you lads to get everything ready,” Father says. “You’ll help them, Bilbo? I’ll tell Esme and Father, and see if Paladin wants to tag along.”

Father looks too excited at the prospect of camping out for me to deny him. I wait until Father is gone before mouthing a sarcastic ‘thanks’ to Bilbo. He just smiles innocently and holds out his hand to Pippin. “Come along, lads, we have much to get ready and little time to do it.”

Bilbo isn’t kidding. I never realized before how much preparation it takes to ready for a camping trip, even a short overnight outing like Father is planning. Bilbo requests a pony and trap to be readied, to carry our packs, food and mainly the water. We will need water for drinking and washing the dishes, as there are no water sources near the High Hay. The lanterns are also stowed away, one in each sleeping roll to protect the glass. Bilbo also has us gather up some kindling and firewood, so we won’t have to bother finding any once we make camp. As we’re doing that, he goes to the kitchen to procure us food for tea, supper and breakfast. We finish just in time for luncheon, which he brings to us as we sit on the trap, our legs swinging back and forth as we watch the laundresses hanging sheets and towels in the sun to dry.

“You’ll be coming too, won’t you, Bilbo?” Pippin asks.

“Oh no, lad. Frodo and I will be making camp soon enough, once we’re homebound,” Bilbo replies kindly, handing us each a loaf of bread and a mug of water. He places the butter bowl and jam jar between us and hands me the knife, not trusting Pippin with it. He also has a small basket of apples and carrots, which he hands to Pippin. Pippin reaches into the basket and grabs the largest carrot of the bunch, crunching into it noisily.

“We’ll be gone by the time Frodo gets back from town,” I say. I try to sound matter-of-fact, but Bilbo hears the regret in my voice all the same. He looks at me keenly and nods.

“Yes, I suppose you will, but don’t worry about that,” he says. “I’ll be here to lend him a sympathetic ear if he needs it, and you’ll have plenty of time to hear all about his day with Miss Iris tomorrow. I do hope though that you show him some mercy during the party. Frodo’s quite shy of lasses and having to pay court is trying enough without his dear, sweet cousins hounding him.”

“I was only teasing,” I say without much conviction. Bilbo might not have heard what passed between Frodo and me during elevenses, but if anyone knows Frodo better than I do, it’s Bilbo. He would have been able to guess what we were talking about just by looking at Frodo’s face. I suppose I had gone too far when I teased him about Posy.

“Don’t fret over it,” Bilbo says cheerily. “It’s your job to tease him about courting, and he knows it. He just needed to breathe in a little air after his talk with your mother. He’ll take your rubbing with better grace tomorrow.”

Soon after luncheon, Uncle Paladin and Father join us. Bilbo tells them everything that we’ve prepared thus far and takes away the luncheon things. He wishes us good luck in our quest for the hairless cats and waves good-bye as he disappears into the Hall. Uncle Paladin is looking between Father, Pippin and me as though he isn’t quite sure how he came to be here. I know how he feels.

When everything is packed and ready, Father takes the pony by the halter and leads us on foot to the road towards Bucklebury. As we pass through town, we spot Frodo and Iris outside a fabric shop. Iris is diligently comparing two bolts of fabric that look to me to be the exact same color and style. Frodo spots us and waves, laughing at the sight of us heading off for our camping adventure.

Pippin waves back excitedly and calls loud enough for every hobbit in the vicinity to hear clearly, “We’re going to find the hairless cats! We’re not half-blind gammers, so we’ll be able to see them!”

“That you will!” Frodo calls back as Uncle Paladin and Father choke back laughs and everyone else just scratches their heads.

The Road to Hedge Field isn’t long, but Father goes at a slow pace to give Pippin opportunity to keep up. We stop several times on the way too, so Pippin and I can explore through the countryside. We go through Crafter’s Field, looking at all the many pieces of woodwork the carpenters are designing. Beyond that is another field, this one with an old, dilapidated bell tower sitting in the middle of it. We’re now no longer allowed to climb it or play near it, since Grandfather worries that it might fall down one of these days. Come autumn, he’s going to have it torn down altogether and its wood used in the bonfires. A new one will be erected after the Harvest.

When we get near Crickhollow, Pippin starts pointing at everything that moves, convinced that it’s a hairless cat.

“Is that one!” he shouts, pointing at a squirrel. “Is that one!” he asks a few moments later, pointing at the same squirrel now standing on a different rock. “Is that one!” he asks after just another few feet, this time pointing to a piglet in someone’s field. At this time, Uncle Paladin comes and picks up Pippin, putting him on his shoulders so that he might see better and not have to ask so many questions.

By the time we reach Hedge Field and gain the giant boulder that sits on its northern edge, the sun is approaching teatime. We stop for our meal, Pippin and I climbing to the top of the boulder, which is warm from the sun. Pippin stares at the High Hay, tilting his head at it as he munches on his biscuit. It has easily been three or four years since Pippin last saw the High Hay, and that from a distance. He has never been this close to it, so far as I can remember, and he seems to find the whole thing puzzling. I’m about to ask him why when he speaks.

“Those cats must really love to climb, if they climb over that,” Pippin says. “That’s a very tall hedge, Merry.”

“It has to be, to keep out the trees,” I say. “They’ll walk right through it otherwise.”

“Da?” Pippin asks next. “If we do get to see a hairless cat, can we take one home?”

Uncle Paladin shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, lad. Feral cats aren’t good for keeping. Too wild, they are. They’ll just eat the fowl and attack anyone as gets too close.”

“But these cats showed Uncle Sara where to find Frodo,” Pippin says. “They’re not wild.”

“That they are,” Father says. “They let me follow them, but only once they got so far ahead of me. The only reason they helped Frodo at all was because he was already so close to dying. They might be wild, but they know when a kit is needing its own.”

“But, maybe if we can catch a little bairn one,” Pippin says hopefully.

I sigh, giving up and deciding it will be easier just to play along. “Now really, Pip, how would you feel if someone came along, saw you and decided to take you home without so much as a word to your family?”

“Sad,” Pippin answers and sighs. “Well, I hope we get to see one anyway. Do you think we will, Merry?”

“The odds are against us, Pip, but maybe we’ll get lucky,” I say, patting his shoulder.

Below us on the grass, Uncle Paladin and Father pull out their pipes and light them. Pippin and I pack up the food from tea and I help Father dig a fire pit in the dirt near the boulder for the fire. By the time we have a flame going, it’s getting close to nightfall, the sky above ablaze with the setting sun. I help Father warm up our dinner while Pippin helps Uncle Paladin lay out the sleeping rolls and feed the pony.

After dinner, we play games, sing a few songs and make up new songs about hairless cats living in the woods. As night comes down thick around us, Father and Uncle Paladin begin telling campfire stories, making sure to keep them light and friendly so as not to scare Pippin – Aunt Eglantine’s orders I’m sure. They’re all stories we’ve heard before and though a couple of them stray into scary territory, they all have a happy ending.

At long last, Father and Uncle Paladin begin yawning and announce it time for bed.

“But we have to keep a lookout for the hairless cats,” Pippin protests.

“You lads can stay up, so long as you’re quiet,” Uncle Paladin says. “Just remember, the cats won’t come if they’re afraid to approach.”

“We’ll be quiet,” Pippin promises.

Uncle Paladin lifts him up, gives him a squeeze and kisses his cheek. Pippin throws his arms around his father’s neck and kisses him back. “G’night Da.”

“Good night, Pip.”

Father takes me aside as this is happening and whispers, “Don’t stray further than the light of the fire. There may not be hairless cats in the Old Forest, but there are other creatures. They’ve never strayed over the Hedge before, but just in case…”

“Get you and Uncle Pally,” I finish. Father nods and ruffles my curls. “Good night, Father.”

“Try not to stay up too late. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Father advises with a wry grin in Pippin’s direction.

“I’ll do my best,” I reply just as wryly. Pippin won’t be yawning for hours yet by the way he’s bouncing over to me now.

Father and Uncle Paladin bed down in their sleeping rolls between the fire and the boulder. I pour Pippin another cup of tea and we sit as far from the fire as we can without leaving its comforting warmth. The night is cool but not chilled, and the stars twinkle overhead in clear skies absent of the moon’s light.

“Why does the moon go away?” Pippin asks in a whisper, remembering his promise to be quiet without any reminders from me. He’s used to having to whisper at night, when he sneaks into my room and wants to talk while others are sleeping. For some reason, he never stops to wonder if I might be trying to sleep as well.

I shrug. “I’m sure Bilbo would know some Elvish tale that explains it all,” I say. “Maybe we can ask Gandalf next time he’s here, if we see him.”

“I think the moon just gets lazy,” Pippin states. “Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed either, and I’ll stay there for as long as Mum will let me, or until I get hungry enough.”

“So not very long then,” I tease and Pippin grins impishly. “I suppose even the moon needs a break from time to time. It is nighttime after all.”

“Maybe it’s the Man in the Moon,” Pippin suggests. “Maybe he came down to bother that poor innkeeper and drink the night away.”

“That must be it then,” I say with a nod. “He must blow out the lights before he leaves the moon.”

“Merry?”

“Hm?”

“Are there really hairless cats?” Pippin asks.

“I’ve never seen an oliphaunt, dragon or troll, and I likely never will, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exit,” I reply. “Maybe our talking is keeping the cats away.”

Pippin nods and leans into my side, resting his head on my chest. I wrap an arm around him and hum as quietly as I can, hoping to lull Pippin to sleep. He’s quiet and still for so long, that I begin to think he’s drifted off. Then suddenly his head snaps up and he points into the dark distance.

“What’s that?” he whispers.

I look up and see two glowing spots low to the ground, looking in our direction. Some sort of creature is out there, but it’s too far away and too dark to make out any form in the grass.

“Do you think that’s one of them?” Pippin asks.

“It could be,” I say.

Pippin will figure out later that there’s no such thing as hairless cats, but for now, I let him have his little adventure. We sit there for several minutes, silently watching the glowing orbs watch us. Then the creature either closes its eyes or turns away, because the lights disappear and never return.

I don’t know when we fall asleep. One moment we’re staring out at the darkness, and the next Uncle Paladin is leaning over us, gently shaking us awake. The campfire is blazing again and the smell of sweet meats and onions is in the air. The sky above is drenched with pinks and golds and is beginning to lighten to a pale blue in the east as the sun slowly rises. Pippin is curled around me, his hands in my hair, and he’s breathing hot and sticky into my neck. A spot of drool has formed on my shirt where Pippin’s mouth hangs open. Uncle Paladin shakes him again, and he yawns and stretches, pushing his father’s hand away.

Uncle Paladin chuckles. “Fine then, Sara and I will just have to eat your breakfast for you,” he says.

That wakes Pippin faster than anything. The next instant, he’s up and at the fireside. Uncle Paladin helps me to my feet and I follow him to the fire to sit between Pippin and Father. Uncle Paladin sits down more gingerly and even Father seems to have trouble stirring the food. Uncle Paladin rubs at a crick in his neck, looking chagrined.

“Tell me again why we thought this would be fun,” he tells Father. “Every part of me aches. I’ve aches in places I didn’t even know I had.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think I slept on a rock the better part of the night,” Father says, brushing his hand along his back and side. “I can still feel the dent. I hope you lads slept better. Did you see any hairless cats before you drifted off.”

“I think so,” Pippin answers as he leans close to the fire and breathes in deeply. “We saw something anyway. It was probably just a regular cat.”

“This far from a homestead?” I ask. “And this close to the High Hay? I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Father and Uncle Paladin grin at each other over our heads and Father goes back to stirring the food.

We spend the morning in Hedge Field, Pippin and I running around to gather wildflowers for our mothers and counting molehills. We even have a race, as the summer races will be held here on the first of Afterlithe, just a month away. Pippin is still too young to race and he’ll be home in Tuckborough by then, but he proves to be a quick runner and gives me a good chase.

After second breakfast, we head home, meandering as we had the day before. Even so, we get home quicker than we had gone out, reaching Bucklebury half-past eleven. We stop at the sweets shop and we each get a cupcake to munch on for the last stretch towards home. The Hall comes into view just a few minutes later, and we reach the stables licking our fingers in appreciation. Father releases Pippin and me from helping unload, so we dash off in search of Frodo to tell him about our adventure and to hear about his.

We find Frodo in the most unlikely of places: outside in the gardens, sitting in a niche in the hedges with Iris Bolger. They’re laughing over something when Frodo looks up and sees us standing there. He’s on his feet and has crossed the distance to us before we can pick our jaws up from the floor to say hello.

“There you lads are,” he greets us, stooping down to pick up Pippin for a hug. “How was your camping adventure?”

“It was fun,” I say.

“We saw glowing eyes,” Pippin informs.

Iris stands up and comes to join us. She taps Frodo on the shoulder to make sure she has his attention. “I best be getting ready for the party,” she tells him and pauses, waiting expectantly.

“I’ll be by to pick you up just before tea,” Frodo promises and clutches Pippin to himself a little longer than he normally would have.

“I’ll see you then,” Iris says. She smiles at Pippin and me before turning away and strolling into the main garden.

“That looks promising,” I say when Iris is far enough away not to overhear.

Frodo puts Pippin down and shrugs. “She is nice enough, as Berry said, so long as you can keep her from talking about crochet. It’s no easy task, but I’m managing it. We were just talking about old times. I was telling her some of my adventures, or correcting her more like. The versions she heard were wildly exaggerated. She was telling me about some of the things she and the other lasses would get up to. They’re more devious than I thought they were. I thought Posy was an exception.”

“All lasses are devious, Frodo,” Pippin says knowledgeably. He has three older sisters, so he knows better than Frodo or me about lasses, or so he seems to think. 

“So, does Mother have something to look forward to?” I ask.

Frodo shrugs. “I don’t know, Merry. She is kind and sweet, and we got along well enough when I lived here. I just don’t think I’m ready to make that sort of commitment, not yet. We’ll see what happens in another couple of years. Now, come along. You two need to be getting ready yourselves. You look like you’ve been sleeping with wolves, and that’s no way to arrive at Saradoc’s party. You can tell me all about your adventure while you bathe.”

We do just that, telling Frodo about our quest for the hairless cats in between Pippin’s splashing about and singing of bath songs. We tell our adventure again at Father’s party, and at each telling it grows, until Pippin and I spied not just eyes in the dark but a long sleek form and a swishing tale. By the end of the night, we are telling how the form appeared to come bounding towards us, growing larger with every galloping footstep, until the creature turned away just shy of entering the firelight and ran back towards the Old Forest. I even manage to forget that I never believed in hairless cats in the first place, that I had actually been the one to make them up. In the end, they become as real for me as they are for Pippin, if only in our imaginations.  

1 Forelithe, 1419 SR
Minas Tirith, Gondor
 

“MERRY!”

Pippin’s voice shouting from outside startles Frodo, Sam and myself. We look up from peeling the potatoes just as Pippin hurtles into the kitchen of our little house on the city’s fifth circle. He’s just come off duty and his livery shines in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen’s high windows. He’s been running for a distance now, for he’s out of breath and sweating, and his livery is slightly askew on his thin frame.

“Pippin?” I say, putting down the peeler and potato, not knowing what to make of this display. There is no danger here in the city, and no one seems to have been chasing him for pure jest.

“Mer,” he breathes heavily. He leans over the table to catch his breath and when he looks up, he’s grinning from ear to ear. He bounces on his feet, recalling to memory the little lad of long ago. “Merry, Frodo,” he finally manages to get out. “You must accompany me to the fourth circle. Now. There’s something you’re not going to believe.”

He then turns around and strides out the door, heading back in the direction he just came. Frodo and I glance at each other and shrug. We have no choice now but to follow. We quickly wipe off our hands on a towel and follow after Pippin before he can get too far ahead. Sam comes with us, too curious to be left behind. We catch up with only a little difficulty and Pippin leads us to a small outdoor café on the fourth circle, where people are gathering around to stare and gape at some spectacle.

“Pippin? What—?” I begin to ask, but at my words the crowd notices us standing there. They part to let us through and there before us, like something out of a half-remembered dream, we see it.

Sitting at a table on the café patio is a finely dressed woman of noble rank, and sitting on the table on a beaded pillow is the ugliest looking thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life, orcs notwithstanding. It has the body, face and whiskers of a feline, but there’s not a hint of fur on its bony, wrinkled body. Bright green eyes stare out at the crowd in proud defiance, and its tail, so much like a rat’s tail I have to appreciate the irony of seeing it upon a cat, swishes contentedly as it bathes in the sun.

Pippin points at the cat and grins at us proudly. “A hairless cat,” he says without need. “Her husband, who is a soldier, found it in the land of the Easterlings. Only their royalty are allowed to own such cats, since they’re believe to possess magical qualities, but he was able to sneak one away, knowing she would like it. She let me pet it. It felt strange.”

“So they do exist,” I say with amusement.

“They do exist?” Frodo asks, bewildered. After everything he has seen, I would think him the least likely to doubt his own eyes, but he blinks them, rubs them and looks again. Then he grins and even gives a laugh, a welcome sight and sound indeed. “Well, of all the wonders.”

“It’s sort of ugly, ain’t it, sir?” Sam asks quietly. “It must get cold come winter.”

“She had to make it sweaters,” Pippin announces.

“A hairless cat wearing winter sweaters,” Sam says with a shake of his head. “Well, now I’ve seen and heard everything.”

Frodo and I can only nod in agreement. Whatever other surprises the world has in store for us, none will be able to compare to this.

The end

GF 1/5/08

A/N: This story has a long history. Quite a while back, we were having a discussion on LJ of hobbits and hunting, or at least, I think that’s how this all got started. It’s been so long now, some of the details gave grown a bit stale. Anyway, somewhere along the line of whatever discussion we were having, I thought it would be a fun idea to have an “Iron Chef” type story with the hobbits in a cooking competition. Grey Wonderer agreed to write it for me, but due to problems with canon, and another LJ discussion regarding pet peeves and hobbits not being able to cook (I think there must certainly be a few who can’t find their way around a kitchen, though naturally they would never admit it), she eventually determined she wouldn’t be able to pull it off. So she handed the torch back to me, and I’ve been sitting on it – the story, not the torch, as that would burn quite unpleasantly – ever since. This is a far cry from “Iron Chef” but it is still a hobbit cooking contest, made of one part Young!Merry and one part Wee!Pippin, with a dash of Frodo and a sprinkling of Bagginses, Gamgees and Cottons. Pull up a chair, dig in and enjoy!
 
 
 
First-place winner in the 2008 MEFA awards.

The Five Rules of Cooking
(As Learned by Peregrin Took at the Free Fair of 1396 SR)
 
 

Frodo is 27, Merry 14, Pippin 6 (about 17, 9 and 4 in Man years)
2 Lithe, 1396 SR
 

Of all the events that took place during the Free Fair, none were more eagerly anticipated than the cooking contests. Whether the hobbits were doing the cooking, the judging, or enjoying the contestants’ efforts at the Fair’s End Feast, the cooking contests were the most popular events of the Lithe festival. They were the first contests hobbits signed up for and so many volunteers wanted to help with the judging that their names had to be put into a hat to make the choosing fair; the volunteers could only hope they were one of the lucky few to be picked.

There were three cooking contests: the Juniors’ Cooking Contest, for young hobbits ages six through nineteen; and the All-Purpose Cooking Contest and Most Delectable Desserts Bake Off for all other hobbits twenty and up. The contests were an all day affair, with the juniors competing first, between second breakfast and luncheon before the day grew too hot. The other contests began after luncheon and concluded at tea.

The final day of the fair dawned bright and clear and promised to be just as warm as the days before. The vacant skies were a vibrant blue, gleaming as sapphires, and the fairgrounds sparkled as emeralds in the rising sun. The tightly-packed tents that squeezed onto the southern and northern ends of the field greeted the sun like many tiny mountains, though these were not arranged like any mountains the sun was accustomed to seeing. These little ranges made circles around each other, circles within larger circles, with curving avenues winding through them all for pathways to and from the fairgrounds. At the center of each group of circles were fire pits and cooking hearths, some already smoking as hobbits began to awaken and mill about, preparing for the day to come.

The largest circle of tents belonged to the Took clan, as most of the other large circles belonged to other families and their various relations. The smallest of the circles belonged to the merchants and farmers and fair organizers, whose main concern was being as close to their merchandise, produce, beasts and duties as they could get.

Not all hobbits who attended the fair slept in the camps. All the inns of Michel Delving were packed to bursting, with families cramming into rooms four to a bed and throwing blankets and pillows onto the floor for makeshift pallets to fit yet more hobbits. The inns were never more busy than they were at Midsummer, and a few of the hobbits who came to the fair did so just for the extra bit of coin for their pockets they could gain by offering to help the overburdened staff at the inns.

The Soaring Falcon Inn, always a popular and busy haven for its location next to the Town Hole, was no different. The Falcon’s usual customers of post messengers, shirriffs, bounders, traveling merchants, the occasional dwarves and more ordinary hobbits coming to seek an audience with the Mayor had now been cleared out for the inn’s customary Midsummer patrons of Bagginses, Chubbs, Grubbs, Proudfoots and Hornblowers.

In their quaint but humble room looking out at the town center, Frodo waited patiently as Merry finished dressing. Bilbo had already gone out to join the others at table in the common room, and Frodo was now wishing he had followed his example as his stomach began to protest its lack of first breakfast. Instead, he found himself sitting tailor-fashion on the bed, enjoying the gusty breeze through the open window and watching Merry with growing amusement and trepidation.

He was amused as Merry was being quite fastidious about his appearance, making certain his ironed white linen shirt hung from his shoulders just so and was tucked into his trousers so as not to wrinkle. Merry’s trousers were another point of concern. He didn’t want them to be too tight nor did he want them to be too loose. They needed to be breezy for certain, to accommodate the heat of the day and to allow for movement, but he didn’t want them falling down around his ankles either. Frodo’s pert reminder that Merry hadn’t worried about losing his pants at another festival did little assuage this concern.* Merry at length found a pale green pair that was snug at the hips but loose in the legs and he added to them a bright yellow pair of braces for security. He slipped the braces over his shoulders, rearranged his shirt, then began picking lint off his trousers with excruciating detail.

Frodo hid his snickers behind his hands, glad for the distraction from his worries. The worry was due to the fact that Merry, a perfectly capable lad at fourteen, had chosen for his partner in the Juniors’ Cooking Contest Pippin, an overactive mite of six years who couldn’t read or count, much less measure anything without spilling most of it into his foot hair. There was a reason Aunt Eglantine rarely allowed him in the kitchen and why children under ten, while permitted, were seldom allowed by their parents to compete in the contest. Yet despite this, Merry felt that Pippin would be a grand help and didn’t see any reason for asking for an additional assistant. Merry and Pippin had been planning this for months, since Pippin’s birthday when he became old enough to enter the contest – so long as he could find an older cousin silly enough to partner with him, for his sisters would have none of it.

Frodo suspected Pippin only wanted to compete so he could eat as much as he liked all morning long, and he knew Merry was only competing for a First Place ribbon, which he thought would look quite fetching on his bedchamber shelf next to his other ribbons, won for such physical activities as running, swimming and pony-racing. Merry’s competitive streak was legend, and Frodo worried what such excitement and pressure would do to the already excitable Pippin. He could see nothing but disaster looming ahead, but he had hid his fears and doubts these past few months with a practiced ease that would make any Baggins proud.

Yet as Merry finished his lint inspection and turned his attention to styling his hair, Frodo couldn’t resist one last attempt to reason with his dear cousin. “Are you certain about this, Merry?” he asked, sounding as calm and collected as he would if he were asking about Merry’s studies. “Don’t you think you should ask Pervinca or Pimpernel to join you and Pippin? Good help helps the best.”

“Pippin will be good help,” Merry insisted cheerfully as he slowly pulled his brush through his brown curls, gently easing out every tangle. “He can hand me things when I ask for them. He can measure things and stir things and tell me if the water gets too close to boiling. He can even cut things. I’ve brought him a blunt-edged knife, the same one I used when I was learning to cook.”

“He can also eat all the food before you have a chance to cook anything,” Frodo pointed out.

“That’s why I brought extra ingredients, as well as snacks just for him to munch on,” Merry replied smartly, positioning his bangs so they hung just above his eye line. He thought that wearing his hair in this fashion made him appear older and more responsible, and so less likely to be questioned by his elders when he was found snooping in places he didn’t belong. “Besides, if Vinca or Nell help, then I’ll have to share my First Place ribbon, whereas Pippin just wants to spend time with me and doesn’t give a cat’s meow about the ribbon.”

“So you want the prize all to yourself?” Frodo asked with a scoff.

“Of course,” Merry said. He looked at himself critically in the mirror, turning this way and that, looking for stray lint balls and out-of-place curls. He next inspected his foot hair and toe nails and nodded at himself in the mirror with satisfaction. He looked good, dashing even, if he did say so himself.

“Then why don’t you just cook by yourself? It would certainly be easier.”

“Because I promised Pippin we could spend time together while I was here. That was the original reason for me coming after all,” Merry replied, not understanding the concern. “Besides, Pippin wants to learn to cook and he’ll never be able to if Aunt Tina has her way. If I can show her that he’s capable of helping without being a nuisance, she’ll let him start helping at home too.”

“That’s an honorable ambition, Merry,” Frodo said, surprised at this reasoning. He hadn’t stopped to think that Merry might be hoping to help Pippin in his turn. It was moments like this that Frodo knew Merry would make an upstanding Master of the Hall one day. “However, I doubt Aunt Tina would neglect his cooking lessons indefinitely. She just wants to wait until he’s a wee bit older.”

“But he wants to learn now,” Merry said.

“Very well,” Frodo said, resigning himself to the inevitable and wondering again why he agreed to be their assistant and subject himself to this morning of torment. He was certain that Bilbo had something to do with it. “Do you have everything you’re going to need then?”

“It’s in the cold cellar in the kitchen,” Merry said. “We just need to load it up onto the pull-cart before we go to check in for the contest. I’ve all the ingredients, plus extras, as well as the bowls, utensils, measuring cups, and everything else.”

“What are you making anyway?” Frodo asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Merry answered and stepped out of the room into the hall, leaving his flabbergasted cousin behind.

Frodo quickly caught up, catching his friend by the elbow halfway down the hall. “You don’t know?” he asked, horrified. “Merry, this is a cooking competition. They’re going to ask to see the receipt before you start, to make sure you have only what you need and aren’t trying to cheat by taking shortcuts. How can you not know?”

Now it was Merry’s turn to laugh. He ribbed his cousin gently and winked. “I was only joking, Frodo; I knew I could break that calm exterior of yours. For your information, we’re going to make a chicken stew. It’s the easiest thing in the Shire to make, so all your fretting has been for nothing. Really, Frodo, what could possibly go wrong?”  

They met the other Bagginses in the common room, where first breakfast was already being served. They took the empty seats at the end of the table next to Angelica and a moment later, a serving lass brought them their plates. They dug into their ham and eggs while the elders continued their conversation.

“The pony races are this afternoon. My money’s on Sweet Molasses,” said Porto to his brother Ponto.

“More racing,” Dora said with a disapproving cluck of her tongue. “Though I suppose racing ponies makes far more sense than racing swine. I have never seen so many hobbits behaving so insensibly as they do when they’re calling and hollering at those pigs.”

“They have to holler or the pigs won’t race,” Dudo explained.

“Of course they won’t,” Dora said. “At least the pigs have some sense. They know they should be fattening up, not running about.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought those swine looked quite adorable in their ribbons and bells,” Bilbo joined in, a wicked little gleam in his eyes.

“Adorable?” Dora said, offended at the very thought of describing one’s future meal in such a manner. “Next you’re going to start racing them yourself.”

“You know, I just might,” Bilbo said, winking behind Dora’s back at Ponto and Porto.

“You’ll want to speak with Chico Broadback then,” Ponto advised, winking back. “He has a pair of Downland gilts he’s looking to sell. He’s had quite a few bids already, after his sow won the grand prize yesterday, so I’d find him as quickly as possible.”

“Don’t encourage him, Ponto!” Dora scolded.

“Bilbo’s never needed encouragement, Dora,” Dudo pointed out.

“Which is all the more reason not to offer it,” Dora said.

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you, Bilbo,” Ponto offered, “just to ensure you get the best possible price.” Yet there was now a gleam in his eyes and everyone knew what that meant.

Angelica sighed and turned to whisper to Merry and Frodo. “Mother’s not going to be happy about this,” she confided in them. “She took her breakfast early so she could help set up the cooking booths. If she comes back and finds out Father’s gone and wasted more money buying gilts, she’ll loose her reason.”

Frodo and Merry had to agree. After the argument Ponto and Daffodil had the previous night when Ponto returned to the inn with a new linen chest, a new set of golf clubs and a new pair of gold cufflinks, none of them had any doubt what would transpire if she found gilts in the sty. Daffodil would turn Ponto right around and demand that he sell them, and any protests by Ponto that they would be worth more after they won a few races would fall on deaf ears.

“Father,” Angelica said then, “don’t forget that you were going to help with the judging of the cooking contests today.”

Naturally, no hobbit needed to be reminded of this, but it did change the subject from race-pigs to food, just as Angelica had hoped. The judges for the cooking contests had been chosen yesterday, after the winners of the racing contests had been presented with their ribbons at the commencement ceremony. Everyone had gathered around the stage and waited on bated breath for the Mayor to read out the names of the chosen judges.

Ponto had the good fortune of being picked for the Most Delectable Desserts Bake Off, a fact he had been proudly boasting since last night. Now he launched into another elaborate retelling of the name-drawing and the hour he and the other judges had spent with the Mayor afterwards, receiving their instructions. Only their Baggins breeding kept his audience from groaning; they had already heard the tale at least a dozen times.

When Frodo and Merry finished their meal, they grabbed a handful of muffins for seconds and excused themselves from the table. They went into the kitchen and loaded Merry’s supplies onto a low pull-cart outside, which they then covered in a white sheet. The cooks wished them luck, and Merry and Frodo headed out for the fairgrounds and the range of tents on the southern end of the field. The Took camp was the largest and easiest to spot, with ten large tents and numerous smaller tents arranged in five circles. Merry and Frodo navigated their way through the tents to the center of the inner circle and the cooking fires. Most of the Tooks had already eaten, but there were still a fair number sitting and chatting about the various events yet to come. Merry and Frodo spotted Pippin and his family near the far end of the clearing, perched atop some logs as they finished their meal.

Pippin saw them first. He jumped up with a yelp and dashed over to hug Merry around the shins, already talking a mile a minute. “I can’t believe we get to be in one of the contests! I can’t wait to get started. I went through everything I already know about cooking last night: don’t stand too close to the fire, don’t eat things right off the skillet, never mix peanut butter into the eggs, don’t leave the apple juice too close to the fire because it will grow fur—”

“Ferment,” Merry corrected.

“Right, but I’ve never seen mint with fur, unless Cook was talking about that little fuzzy stuff that grows on the leaves that you can’t see unless you hold it up real close to your eye, and that’s bad for some reason but apple juice isn’t made with mint so far as I know and anyway the juice tasted just fine to me when I had some but they say that’s the reason I was bouncing off the walls all day long but I wasn’t bouncing off the walls, Merry, that’s just silly to bounce off of walls but bouncing on the bed is fun,” Pippin finished with a great intake of air.

Frodo’s worries bounced in leaps and bounds. The day was just beginning, Pippin had only had porridge and fruit for first breakfast if Aunt Eglantine was feeding him, and the little lad was already a bundle of energy. He might not bounce off walls, but Frodo was beginning to wonder if he didn’t have springs hidden in the heels of his feet.

Frodo shook his head and frowned down at his troublesome duo. “Come on you two,” he said with a wave at Eglantine and Paladin. They waved back, looking far more amused than Frodo cared to see them. He took Pippin’s sticky hand in his and turned to go. “We need to check you in.”  

The check-in line was already long by the time they reached the fairgrounds. Pippin, not one to stand still even to blink, instantly stooped down to inspect the bug life crawling among the grass. When he tired of that, he dashed around the green chasing butterflies and moths and naming the wildflowers if he knew their names. That occupied him for a time and he soon had company as some of the other younger contestants joined him. As the lads chased after flying critters, some of the lasses started turning cartwheels and attempting other tumbling acts like the ones they had seen on the first day of the fair.

Those who didn’t join them shouted encouragements or warnings to be careful, and Frodo was not surprised to see that Pippin was by far the youngest competitor there. He hoped again that Merry’s trust in the rambunctious Took would not be unfounded, but he resolved not to voice his doubt again with Pippin so near. The last thing they needed was a hyperactive Took second-guessing everything he did.

Merry was also keeping an eye on Pippin but his other eye was trained on his competition. There were several of his kin in line, some closely related, others only distant. The rest were gentry from other parts of the Shire, as well as working hobbits, all mingling comfortably together; there were no class divisions in any of the competitions at the Free Fair, as the purpose of the contests were to measure skill and ability, not class, and all hobbits enjoyed it that way.

That said, there were a couple of contests where this was a disadvantage. The working hobbits often had the edge in the wrestling matches, while the gentry usually owned the ponies better groomed for racing. There were some who felt these two contests at least should be divided by class, usually those gentry who had ended up face first in the dirt courtesy of their servants or who felt that working hobbits would better spend their time training ponies to work than to race. The Mayor always put an end to such complaints, reasoning that skill and ability were just that and if they divided those contests by class, the others would eventually follow, and the spirit of the Free Fair would be destroyed.

Merry had enjoyed the first two days running about with Frodo and Pippin and his many Took cousins. He had been surprised at first when some of the servants of the Great Smials and Whitwell joined them but delighted when he realized that the Gamgees also had no qualms about joining them in their antics. He now spotted Sam, May and Marigold Gamgee near the front of the queue, standing with some other young hobbits. Merry pointed them out to Frodo, who quickly identified the others as Tom, Jolly and Rosie Cotton and Robin Smallburrow.

Sam had told Merry the night before that Rosie, May and Marigold would be making an apple pie with a custard topping. This was May’s last year to compete with the juniors as she would be turning twenty next month and she had chosen the dish for which their mother had been famous. Sam, Tom, Jolly and Robin would be combining their skills to bake a four-layer cake with custard filling and white icing. The ingredients for the icing were costly, so the lads had been working extra jobs for the last month to afford them and they now guarded their loaded pull-cart with pride.

When Merry had told Sam that he would be joining with Pippin, Sam had given him a measured look that Merry thought was intentionally expressionless. “Well, Master Merry, I reckon there’s more’n one way to be cooking with fire, if you take my meaning,” Sam had replied cool as a cucumber and stuck more marshmallows on his stick for roasting.

Now Sam caught Merry’s and Frodo’s eyes and the friends waved at each other. Merry and Frodo saw Rosie say something to Sam and saw Sam glance over the green to where Pippin stood, grass-stained and panting with pollen in his hair. Sam replied and Tom, Jolly and Robin laughed.

“Are they laughing at Pippin?” Merry asked, affronted.

“If I had to guess, I’d say they’re laughing at you,” Frodo wagered. He didn’t know the Cottons or Robin well but he knew that Sam would never say anything against Pippin or Merry. Even so, his Gamgee practicality wouldn’t be able to help pointing out Merry’s folly in his choice of cooking partner.

“Oh, all right then,” Merry said, quelled by this reassurance. He didn’t mind being the butt of a joke, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to make fun of Pippin.

Long as the line was, it moved quickly and soon Merry and Frodo reached the front of the queue. Frodo called for Pippin to join them, and the little Took dashed over and arrived with a bounce. For all his running and playing, he was still wriggling with excitement and he grinned up at the hobbitess who was checking them in.

“Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t it a lovely morning this morning? It’s going to be a lovely day today and a lovely night tonight.” Then he giggled at his own joke.

“Good morning to you, young Master,” the hobbitess replied warmly. “I see you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

“Yes, Miss,” Pippin agreed and started rocking back and forth on his heels.

The hobbitess locked eyes with Frodo and arched her brows ever so slightly. Frodo grinned bravely. “Good morning, Miss. I’m Frodo Baggins and I’ll be serving as helper for Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took.”

The hobbitess scanned her list and checked off their names. “And what will you be cooking for the contest?” she asked.

“Chicken stew with vegetables,” Merry answered. “My grandmother Menegilda created it fifty years ago and it’s a staple of all Brandybuck festivities.”

“It certainly sounds delicious,” the hobbitess said kindly. “Hand over your receipt and uncover your pull cart,” she instructed, standing to inspect the cart’s ingredients against the receipt. “What are these?” she asked, pointing at the snacks Merry had set aside for Pippin and the muffins Frodo had brought for their second breakfast.

“Second breakfast and snacks,” Frodo answered. “Young hobbits have insatiable appetites. Best to be prepared than to find yourself without anything to cook with.”

“I’m hungry,” Pippin complained as though on cue. He eyed the muffins and sack of apples, berries and nuts with craving. Merry handed him an apple and he instantly stuffed half of it into his mouth, taking such a large bite he could barely close his lips to chew.

“Of course,” the hobbitess agreed, her eyebrows arching again. She cleared her throat and made a note of their snacks before handing the receipt card back to Merry. She addressed Frodo again. “As helper, you can only start and maintain the fires and lift the pots if they are too heavy. You can also run to get supplies if you need them. You may not help Master Merry or Master Pippin in any other way or they will be disqualified from the competition. Find any available cooking booth and make sure young Master Pippin washes his hands.”

“Ah wah meh han,” Pippin protested around his bite of apple.

“Of course you will, Pip,” Merry said pertly. “She just has to say that to all the Tooks. Let’s go find a table. Maybe there will be one in a tent still available.”

Merry covered the pull cart and grabbed the handle, and they set out to find a cooking booth. On their way, they passed the Gamgees and their friends at the communal ovens used for the baking contests and wished them luck.

“Aye, good luck to ye too,” Jolly said with a grin.

“Just remember, Master Merry, water douses fire faster’n more fire,” Sam called after them.

“And you remember, Sam, never mess with a Took and a Brandybuck,” Merry called back, laughing himself.

“No need to. I reckon they mess themselves just fine,” Tom heckled, which earned laughs from everyone in the area.

“Wat dos at mean, Merry?” Pippin asked around the second half of his apple.

“Only that cooking was never meant to be a clean affair,” Merry replied, smiling down at his cousin. He would never admit it aloud, but Pippin looked a fright and his hands would need a good scrubbing before he could be allowed near any of the food.

They continued to the cooking tents and booths, Frodo patrolling ahead to spy out an ideal space and claim it before anyone else could reach it. All the spaces in the tents were already full but he found a booth near enough one of the tents to have shade most of the morning. He checked the supply of fire wood, the depth of the fire pit and the height of the cooking spit and found all to be to his liking. He was checking the table’s steadiness when Merry and Pippin arrived with the pull cart.

“This will do,” Merry agreed and pushed the pull cart under the table.

“Now what?” Pippin asked as he licked apple juice off his hands.

“Now, we prepare our station,” Merry informed. “First, we fill our stock pot with water. We passed the well just a short way back, so we’ll take the pot in the cart to fill it and we can wash up while we’re there.”

“Here, Pip, I’ll help with that,” Frodo said, stepping in when he saw Pippin’s grubby hands reaching for the food-filled baskets.

Frodo and Merry quickly unloaded the cart, leaving only the stock pot in the bed. Pippin wanted to help pull the cart, so he and Merry took the handle and went in pursuit of the water. They reached the well in due time. Merry shook the pollen out of Pippin’s hair, then rolled up his sleeves and gave his arms, hands and face a thorough scrub before washing his own hands and filling the pot. When they returned, Frodo placed the pot on the spit and rearranged the stones in the fire pit so that both the pot and the pan would have the fire they needed. While he was busy with that, Merry showed Pippin how to set up the cooking station, arranging the ingredients, bowls, utensils and cutting boards so that everything was within easy reach, with the ingredients to be used first closest to the cutting boards.

“We have different ingredients, Merry,” Pippin pointed out as he watched Merry arrange the sacks of vegetables between them. He stood up on tiptoe to try to see better and found that Merry had given him the peppercorn, tomatoes, peapods, squash and all the seasonings. For himself, Merry had kept back the onions, carrots, potatoes, and garlic. Between them, he had placed the celery and corncobs.

“Your knife has a blunt edge, so you won’t accidentally cut yourself,” Merry explained. “All hobbit children learn to cook with such knives, but it does mean you won’t be able to cut through the harder vegetables.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, his eyes wide as he looked from his little blunt-edged knife to Merry’s much sharper, scarier-looking knife. He was glad he didn’t have to use that big knife just yet. “Now what do we do? Do we start cooking now?”

Frodo shook his head. “No, now we wait until everyone else is ready and the judges tell us its time to start. Now, we eat second breakfast.” He divided the muffins among them and poured out water into the jars they would be using later to store the broth.

Merry and Frodo ate in contentment, nibbling at their food as they watched the other contestants bustling about, finding tables and sitting up their stations. Occasionally, friendly bantering would sound back and forth between cooking booths, as friends and kin made wagers as to who will win and who will go home with only an honorable mention.

Pippin quickly finished his food, making a mess of himself once again. With his food finished and nothing to occupy him, as hobbit-watching was hardly exciting enough for him, he began to fidget and squirm in his place between his two older cousins.

Frodo noticed this and reached behind him to grab a short piece of kindling from the unlit fire. He quickly drew a five-by-five square grid in the dirt. “Do you want to play biscuits-and-scones, Pip?” he asked, knowing that Pippin enjoyed the game, the object of which was to draw four biscuits or four scones in a row without being blocked by the other player. “Merry will play the winner.”

“Yes, please!” Pippin agreed and scrambled to sit on his knees, the better to see the grid and watch Frodo’s strategy. Frodo drew a circle, representing a biscuit, on the grid and handed the stick to Pippin. Pippin studied the grid for a time, then drew a triangle, representing a scone, and the game commenced.

The first two rounds ended in a draw, with Frodo winning the third match. Merry quickly beat Frodo and Pippin in turn. His second game with Frodo ended in another draw, but before they could begin a third match, Frodo glanced up to notice that the judges were assembling at the center of the field. The competition would be starting soon, and once it did, Merry and Pippin would need to be ready to begin cooking right away.

“Take Pippin and wash up,” Frodo said to Merry, who frowned to notice how dirty Pippin had become just by sitting still in the dirt.

Merry took Pippin’s left hand with his right and two of the glass jars in his other. Pippin carried the third glass jar, and they went to the well to wash themselves and the jars. They returned to their booth just in time for Mayor Will Whitfoot’s arrival.

Now everyone was watching the judges and the Mayor, waiting eagerly for the announcement to begin the contest. The Mayor conferred with the judges briefly before turning to address the contestants. “Welcome young chefs and bakers to the Juniors’ Cooking Contest! I’m sure you’re all excited to get started, but I must remind you all to be careful of the fires and to watch your fingers. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. Helpers, watch your young charges carefully to ensure they are using their utensils correctly, but no helping them with the cooking itself. Contestants, you are not allowed to leave your stations once the contest begins unless you have a judge with you. If you have a helper, your helper can go to fetch whatever you might need. The judges will be patrolling the grounds throughout the competition to check on your progress.

“Your head judge today will be none other than our very own Tulip Crocker,** who can make such meals as to leave you breathless and begging for more. If, after the competition, you wish for her to give you pointers on how to make your receipts even more delectable than they already are, just wave her down and she’ll come right over. You can learn a lot from this marvelous lady.”

Next to him stood a middle-aged hobbitess with her brown curls rolled up in a bun. She wore a sky blue smock with little white flowers pressed on them and a white apron. She smiled charmingly at the contestants and gave them a wink. Everyone in the Shire had heard of Tulip Crocker’s legendary skills in the kitchen, and there would be quite a few who would be eager to gain her advice once the contest was over.

“So now, without further ado, let the contest begin!” the Mayor announced. The contestants cheered and the judges set out to patrol the grounds.  

“It’s time, Merry! It’s time to begin! We need to start! We need to start!” Pippin exclaimed, bouncing excitedly and brandishing the piece of kindling with reckless abandon.

Frodo ducked just in time to avoid being smacked across the face. He gently took the kindling away and returned it to the wood pile. Then he waited, as he wasn’t allowed to do anything until Merry instructed him now that the contest had officially begun.

Merry rubbed his hands together and studied his receipt card carefully. There were two receipts he and Pippin would be making, the broth for the stew and then the stew itself. The broth would take the longest, so they would begin with that first. He rubbed his hands together, the only indication he gave of the nerves he felt inside. “All right,” he said. “First off, we need to start the fire and warm the water to a simmer. We’ll need to put the bones in the water to make the broth, so while we wait for the water to warm, we can bone the chicken and separate as much of the fat from the meat and bones as we can.”

“Can I start the fire?” Pippin asked.

“No,” Merry and Frodo firmly negated. Pippin’s eager face deflated slightly but he didn’t protest when Merry instructed Frodo to start the fire. Instead, he watched as Frodo took a striker from his pocket and quickly set the kindling ablaze. Soon the flames licked at the bottom of the pot and caressed its sides.

Merry placed the first of two hens on his chopping block. They were already prepared for cooking, the feathers, innards and heads removed. Now he made Pippin stand back as he took up the meat cleaver and cut the meat into more manageable pieces, setting aside one piece for Pippin for every two of his own. Pippin stood up on his tiptoes to watch him over the table, his nose scrunched up but fascinated all the same.

From his vantage point behind them, Frodo realized belatedly that Pippin would need something to stand on. Unfortunately, they had nothing with them that could act as a stool. The bucket they would need for throwing their discards, and the pull cart was simply too unstable. Frodo looked around at the nearby booths and tents and spotted what appeared to be an extra pail in the tent behind them. He told Merry he’d be right back and went to ask if he could borrow the pail. He returned a minute later, pail in hand, to hear Pippin’s leery questioning.

“I’ve never had stew with bones in it, Merry,” he said. “I don’t think we’re supposed to use the bones.”

“The bones have all the marrow and nutrients that make the broth so hearty,” Merry explained as he began chopping the second hen. “We need to remove all the meat from the bones so we can cook the meat. We need to get as much of the fat off the bones before putting them into the water. The remaining fat will come off the bones and float at the top of the water as it simmers, and we can skim the fat off that way. We don’t want to mix the fat into the water though or it will get greasy and won’t taste as good. Once the broth is finished, we’ll strain out the fat, bones and vegetables and keep only the liquid, which we will then use to make our stew. The rest of the broth we’ll store in these jars for use later.”

“Oh. Then what do we do with the bones?” Pippin asked, suddenly wondering what happened to all the bones of the beasts he had ever eaten. That seemed like a lot of bones and yet he couldn’t recall ever seeing a big pile of discarded bones anywhere.

“Here, Pip,” Frodo said then, putting the pail upside down at his feet and helping the lad to climb on top of it. Now Pippin could reach the table without having to strain his toes.

“Thank you, Frodo!” Pippin exclaimed, rewarding Frodo with a toothy grin. “Do you know what happens to all the bones?”

“Well, some folk make buttons or combs from them, or fashion them into handles for garden tools or whatnot. This pestle here which you will use for crushing the peppercorns is made of bone,” Frodo informed. “Dogs rather love to chew on bones and bury them. Bones can also be ground up for the compost, and I think the Gaffer once told me that you can make a special fertilizer with them also.”

“I didn’t know you could do so many things with bones,” Pippin stated, impressed with this new knowledge.

Merry then proceeded to show Pippin how to trim the fat from the meat and cut the meat from the bones. He had given Pippin mostly the wings and thighs, leaving the more difficult chest cavities for himself. He advised Pippin to be especially careful to remove the smaller bones and gristle. “Discard the gristle, but even the smallest bones can be used for the broth. Discard the fat also and put the meat in the pan when you’re finished. Pile the bones on the top corner of your cutting board, out of the way.”

He demonstrated what he wanted Pippin to do and then watched as the lad tentatively attempted his first piece, correcting his grip on the knife and meat as necessary. He and Frodo watched closely, giving encouragement as needed, and Pippin’s confidence quickly grew. When Merry was certain Pippin was comfortable with his task, he turned to his own parts, leaving Frodo to continue watch over Pippin, whose little pink tongue peeked out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on not cutting off his fingers. He worked slowly, sometimes putting the fat with the bones or the bones in the bucket with the discards, having to fish them back out. A little frown began to develop on his impish face and by the time he was nearly finished, the frown had grown to a grimace.

“This is very messy, Merry,” he complained as he looked at his greasy, fat-covered hands, little flecks of meat sticking to them from feeling for the small bones and gristle. “I don’t know why you made me clean my hands when they were just going to get dirty again.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and tried to wipe the grime from his hands, succeeding only in spreading it around more. While he didn’t mind getting dirty, this was a different sort of dirty and he wasn’t at all sure he liked it. Mud eventually dried and flaked off. This stuff didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

“We’ll wash our hands again once we’re finished with the chicken and have it cooking,” Merry assured. “Let me check your meat and make sure all the small bones are out. They’re hard to find sometimes. Even I still mess them every now and again.”

Only Pippin wasn’t listening. He was too busy flapping his hands about, distracted by the mess on them. “Is the fat supposed to cling like this?” he asked, shaking his hands more violently and eventually succeeding in sending little flecks of grime flying through the air.

“Hey now!” Frodo protested, as some of the flecks landed on his cheek and neck.

“Sorry Frodo,” Pippin apologized and went back to flapping his hands.

“Frodo, do you think you could track down some rags to wipe our hands with until we can wash them?” Merry requested in a too-patient tone. “I thought I had brought some, but I don’t see them now.”

“I’m sure someone will have extras,” Frodo said, glad for the excuse to escape further assault.

He went in pursuit of spare rags and managed to borrow some from a table of Clayhangers and Hornblowers. He returned with his bounty to find Merry attempting to shake his head and remove the chicken fat from his carefully primped hair. The staid Brandybuck was beginning to look a little frayed.

“Here, Pip,” Frodo said. “Let’s wipe your hands clean.” He dipped a clean rag into the warming pot water and made quick work of cleaning Pippin’s hands.

Merry also wiped his hands clean before passing them through his curls, looking for stray bits of lingering chicken parts. Once satisfied, he thanked Frodo for his help then commenced with his lesson, keeping a rag nearby for Pippin to wipe his hands whenever he wanted. By the time the meat and bones were ready, the water was beginning to steam. Merry instructed Frodo to carefully place the bones into the water and to remove some of the wood from the pot to the pan once the water began to bubble.

“We only want it to simmer,” he reminded Pippin. “That’s less than one bubble at a time. While Frodo’s rearranging the wood, we can put the meat in the pan and I’ll put that on the fire to cook as well.”

When that was done, Merry waved down a judge to escort him and Pippin to the well for a proper washing. They soon returned, Pippin happily flapping his now pristine hands. Merry rewarded him with another apple and a handful of nuts. Pippin clambered back onto his pail and looked at the remaining ingredients with zeal. Now that the dreaded chicken was out of the way, he was more eager to see what was coming next. While Pippin munched on his prize, Merry explained the next step in the cooking process.

“While the broth is brewing and the meat cooking, we’re going to prepare everything that goes into the broth and the stew,” Merry explained. “The ingredients for the broth will go into this bowl here. We want the broth vegetables to be cut into large chunks, since it will have to simmer for a long time and smaller pieces lose their flavor faster than big pieces.”

“Oh,” Pippin intoned and wondered how he was ever going to remember all of this information. He’d no idea cooking was such a complicated affair. “Does all of this go into the broth then?”

“No,” Merry said, glancing at his receipt. “Only fifteen of the peppercorn grounded, two stalks of celery, one medium onion, one large carrot and the half bay leaf. The rest is for the broth.”

“But there’s more than just one celery, onion and carrot,” Pippin pointed out, hoping that meant he would have extra to eat.

“That’s because those vegetables will also be needed for the stew, so we need more,” Merry explained. “So, first off, you’re going to take the leaves off the celery. The leaves are very bitter so we don’t want any of those getting into the broth or the stew. Once all the leaves are removed, put them back here between the cutting boards so I can chop them up. Then you’re going to take the peppercorns in that mortar and grind them with the pestle until it resembles a fine powder. While you’re doing that, I’ll chop the rest of the ingredients, and then we can work on the vegetables for the stew. But we must also remember to check the broth and skim the fat off the surface and to stir the chicken so it cooks evenly and doesn’t burn. I’ll take care of that as well, since you’re not allowed near the fire. By the time we have everything chopped up, the chicken should be cooked and ready to cut into cubes.”

“We’re not done with the chicken yet?” Pippin asked, his eager little face again deflating to a bemused frown. Frodo covered his smile with his hand.

“Not yet,” Merry confirmed. “But don’t worry Pip, it won’t be so messy once it’s cooked.”

“Couldn’t we have cooked it first then?” Pippin asked, pouting and looking extremely cross. He liked chickens well enough when they were clucking around the coop, or when his mother had already cut the meal into bite-sized pieces for him to eat. He decided he didn’t much care for the in-between part at all and he felt duped for having been subjected to such a sticky mess without need.

Frodo broke in now, shaking his head and keeping a straight face with practiced ease. “No, Pip, it doesn’t work that way. You have to prepare the chicken before you can cook it, no matter if you’re roasting, baking, cooking, frying or grilling it. At the least, you have to pluck the feathers and remove the innards, and you should feel grateful Merry has spared you that ordeal. But for a broth, you want all the nutrients of the bones to seep into the water. If you cook the chicken first, you’ll lose much of that flavor and the broth will turn out weak. Besides, once the meat’s cooked it will be hot and you’ll want to handle it as little as possible then.”

“If you say so,” Pippin agreed, but he clearly had his doubts.

“Now, what are you going to do?” Merry questioned Pippin.

“I’m going to remove the leaves from the celery and ground the peppercorn,” Pippin recited.

“Very good!” Merry praised.

Merry began peeling the carrots while Pippin made quick work of removing the leaves from the celery. Merry watched Pippin from the corner of his eye as his little cousin took up the mortar and pestle and began grinding the peppercorn. “Keep it up, Pip,” Merry encouraged. “Take your time, don’t spill.”

Pippin nodded, his little tongue peeking out again as he concentrated on beating the peppercorn to a pulp. Merry quickly diced a stalk of celery and stick of carrot into large chunks, then proceeded to peeling the onion and chopping off either end. He was slicing the onion in half when he heard Frodo softly clear his throat from his perch behind them next to the fire. A second later, Frodo cleared his throat again and Merry looked over to discover his bowl of ingredients held considerably less carrots than it had just a minute before. The corner of Pippin’s mouth showed evidence of where the missing carrots had ended up.

“Pip,” Merry said with a warning voice, “you’re not supposed to eat what you’re cooking.”

“Then how do we know if it’s any good?” Pippin asked. While it didn’t occur to him to deny the allegation, he had learned to always look for a valid excuse for his actions whenever possible. The excuses didn’t always work but they did succeed in getting him out of trouble enough that he figured it was always worth a try.

“We’ll sample the stew when it’s nearly done to see what adjustments need to be made to the seasonings, but we don’t eat the food or there won’t be any food to cook with,” Merry explained, ignoring Frodo’s barely suppressed giggles.

“But how do you know if the food is good enough to cook it?” Pippin asked, unperturbed. As far as he knew, the only way to tell if food was good for eating was to eat it and find out.

“By looking at it,” Merry said, holding up his carrot. “See? There’s no uneven or excessive wrinkling anywhere. The color is even all the way around, it’s nice and orange just like it should be. There’s no soft spots that will warn you of bruising. That means it’s ripe and ready for cooking.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, understanding. “So we can’t eat any of this?”

A snicker escaped with a burst behind them.

“Only if there is anything left over when we’re completely done,” Merry said, emphasizing the ‘only’ and ‘completely done’ part. “Cut that bay leaf in half when you’re done with the peppercorn.”

“Yes, Merry,” Pippin said and sheepishly went back to grinding the peppercorn as Merry chopped up another half carrot. When they were finished, they put the peppercorn and bay leaf into the bowl with the vegetables and covered the bowl with a white cloth to protect it from the heat and sun. For extra assurance, Merry stored the bowl in the pull cart under the table. Merry then checked the broth and skimmed the fat off the surface before stirring the chicken in the pan.

“Now for the stew ingredients,” Merry said, coming back to his station and consulting his receipt card again. “I’ll be in charge of the potatoes, celery, carrots, onions, garlic and squash. You are going to be responsible for peeling and dicing the tomatoes, shelling the peas and husking the corn. Start with the tomatoes first, as that will take the longest. Peel the skin back carefully, you don’t want to tear the flesh or lose any of the juice. If we need more juice, you can squeeze some the other tomatoes, but only do that if I tell you to.”

“Why do we have to peel the tomatoes?” Pippin asked. “What if the skin doesn’t want to come off? Do I get to eat it?”

Behind them, Frodo dissolved into giggles again. Far from being a disaster, this morning was proving to be quite entertaining, and he would have to commend Merry later for remaining calm and not displaying his competitive streak.

Merry sighed. “Tell you what, if we need more tomato juice and you have to strain one or two, you can eat those,” he promised and Pippin bounced and nearly fell off his pail. He caught himself on the table and grinned winningly.

Merry shook his head and showed Pippin how to peel the tomatoes and explained how to cut them into wedges. He then quickly explained the shelling and husking process for the peas and corn. He watched Pippin’s first attempts with the tomatoes and once Pippin was comfortable with his task, Merry turned his attention to peeling and dicing the potatoes.

Pippin didn’t mind the mess of peeling and dicing the tomatoes. This mess was more to his liking, wet but quick to dry. He took great zeal in straining another two tomatoes when Merry determined more juice was needed, even though Merry gently scolded him for splattering tomato juice everywhere. Pippin quickly calmed and took extra precaution to direct the tomato juice into the bowl, and afterward Merry kept his word and allowed Pippin to nibble on the abused tomatoes while he shelled the peas.

One by one, the vegetables were added to the other, larger bowl, and the remainder of the preparations passed without incident. Pippin didn’t much care for husking the corn either, but as corn husk was nowhere near as sticky or disgusting to deal with as chicken fat, no one minded much when Pippin flapped his hands or wiped them on his trousers to free them of the husk strands. Pippin didn’t have the strength to break the stems from the cobs, so Merry did that and cut the cobs into smaller slices as he closely watched Pippin measure out the spices and mix them into a small glass bowl: pepper, thyme and sage, all freshly ground.

Between each vegetable cut and added to the larger bowl, Merry attended to the broth, skimming the accumulating fat, and stirred the chicken in the pan. He had to work twice as fast to make up for his divided attention and Pippin’s slower pace, but it all got done with time to spare. They covered the two bowls with white cloths and Merry stored them in the pull cart next to the other. The remaining vegetables were set aside for elevenses.

“All right, Frodo-dear,” Merry said, “the chicken is finished, so if you can remove the pan from the fire and place the chicken on the cutting boards to cool, I will add the vegetables to the broth. It will need to continue simmering for another forty-five minutes,” he told Pippin. He removed the medium-sized bowl from the pull cart, double-checking it to make sure it was the right one, then waited for Frodo to clear the way before carefully spooning the vegetables into the broth.

Merry added the now-empty bowl to the pile of dirty dishes, then joined Pippin at the cutting boards again. Pippin was looking down at the chicken with disapproval. “Now, Pip, we are going to cut the meat into cubes and place it back into the pan as we go. As we cut, we can remove any excess fat or small bones that might have escaped our attention previously. You’re going to do the majority of the cutting, as I’m going to have to keep an extra close eye on the broth. The fat is starting to accumulate more quickly and we don’t want it soaking into the broth if we can help it.”

Pippin scrunched his face at this but gamely did as Merry instructed, cutting the meat into cubes and being careful not to burn his fingers on the hot meat. He was pleased to discover that Merry and Frodo had at least been correct about the meat being less messy once it was cooked, and he only had to resist the urge to flap his hands once before remembering the discarded rag beside him. Merry even let Pippin have a pile of berries and nuts to munch on as he worked, and Pippin made of game for himself to see how many cubes he could cut with each bite of his snack food. He couldn’t count very high yet, but he figured the more times he counted to seven, the more he was cutting and the faster he was getting. Meanwhile, Merry’s arm was getting tired of skimming the broth and he had to switch the ladle back and forth every few scoops or so. He watched the sun closely, relieved to see that they still had plenty of time to cook the stew; it wasn’t even elevenses yet.

Frodo occupied himself by returning to his earlier hobbit-watching. The Gamgees and their friends were happily working away, singing carelessly, a cooking song no doubt. Many of their neighbors were joining in but a few looked rather disgruntled as they hurried about with their own cooking and baking.

On the other end of the field, disaster was looming for one team. Their fire had begun to smoke thick and grey and the three lasses seemed at a loss of how to stop it. A couple of the judges ran to their aid and demanded to know where their helper was; teams without a member older than sixteen were required to have a helper and none of those lasses looked over the age of thirteen.

A few of the teams had dissolved into bickering, resulting in harried movements, wasting time and ingredients and no doubt skipping vital steps; Frodo guessed that those teams would not do so well in the end for their impatience.

“Frodo,” Merry said, interrupting his thoughts. “The broth is finished. Can you fetch the other pot and the colander? There should also be a cheesecloth to line the colander. If I hold the colander, can you pour the broth over it into the pot?”

“Certainly, Merry-lad, whatever you need,” Frodo said and stood to offer his assistance.

He found the required tools and lined the colander with the cheesecloth as Merry skimmed the last bits of fat from the surface of the broth. Then they traded places, Merry taking the colander and holding it steady over the stew pot as Frodo carefully lifted the broth pot and slowly poured its contents into the colander. The vegetables quickly accumulated on top of the cheesecloth, slowing the straining process to a crawl. Frodo put the pot down and removed the debris, then started again. This time the bones came, along with more of the vegetables and a few remaining clumps of fat.

Merry next helped Pippin with the last of the chicken before instructing Pippin to ladle the broth into the awaiting glass jars. When all the jars were full and the pot empty, Merry had Pippin study the broth. “See, Pip, it should be a clear deep brown like this here. Now, one of these ladles equals a half-cup, and we need five cups of the broth for the stew. So, we would need to ladle ten scoops of the broth back into the pot, which is one of these jars exactly – I counted as you scooped out the broth for the first jar. So pour one of these jars back into the pot, that’s right, and then we’ll add the chicken, vegetables and seasonings, put it back on the fire and let it simmer for another half hour. Then it will be done!”

“Why didn’t you just leave one jar of broth in the pot, Merry?” Pippin asked, pouring one of the jars’ contents back into the pot as instructed.

“Because I didn’t know how much we had made Pip, and so I didn’t know how much would need to be removed so that five cups were left in the pot,” Merry explained. They added the remaining ingredients and Frodo hung the pot from the spit.

“Now what?” Pippin asked.

“Now we clean up,” Merry said. “We’ve dishes to wash. Let’s wave down a judge to take us to the well. Frodo, you’ll watch over the stew and make sure the fire doesn’t die down?”

“Will do,” Frodo agreed. “I’ll divide the rest of the food for elevenses also. Take this pail and fill it with some water to wash down the food. We can use the ladle to drink from. Clean these rags also, so we can return them to their owners.”

“Very well,” Merry agreed and took the rags and pail with them when a judge came by to escort them to the well.

They returned from the well just as Frodo finished dividing the leftover ingredients and snacks. Merry and Pippin dived into their food, eating eagerly, while Frodo munched thoughtfully on a carrot. He had to admit that he was impressed. Merry never once ruffled his feathers and Pippin had performed admirably for all his boundless energy. Eglantine and Paladin would be quite proud when they heard of their son’s accomplishments.

As though reading his older cousin’s thoughts, Merry patted Pippin on the shoulder and said, “You were a marvelous help today, Pip, just like I knew you would be.” He looked pointedly at Frodo here.

Frodo nodded. “I was just thinking the same,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “You are quite the exceptional novice.”

“Huh?” Pippin asked, confused by the unfamiliar word.

“Novice, it means beginner, someone who’s just learning how to do something,” Merry elaborated.

Pippin beamed proudly and puffed out his chest. “I know,” he said and they all laughed.

They finished their meal and lay out on the cool grass. The sun was now high overhead, the shade gone entirely, and they were sweating from the heat of the day and the fires surrounding them. The aromas drifting about the breeze were enticing and mouth-watering, making even full bellies grumble for more. They settled on drinking the water with the ladle and when that was gone, Frodo went to retrieve more. The pail leaked only a little but it created a nice little puddle of cold water in the grass for them to bathe their feet as they played some more rounds of biscuits-and-scones.

Merry kept an eye on the sun’s arch through the sky and when a half-hour passed, he got up to check on the stew. He allowed Frodo and Pippin each a taste before he sampled the stew himself. Frodo nodded with approval, a wistful smile gracing his fair features; he had messed this stew since moving to Bag End. Pippin smacked his lips and licked them dry, wanting more.

“Nearly perfect,” Merry pronounced. “It’s just a bit runny. We’ll need to thicken it up with some flour.”

“Where’s the flour?” Pippin asked, springing to his feet.

“In that rucksack,” Merry answered, pointing to where the sack sat in the middle of the booth.

Pippin skipped to the table but without his pail to stand on he couldn’t quite reach the rucksack. Before anyone could stop him, he settled for jumping up and making one desperate swipe for the rucksack. He managed to obtain it, but the sack snagged on the edge of the booth on his way down. The knot of the sack was secure, but the bag tore where it was snagged. Pippin failed to notice and yanked at the sack a few times with little result.

“Here Pip,” Merry said, looking up and noticing his trouble. He approached his younger cousin just as Pippin gave the rucksack a pull so mighty that he fell over backward, tearing the sack entirely and sending a white cloud of flour cascading over the table and everything on it or near it. When the dust settled, a good pile of flour sat on the edge of the booth, quickly sliding through the cracks between the beams. A fine layer of flour covered the table, the floor, the cooks and the newly cleaned dishes.

Pippin sneezed as flour dust tickled in his nose. “Whoops,” he whispered.

Frodo contained his laughter with great difficulty. Only by biting his lower lip and gripping his knees did he manage to stifle most of his giggles, but he couldn’t prevent the tears from streaming down his face. He had been spared the flouring, having the sense to flee the vicinity while Merry had dashed into the fray. Now Frodo returned to the scene, hampered only by the tears in his eyes and the stitch forming in his side. He found an apologetic Pippin scrambling to his feet as a disgruntled Merry resolutely shook powder from his once perfect hair and formerly tidy clothes.

“I’m sorry, Merry,” Pippin said, sounding close to tears. Usually, Merry would be laughing right about now. That Merry was so silent and refusing to look at him worried Pippin to no end. “I didn’t think the bag would rip like that. I didn’t think there was that much flour in it. It’s such a small bag and it was so light.” He trailed off lamely and shuffled his feet, sending up little puffs of flour.

“It’s not your fault, Pip,” Frodo soothed, placing himself between his cousins. “You were only trying to help.”

“But now the flour’s all gone and stew will be runny!” Pippin quailed.

“I’m sure there is someone here who will have some extra flour we can use,” Frodo assured. “Under the circumstances, I doubt the judges would mind. I’ll settle it with Mistress Crocker, then see Sam. If anyone has extra ingredients in case of a baking emergency, it will be him.”

“So then, I didn’t ruin anything?” Pippin asked, looking hopeful.

“Only your cousin’s good looks, but that’s not much lost if you ask me,” Frodo said and moved just in time to miss being whacked on the head from behind. Frodo fixed Merry with a stern look that said ‘remember, this was your idea,’ then patted Pippin’s dusty head and circled around the booth. “I’ll go speak with Mistress Crocker.”

“Thank you, Frodo,” Merry said, a note of strain in his voice. Then he looked down at Pippin, who blinked up at him looking every bit like a snow hobbit, and laughed. He couldn’t imagine he looked much better, and there were worse things that could have happened today than some spilled flour. “Oh, Pip, but you do keep things interesting.”

“That’s what Mum and Da always say,” Pippin replied, much relieved at Merry’s returned humor.

“I’m sure they do,” Merry said with a fondness in his eyes.

He shook his head and looked around to notice that nearly everyone was watching them, many clearly in throes of hysterics. Unlike the previous disasters that had largely gone unnoticed by the other competitors, many of the teams were now finished with their preparations and, like them, merely waiting for their creations to cook. The result was that they had a large audience for their little mishap.

“I think we best take our bows, Pip,” he said and grabbed Pippin’s hand before he could ask what Merry meant. Merry led Pippin in a four-turn bow, receiving much applause and whoops at each turn.

“Why are they clapping, Merry?” Pippin asked, trying to make sense of this unexpected turn.

“Oh, they just wish they had thought of it first,” Merry replied, then took one of the cleaner rags, dipped it in the chalky water and proceeded to wipe Pippin’s face clean. “Now, Pip, when Frodo returns with the flour, we will use that scoop sitting there on the table to scoop the flour into the stew. We’ll stir the stew after each scoop until the stew is to the thickness we desire. Understand.”

“Yes, Merry,” Pippin replied, turning his head so Merry could dig, rather roughly, into his ear. “I really am sorry Merry.”

“I know, Pip. It’s not a worry. Like Frodo said, nothing’s been ruined,” Merry said. “If we can’t get the flour, then we’ll just call our stew a soup.”

At the center of the field, Frodo finished explaining their dilemma to Mistress Tulip, who chuckled kindly and nodded. “Of course. I think we can make an exception this one time, so long as all that is borrowed is the ruined ingredient.”

“Thank you, Mistress Crocker,” Frodo said and made his way to Sam’s table.

He needn’t even open his mouth before Sam held up a bag of flour. “Here you are, Master Frodo,” Sam said, chuckling under his breath, his eyes still red from his earlier laughing fit. His sisters and friends were in similar states.

“I don’t think we’ll need this much,” Frodo said, taking the bag gratefully. “Only a half-cup should do.”

“That may be,” Robin said, “but it don’t look like it’ll be all as gets used, meaning no disrespect to your kin, Master Frodo.”

Frodo laughed ruefully. “None taken. I’ll bring back what’s left.”

“If there’s any left,” May whispered as Frodo turned to go.

“I told you they make a fine mess of themselves,” Tom said smugly, which earned him both laughter and shushes.

Frodo smiled to himself and continued on his way as though he hadn’t heard this last exchange. Only Sam would know better than to think themselves unheard but he wouldn’t say anything to his friends. He wouldn’t want to worry them unduly, knowing that Frodo could only have agreed with them.

Frodo returned to his cousins and found them with their faces, arms and hands wiped as clean as they would get without a proper shower. Their hair and clothes were still covered in a thick layer of stubborn flour. They looked every bit like two little gaffers and Frodo wasted no time informing them of this.

“Just wait, Frodo, until you look like a gaffer,” Merry said. “Don’t expect any mercy from us.”

“In that case, I think I’ll pour the flour,” Frodo said, clutching the bag close to himself. “We can’t be wasting this anyway. The Gamgees will be needing back whatever we don’t use.”

“We can reimburse them,” Merry said.

“Just tell me how much you want in the stew,” Frodo insisted and easily kept the bag out of Merry’s reach. So Frodo poured the flour into the empty broth pot and Merry instructed Pippin to add a dash of water and stir it well before Merry poured it into the broth.

“This will keep the flour from clumping in the hot stew,” Merry explained as he stirred in the flour mixture. They repeated the process until the stew was to the preferred thickness; Frodo wasted no time in returning the flour to Sam, who looked mildly surprised to receive any of it back.

“Thank you, sir,” Sam said. “That was quick.”

“It’s a pleasant day for cooking accidents. No need to spoil it with cousinly pranks,” Frodo replied with a wink.

“Right you are, Master Frodo,” Sam agreed and tucked the bag away out of sight just to be safe.

Frodo made his way across the grounds one more time and found his cousins in the vain process of wiping clean their cooking station. There was little they could do about the grass, but they could at least attempt to clean off the table. Without a word, Frodo took the dishes and rags for another quick wash and returned the rags to their rightful owners before any more harm could come to them. By the time he came back to his cousins, they were sitting on the green, the table scrubbed to a milky white, which they had apparently decided was good enough. Frodo emptied the pail over the table and went to return that to its owner as well, before returning one last time to settle next to his friends. He pulled Pippin into his lap, sneezing from a little cloud of flour that rose up from Pippin’s hair.

“So, Pip, let’s go over what you’ve learned so far about cooking,” Frodo suggested. “There are five general rules for any cooking or baking project. Can you guess what they are?”

“Don’t rip open the flour bag?” Pippin ventured.

“That would be more of a warning,” Merry corrected. “Think of the rules more as steps. What would the first step be? What’s the first thing we did when we got here?”

“We stood in line,” Pippin answered promptly, looking confused. Would they always have to stand in line when they wanted to cook something? That didn’t seem right.

“No, when we got here to this station,” Frodo specified.

Pippin put a finger to his lips and thought back. “We got water and set up the fire pit,” he said after a moment’s thought.

“And then?” Merry prompted.

“Then you showed me how to set up the station for cooking,” Pippin finished.

“Exactly!” Frodo exclaimed with a rewarding squeeze, sending up another flour cloud. “The first rule of cooking is to always be prepared. You need to make sure you have everything that the receipt requires and that everything is within reach.”

“I wasn’t entirely prepared,” Merry admitted and grinned impishly. “Next time, I’ll have to bring rags.”

“So step one is to be prepared, and you also guessed step two, which is to be organized,” Frodo continued. “Can you tell us what step three is?”

“Don’t make a mess?” Pippin said.

Merry laughed. “Messes are inevitable when you’re cooking,” he replied. “That is why step four is so important: clean as you go. It reduces the amount of washing you have to do later if you wash up as you go along or while you’re waiting for the food to cook.”

Pippin thought hard again, trying to figure out what the third rule might be. Then he remembered Merry’s earlier lecture and perked up. “Don’t eat the food!” he exclaimed.

Now it was Frodo’s turn to chuckle. “It does make it easier to cook if you have something to cook with, but that wouldn’t be a step. How did Merry know what to use for the broth and how much of each ingredient to put in the stew?”

“He read the receipt!” Pippin answered, bouncing excitedly in Frodo’s lap, sending up more clouds of flour. “Step three is read the receipt! But I can’t read yet.”

“You’ll learn soon enough,” Merry assured. “You must always read the receipt thoroughly and consult it often while cooking. You want to be sure you don’t skip any steps and that you follow the directions precisely, especially as you’re learning. Once you have some experience in your belly, you can experiment with the receipts or create your own, but you’re still a few years away from that.”

“Because I’m a novice,” Pippin stated.

“That’s right,” Frodo said. “Step five we haven’t got to yet, but I bet you can guess that one well enough. You’re already an expert at it.”

“Eat?” Pippin guessed.

“Serve your guests and enjoy,” Merry confirmed, “and remember, a proper host never boasts. If you did your job well, the food will speak for you.”

The lesson and cooking over, Frodo and Merry tidied up and Pippin set out the bowls and spoons for the judges. All over the field, the other teams were doing the same except for a few who were still adding their final touches. Slowly, the judges made their way to the center of the field, and Mistress Tulip rang the warning bell, sending the few teams still cooking into a scramble to finish on time.

Frodo, Merry and Pippin sat near their steaming pot of stew, the fire having been left to die out on its own. They played some more biscuits-and-scones, trying to keep their minds off the fragrant aromas surrounding them and the judges standing at centerfield. The last fifteen minutes passed quickly and before they knew it, the final bell was sounded. Mistress Tulip stepped forward and waited for everyone’s attention; she didn’t have to wait long, as most were already watching her and the other judges with bated breath.

“Everyone, please, stop cooking and prepare to present your creations,” she said. “The judges have been split into teams of four, and each team will be responsible for one category.” She quickly introduced the judges, having them stand forth as their names were called. “I have seen some wonderfully appealing entries today, and I know the judges will have their work cut out for them – not that they’re complaining, are they?” Nervous laughter tittered across the grounds. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I even get to taste some tie-breakers. Judges, you have an hour.”

The judges divided and began making their final round. At each station, they were given a sample of the food and the contestants gave a brief description of their creations as the judges ate and made notes. Though they spent no more than a couple of minutes at each station, it was nearly a half-hour before they reached Merry and Pippin.

Though all the judges had witnessed the mishap with the flour, they still needed a moment to digest what they saw. Merry and Pippin did indeed look like two little gaffers, as Frodo had said, their curls dusted white and lines of flour caked onto their skin from the sun where Merry hadn’t quite been able to wash it all away. Unperturbed by their silent reception, Merry spooned out a small portion of the stew for each judge and Pippin handed them their bowls and spoons.

“Good day, Sirs and Misses,” Merry greeted politely, though one of their judges was a gammer. A comely young maid and two middle-aged chaps comprised the other three. “I am Meriadoc Brandybuck and this is Peregrin Took, and we made chicken stew with vegetables. This stew was created by my grandmother, Menegilda Goold Brandybuck, nearly fifty years ago, and it has been a staple of Buckland festivities ever since,” he explained, repeating much the same thing as he had told the hobbitess who checked them in.

“I got to peel and squish tomatoes, and I had to peel the fat off the chicken and it was very sticky,” Pippin chimed in.

“Is that right?” one of the fellows said. “Well, then, I must say, your extra effort has paid off. You’ve an exceptional stew.”

“Thank you!” Pippin said.

“This is quite marvelous,” the gammer agreed. “It just warms you right up!”

“The blend of ingredients is perfect,” the other fellow praised next.

“It’s wonderful indeed, a perfectly hearty meal,” the young maid said.

“Thank you,” both Merry and Pippin said with delight.

The judges each took one more sample, made some notes, then moved on to the next table, wishing Merry and Pippin good luck before they left.

“Did you hear that, Frodo!” Merry said, bouncing himself now. “They liked my stew!”

“Don’t get too excited Merry,” Frodo warned. “They say such things to everyone.”

“That may be, but I think they meant it in my case,” Merry said with confidence, his competitive streak now emerging.

“I’m sure they were sincere enough, but you have tough competition,” Frodo reasoned. “No matter what happens with the judging, do try to be gracious.”

“How much longer?” Pippin asked then.

He was growing fidgety again. The morning has been enjoyable and he was happy to help Merry and spend time with his favorite cousins. He had been thrilled to have his first cooking lesson, sticky messes and mishaps besides, but now that the lesson and cooking was over, he was ready to move onto the next event. He was also hot and thirsty from the sun, and his stomach was grumbling for food again.

“Can we eat the stew now?” he asked.

“You can finish what the judges didn’t eat,” Frodo offered and, pouring the samples into one bowl, handed it to Pippin.

“They didn’t finish their samples,” Merry noted with a hint of surprise. He had failed to notice earlier, so wrapped up in visions of First Place victory, and now his confidence wavered. “Maybe they really didn’t like my stew.”

“They never finish the sample,” Frodo assured. “If they finished everything everyone heaped upon them, they’d collapse before they reached the last table.”

“So, if they compliment my cooking they don’t necessarily like it, but if they don’t finish their sample they don’t necessarily dislike it either,” Merry surmised.

“Like that time you apologized to Pimmie for using her new ribbon as a collar for Mr. Gumpie,” Pippin chimed in, talking about his pet toad. “You weren’t really sorry though, because you thought Mr. Gumpie looked better in it than Pimmie did.”

“Sort of like that,” Merry agreed and paced nervously as Pippin ate his stew.

Pippin finished his meal, licked the bowl and smacked his lips. “Your stew is delicious, Mer,” he praised.

“Our stew,” Merry corrected. “We made it together, remember?”

“Can I have more?” Pippin asked.

“We need to save some in case of a tie,” Frodo informed him, “and others will want to sample it also. It’s unlikely we’ll get to enjoy any more of it.”

“But we made it,” Pippin objected.

“For a cooking contest, and the chefs rarely get to enjoy their creations during such events,” Merry explained. “The purpose of the contest is for others to enjoy what you’ve made.”

“That’s not very fair. We did all this work!” Pippin cried.

“How about we make some more when we get back to Whitwell,” Merry suggested. “We already have the broth, so it will be easier next time.”

“All right,” Pippin agreed, quelled by this compromise. “Now what do we do?”

“Now, we wait,” Frodo said.

Too nervous to play any more games, Merry sat in silence as Frodo and Pippin traded riddles. Merry watched the judges’ progression around the grounds back to centerfield. When all the judges were gathered, they compared notes and tallied their final scores, which Mistress Crocker double- and triple-checked. There were quite a few categories that required tie-breakers, and Mistress Crocker visited a number of booths, mostly among the baked goods. She then took a few more minutes to make her decisions. At long last, she stepped forward and raised her hands for attention.

“Congratulations, junior-hobbits, for some truly spectacular entries this year,” Mistress Tulip began. “Your dedication and talents are to be highly praised. Well done!” She paused as the contestants all applauded each others’ efforts. “I was right indeed to think you would put the judges to task. It was extremely difficult to choose who among you created the most delicious, scrumptious dish, and you should all know that no matter who walks away with a ribbon and who doesn’t, you are all winners.

“We will now announce the first, second and third prize winners. Step forward as I call your names and line up here beside me. Everyone who places this morning will receive their ribbons at the commencement ceremony this evening, which will take place just before the Fair’s End Feast.”

She started with the baked goods first, announcing the winners of the Breads, Scones and Muffins, Biscuits, and Puddings. Then came Cakes and Pies, and Merry, Frodo and Pippin waited anxiously to see if their friends would place.

“In the category of Cakes and Pies, the third place ribbon goes to Primrose and Lark Broadback of Little Delving for their delicious upside strawberry cake,” Mistress Tulip announced. The winners jumped up and down with whoops and dashed to centerfield to much applause. “The second place ribbon goes to Tolman and Wilcome Cotton and Robin Smallburrow of Bywater, and Samwise Gamgee of Hobbiton, for their inventive four-layer cake.” More applause and cheers accompanied Sam and his friends as they raced to join the others next to Mistress Tulip. “And finally, the first place ribbon goes to May and Marigold Gamgee of Hobbiton and Rose Cotton of Bywater, for their scrumptious apple pie with custard. Congratulations all of you!” The lasses joined their brothers and friend and they hugged ecstatically. The winners then bowed or curtsied before returning to their booths.

Three more categories were announced before Mistress Crocker came to the Stews and Soups. Merry and Pippin clasped hands and held their breaths.

“In the category of Stews and Soups, the third place ribbon goes to Lily and Daffodil Roundhouse of Tookbank, for their mouth-watering bean and bacon soup,” Mistress Tulip announced, and the lasses skipped and hopped to the center of the field, squealing excitedly. “The second place ribbon goes to Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took for their hearty chicken stew.”

Pippin sprang to his feet and started bouncing up and down. “We won! Merry, we won!” he cheered as his Took relations applauded him and Merry. He hugged Merry and Frodo both, then bounced some more.

Merry was a little slower to begin celebrating. He was disappointed at not placing first, but he knew also that Frodo was right. Their competition had been fierce, as most of the other contestants in their category were far older and more experienced. Second place was an achievement worth being proud of. “That we did, Pipsqueak!” Merry exclaimed, grinning wholeheartedly. He hugged Pippin again and hugged and kissed Frodo.

“I knew you two could do it!” Frodo congratulated them, pride shining on his face.

“Let’s go and congratulate the others,” Merry said. He took Pippin’s hand and they dashed down to centerfield, where they shook hands with the third-place winners.

“And lastly, the first place ribbon goes to Calla Delvegood of Michel Delving for her delightful venison stew.”

A young maid of about eighteen years joined the others and they all congratulated each other before taking their bows and curtsies and returning to their booths.

“I don’t understand why we can’t get our ribbons now, Merry,” Pippin was saying when he and Merry came back to their station.

“Because they need time to write your names on your ribbon, Pip,” Frodo explained. He knew his Aunt Dora and Aunt Daffodil would be among the helpers writing the names on the ribbons and he could just picture their surprise when they realized that Merry and Pippin had placed. He grinned at the very thought of it and hugged his cousins again.

“So, you knew we could do it, did you?” Merry asked with a laugh.

“Of course I did,” Frodo replied, “so long as you remained calm.”

“So then the challenge was remaining calm,” Merry said.

“With you two, always,” Frodo confirmed.

“Shh!” Pippin hissed. “They’re announcing the other winners.”

They sat quietly while the last two categories were announced. Once all the winners had been named and were back at their stations, Mistress Crocker held up her hands one last time. “That concludes the Juniors’ Cooking Contest,” she said. “Thank you all for participating. Enjoy the delightful creations of your fellow chefs and bakers, and remember, if anyone wishes for advice, I will be here all through luncheon.”

“Come on,” Merry said, heading across the field at a fast clip. “I want some of the pie and cake that Sam and his sisters made.”

“That’s not exactly a proper luncheon,” Frodo called after them but it was no use. They were already halfway across the field. Frodo quickly arranged the stew pot, bowls and spoons on the table, then dashed after his cousins. If he couldn’t stop Pippin from eating sugar, at least he could minimize the damage.

They made their rounds of the various entries, eating a little of this and a little of that, so by the time luncheon was over, they were all bursting at the seams. They came across the Gamgees and their friends as they made their rounds and shared warm congratulations all around, complementing each other on their efforts. Sam and the others had all managed to get a sample of Merry’s and Pippin’s stew and had nothing but good things to say about it.

When they were finished eating, they gathered up their things to make room for the next set of contestants already lining up to check in, and set out to go. All the stew was gone, but Merry had luckily stashed away the remaining broth in the pull cart for safekeeping. They set out for the campgrounds first so Pippin could grab a change of clothes, then they returned to the Soaring Falcon Inn where the lads could bathe and change into fresh clothes. Frodo volunteered to wash the dishes while they were at their baths and saw them deposited into the bathing room before going to the kitchen.

As he passed through the common room, he spied his Aunt Daffodil outside near the stables, presumably on her way to the sewing tents to help with the prize ribbons. Frodo then spotted his Uncle Ponto, his arms folded and chin lifted in vain defiance. Daffodil looked none too pleased with her husband.

“This was Bilbo’s idea, wasn’t it?” she demanded. “I don’t care what you had planned or how much money you think you’re going to make, but you are not keeping those swine, Ponto!”

Frodo laughed to himself and continued on his way, as down the hall his cousins broke out in a bathing song, accompanied by much splashing. He remembered again why he enjoyed the Free Fair so much: you never knew just what might happen.

The End

GF   4/20/08

* - See “In a Flash”

** - Tulip Crocker was Grey Wonderer’s invention. GW created her when she was first attempting this story and I quite enjoyed her meddlesome character. Tulip’s quite a different hobbitess here, nothing like the conniving or opportunistic character that GW had envisioned, but they both have legendary baking skills in common. I hope you enjoy my interpretation of her, GW.

Harvested Chicken Stew

Prep time: 15 min
Cook Time: 30 min
Serves 10

INGREDIENTS

2 cups chopped onion
2 cups cubed, cooked boneless chicken breast meat
1 cup chopped celery
2 cups whole peeled tomatoes, with liquid
2 cups sliced carrots
5 cups chicken broth
1 cup sweet corn
1 cup peas
1 cup sliced zucchini

In a large soup pot combine the onion, chicken, celery, tomatoes with liquid, carrots, broth, corn, peas and zucchini. Stir together and simmer over medium low heat for 1/2 hour, or until vegetables are cooked and tender.

(A/N: The potatoes and flour were added to Merry’s recipe from suggestions found in reviews of this recipe. As for the corn, I figured if Tolkien gave the hobbits tomatoes, potatoes, and tobacco, I could give them corn.)

For the Noble Platypus on her birthday. A drabble. Young Merry and Wee Pippin, on the night of “The Five Rules of Cooking.” Merry is 14 and Pippin is 6.

Merry passes on a tradition.

Cheeky Took

Merry looks at Pippin with approval. “Ready to go?”

“Ready!” Pippin exclaims, bouncing excitedly, a humorous sight in his present condition. “How many times do I have to go?”

“This many.” Merry flashes all five fingers of his right hand. He peers out from their hiding place between two tents. The Mayor is announcing the winners of the Junior’s Cooking Contest.

Merry pats Pippin on the back. “Do me proud, Pip.”

“I will Mer-Bear!” Pippin vows, turns and dashes for the stage to accept their prize, wearing not a stitch of clothing.

It is a most memorable Free Fair.

GF 1/24/09
 
 

A/N: To see how this tradition began, read "In a Flash", chapter 10 of my GamgeeFest Keepsakes collection.

Written for Dreamflower’s birthday! This picks up right after “Cheeky Took”. Pippin is 6 and the Tooks were enjoying the final night of the Free Fair, until…

The Whole Truth and Nothing Butt

Paladin and Eglantine stood with their hands on their hips and frowned down at their youngest child and only son. Pippin peered up at his parents with his hands behind his back and his eyes as contrite as he could make them. Merry had said how very important it was to look contrite, and Pippin was putting forth his very best effort.

“Peregrin,” Paladin began.

Pippin gulped. Use of his full name, in that tone, was never good. He tilted his chin down and looked up even more contritely than before.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Paladin asked.

Pippin hummed. “Well, I have lovely green eyes. Auntie Esme says so. I know how to make chicken broth now, and I have a ten- tende- tendency to talk too much. Everyone tells me that. Except Merry and Frodo. They don’t mind that I talk a lot, except for some reason when Merry is trying to go to sleep. He’s very grouchy about talking then.”

“What do you have to say about your behavior this evening?” Eglantine asked. With Pippin, it helped to be as specific as possible.

“I waited very patiently for the mayor to call my name,” Pippin said, switching from contrite to innocent. “I went to the stage for my prize as soon as I heard my name. It’s not polite to keep people waiting for you, so I was very quick. I shook his hand and smiled and said thank you and made eye contact. Then I got off stage right away so he could call the next person and not make them wait. I was very polite. Wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were, Peregrin,” Paladin said. “You were very courteous.”

“Thank you!”

“You were also naked,” Eglantine said, cutting to the chase.

“Oh. That.”

“Yes. That. I didn’t see Merry up there. Did he put you up to this?” Paladin asked.

“I took off my clothes all by myself,” Pippin declared.

“Because Merry told you to?” Eglantine prompted.

“Merry didn’t take off his clothes,” Pippin said.

“Peregrin, stop evading the question. Did Merry tell you to run onto the stage naked?” Eglantine asked.

“No,” Pippin said. What Merry had was that it would be very funny if Pippin streaked onto the stage. He had never once used the word ‘naked.’

“Then why weren’t you wearing any clothes?” Paladin asked.

“They got wet and I didn’t have time to get dry clothes. If I had gone to get dry clothes, then people would have waited a very, very long time for me, and that would be rude,” Pippin said.

“How did your clothes get wet?” Eglantine asked.

“I got water on them.”

“How?”

“I was thirsty and you said I’m not allowed to have punch after sundown so I had to get water but when I tried pouring the water into my cup I missed it and the water poured all over me so I had to take off my clothes,” Pippin explained. It had been Merry’s idea to let Pippin pour his own water so he could accidentally spill it on himself. Merry was very smart about these things. “You said it’s important to not look like a ragamuffin when accepting a prize from the mayor, and that’s how I would have looked if I had gone up there wearing wet clothes, and I didn’t want to disappoint you after you took so long to make me look good.” 

“You certainly didn’t disappoint us,” Paladin muttered.

Pippin beamed. “I’m ever so glad!”

Paladin and Eglantine exchanged a look. “So, where was Merry during all of this then?” Eglantine asked.

“He had to hide from this older lass with grabby hands,” Pippin said. Merry had taken Opal Stonebow’s pink ribbon and she had tried to grab it back. Opal was in her tweens, which made her much older than Merry. When Pippin had asked why the lass had to be older, Merry only said that it was a good excuse, much better than if the lass had been younger, though he refused to explain why.

Paladin and Eglantine exchanged another look.

You know he’s not telling us everything, said Eglantine’s look.

He’ll be punished for this plenty later, said Paladin’s.

“Very well,” Eglantine said, “but next time something like this happens, keep your clothes on, even if they’re drenched.”

“Yes Mum!” Pippin said, feeling elated. Merry’s plan had worked!

“You may go now,” Eglantine said.

“Thanks, Mum!” Pippin said and bolted from the tent as quick as his legs could carry him.

Eglantine stared at the tent flap long after Pippin vanished through it. At last, she shook her head. “What will they think of next?”

“Don’t worry, dearest. It’ll be a long time before they can top this,” Paladin said.

“I certainly hope not!” Eglantine exclaimed. “The day they top this is the day I return to Pincup in shame. I never imagined I’d have an exhibitionist for a son!”

“Every lad has a wild streak in him,” Paladin said.

They dared to look at each other again and burst into laughter.

“We won’t be bored, at least,” Eglantine said, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Indeed,” Paladin agreed, for dullness was never a worry with a son like Pippin.

GF 6/30/09

This is inspired by an incident Pervinca recalls very briefly in "The Trouble With Love".

A Short Story About Quills (or, What Happened to Frodo in Whitwell)

Frodo is 46, Merry is 32, Pervinca is 29 and Pippin just turned 25.

Whitwell

16 Rethe 1415 SR

Frodo’s eyes were closed, but he was wide awake. He had been for two hours, despite the early hour. In spite of his efforts and fervent wishing, he was nowhere near to falling asleep again. He sighed, peeked at the curtained window. There was no evidence of dawn approaching, no telltale lightening of the dark behind the drapes. He rolled over in his bed and stared at the canopy over his bed. 

He could only hope that everyone else was having as terrible a night as he was, though he doubted it. The Whitwell Tooks were accustomed to the noises of animals on their farm at all hours, and Merry, drat him, could sleep through near anything. They were likely sleeping soundly, never mind the little songbird that was twittering away in the corner of his room. Putting the blanket over the cage had done nothing to quiet the thing. Instead, that had only made the feathered pest more insistent in its protests. 

Quills. Pippin, in his limitless talent for irony, had so named the bird. He had smiled so brightly the afternoon before when he and Merry carried the cage out of the barn. “Now you won’t be so lonely all by yourself in Bag End,” Pippin had declared. The bird was his birthday present to Frodo, so Frodo could do nothing other than smile cheerfully, hug the tween and thank him profusely for such a grand and magnificent gift as the bullfinch. 

Of course, it was a bullfinch. Pippin was obsessed with his ancestor, Bandobras the Bullroarer, so it wasn’t difficult to guess why he had chosen a bullfinch. Who Pippin had acquired the little tweeter from was beyond Frodo. There weren’t many hobbits who had domesticated birds, and those that did usually had the more useful ones, such as hawks and falcons. Who would breed bullfinches and to what end?

Giving it up for a lost cause, Frodo threw off the sheets, lit the lantern and went to the corner where the cage stood. He pulled off the blanket and stared at his new companion. Red-bellied and grey-backed, with a black face and tail feathers, and black-and-white striped wings, Quills was certainly a handsome bird. Pippin said Quills was a lad due to his impressive coloring, but that didn’t stop Frodo’s mind from theorizing the horror of waking up to discover several baby Quills flying amok through the once-pristine Bag End. 

Quills hopped on his perch and turned his head sideways to look back at Frodo. He shook his tail feathers and stretched out his neck. “Tweet?”

“You have food and water,” Frodo told it, guessing that maybe the bird was complaining about a lack of commodities in his cage. He laughed suddenly, remembering Bilbo’s account of waking in the Great Eagles’ eyrie and making the same observation of the giant nest. “Now that’s irony.”

“Tweet!” Quills seemed to agree. 

Frodo shook his head. What was he going to do with a bird? “At least you’re not a bullhound,” he said with a slight shudder at the thought. He didn’t know what he would have done had Pippin and Merry brought a dog out of the barn instead of the bird. “I suppose you’re not so bad,” he said in retrospect.

Quills at this moment decided he was done with the conversation and turned his back to Frodo. He commenced pecking at his feathers with great abandon. Frodo wondered how he could remain so solidly on the perch, which was beginning to sway with the bird’s movements. 

Frodo returned to his bed. The bird was being quiet now, more or less. Perhaps it just missed the light. He lowered the flame in the lantern as much as he dared, then lay down. He held his breath, waiting for a chirp or a trill. When none came, he relaxed, letting out a soundless breath. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and slowly drifted back to...

“TWEET! TWEET! CHIRRUP!”

Frodo gnashed his teeth. That bird’s name just may come true yet.

“Do you think Frodo liked his present?” Pippin asked Merry as soon as the older lad was awake. “He had that too-happy smile on his face.” 

Merry sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He squinted at the sunlight spilling into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust before answering. “I think it will grow on him. It’s a fine gift, and it was kind of you to want to give him a pet to keep him company.”

“But?” Pippin prompted.

“But what?” Merry said. He looked at Pippin and tried not to laugh. Pippin was a fitful sleeper, tossing and turning through the night. Even in deep slumber he was incapable of keeping still. The result was a frightful fray of curls and knots on his head each morning, and whatever sheets and blankets had been on the bed the night before were now on the floor, covering himself. Merry pushed the sheets aside, stood and stretched. 

“You sound like you’re going to say ‘but’,” Pippin said. “Your voice is too even and you’re not teasing. It was a bad idea wasn’t it? But birds are pretty and they don’t shred the furniture.”

“I told you before we caught Quills that a pet would be a hard sell,” Merry said. “We’ll just have to convince Frodo of how much fun he’s going to have with his new friend.”

“Such as?”

“It’s too early for scheming, Pip,” Merry said, though it wasn’t. Truth was, he couldn’t think of anything that was fun about birds, but Pippin had insisted. He remembered it only too well...

“Oh, it will be wonderful,” Pippin had said, bouncing on his feet. “I have the trap set up and I’ve caught a fair number of birds already, but I’m waiting for the right one. I hope it comes before Frodo does, or I will have to give him one of the others.”

“The right one?” Merry asked.

Pippin nodded. “A bullfinch.”

“Hm-mm,” Merry hummed. He was going to have to find all the books about the Bullroarer on the farm and hide them somewhere. At least Pippin wasn’t contemplating a bullhound. Frodo had never been very fond of dogs. Then again, his cousin had never shown any particular interest in birds either. 

“Wouldn’t a falcon or hawk be better? They can hunt,” Merry said.

“A bullfinch can send messages.”

“That’s pigeons.”

Pippin frowned. He didn’t like pigeons, as this was Pervinca’s pet nickname for him. “I’m quite certain that any bird can be trained how to send a message, Merry. Let’s go check the trap!”

The trap turned out to be a simple birdhouse with a door that was designed to close as soon as something flew inside. To Merry’s continuing surprise, they found a bullfinch looking back at them, quite belligerently to his mind. Pippin hopped up and down, clapping his hands. “We got one! We got one! And Frodo comes today! The stars have smiled on us.”

Merry stopped Pippin from foolishly sticking his fingers into the trap. “Perhaps we should feed it, and find a cage.”

“I already have,” Pippin said, puffing his chest out proudly.

Merry lifted the trap off its branch and followed Pippin to the barn. Pervinca was there, sitting next to the cage with a knowing smirk. “What are you doing here?” Pippin asked her.

“Savoring the impending chaos,” she said. “Did you catch yourself a pigeon, Pigeon?”

“It’s a bullfinch,” Pippin said.

“Is it then?”

“I’m naming him Quills.”

Vinca’s smirk grew. She met Merry’s eyes and shook her head. “You do keep me entertained,” she said before leaving them, a little too quickly. 

Merry soon discovered the reason for her hasty retreat, though he could have easily guessed it. Getting the bullfinch from the trap to the cage had not been as simple as they had hoped. Merry at first set the trap so the door faced the cage. Pippin picked up the cage and it held it so the two doors met, then Merry opened the doors. The bullfinch remained in the trap. Merry put food in the birdcage, a tempting scattering of seeds and dried bread. Still Quills refused to budge. Merry pounded the back of the trap, thinking to scare the bird out of it. Quills chirped angrily and fluttered his wings but stayed where he was. Seeing no other option, Merry closed the door to the trap, instructed Pippin to lay the cage on the ground with its door facing up, placed the trap on top and slid the door open again. The bird’s tail feathers peeked out of the door but the rest of the bird remained in the trap. The little feather duster was actually holding himself up, securing his talons around either edge of the door! Finally, Merry again closed the door, found some gloves, put them on, and proceeded to reach into the trap. He wrapped his hands around the bird only to find his fist too wide to fit back through the door with the bird in tow. Pippin reached in next, without gloves, and received an angry bite to his thumb for his efforts, but he did get the bird out and into the cage. Quills ruffled his feathers, squawked mightily and jumped with agitation. Merry wondered if birds could curse.

“There,” Pippin said around his bleeding thumb. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“If you say so, Pip,” Merry had said.

Now that the deed was done and the gift was given, Merry still had his doubts but it was Frodo’s decision to keep the bird or not. Merry knew Frodo would at least make the effort, for Pippin’s sake. He just hoped Frodo had the sense to wear gloves whenever handling the thing.

They went into the parlor to see who else was awake. Frodo was there, along with Quills. He had put the cage in the windowsill, which seemed to both hypnotize the bird and aggravate it at the same time. Quills was performing an odd sort of dance on his perch. His head and body were perfectly still, but his feet were busy, carrying him back and forth, back and forth, towards the window, away from the window. Every now and again, he let out a low whistle. 

“He’s low on food,” Pippin said. 

“I was just going to feed him,” Frodo said. 

“You may want to don some gloves,” Merry said. “He’s a biter.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Frodo said, and yawned widely. 

Merry looked closer and hoped that Pippin couldn’t see how tired their cousin was. Apparently, his first night with his new pet had not gone very well. Then again, Frodo always had trouble sleeping his first night or two at Whitwell. Perhaps it was just normal jitters after all. 

“I need to help Da with the chickens,” Pippin said. “I’ll see if I can find any worms for Quills. He’d like that.” He dashed out the door.

“There’s seed in the pantry for him,” Merry offered and showed Frodo where it was. When they returned to the parlor, Pervinca was there, watching Quills with calculating interest.

“I think he wants to go outside,” Vinca said.

“Once his wings are clipped, perhaps,” Merry said.

Frodo frowned. “His wings aren’t clipped yet?” he asked. 

“I got some!” Pippin cried, banging through the door.

“TWEET!”

“Da said I could bring these now,” Pippin said and handed Frodo a little bucket of mealworms. 

“Mmm. Tasty,” Vinca said and stepped back to the safety of the hallway. The knowing smirk was back in place and her eyes twinkled. Merry drew in his breath and waited.

What occurred next happened so quickly that it would take them several recounts to figure out the sequence of events. 

Frodo took the bag and approached the cage. Quills eyes froze on his would-be master and the bird stopped his dance. Frodo reached for the door, opened it, reached into the bag. Of course, he thought the bird was tame and so not prone to charging at the first hint of freedom it came across. The door unguarded, Quills took flight, darting out of the cage and circling the parlor. He chirped and chirruped and whistling and squawked with gleeful abandon. 

Frodo, in shock at this display, could think of nothing else to do than to get the bird back into its cage somehow. Clearly, catching it barehanded was out of the question. He reached for the hearth broom, but the bullfinch at that moment swooped down and darted after his captors, first Pippin and Merry, forcing them to squat behind the settee, then Frodo, who was not so easily cowed. Frodo batted his hands at the bird - their long contest during the night did not dispose him to be gentle. His temper, shortened by lack of sleep and long agitation, flared and he reached behind him for the throw that was kept on the back of the rocking chair. Unfortunately, in his single-minded rage, he failed to notice that he was three feet to the right of the chair. He also failed to notice that Eglantine had just walked into the parlor to inform them that breakfast was ready. Frodo reached back, his hands closed around fabric and he tugged - hard.

What squawked next was not Quills, but Eglantine as her robe was unceremoniously yanked off her frame, sending her spinning into the chair. Frodo threw the robe over the bullfinch, only then noticing it was a robe, looked back and gaped in horror. 

“Aunt Tina!” he said in dismay, completely forgetting the bird, who was determinedly working his way out from under the robe. He ran to Eglantine’s side and helped to her to sit up properly in the chair. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

“What in blazes is going on in here!” Eglantine exclaimed. She was clutching at her nightgown, scandal on her face. Her cheeks flamed red with angry and embarrassment.

“Mum! Language!” Pervinca admonished.

“You’re one to talk,” Merry said.

No one was watching the bird, thinking it defeated, and so failed to notice it peeking out from under the robe, watching them.

A shadow passed by the window and a moment later Paladin was yanking open the door, worry writ on his face. “What is--” he started to ask, then had to duck quickly to avoid the grey-and-red fowl that darted towards him, the open door and freedom. The bird was gone in a blink of an eye. “Pippin!”

“I didn’t do it!” Pippin cried from behind the settee. 

“Why is that bird’s wings not clipped?” Frodo asked again. He was still in shock but he was quickly making sense of things. He stood up and offered an arm to help Eglantine to her feet as well.

Paladin, Eglantine and Frodo turned on Pippin and Merry. Pervinca leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, her smirk now a grin. 

“Because I just caught it yesterday,” Merry said, leaving Pippin out of the blame. He stood up and faced their inquisitors.

“We just caught it,” Pippin said, coming to stand next to Merry. “I didn’t think it would matter if it was tame or not.”

“Peregrin Took!” Paladin chided. “You gave your cousin a wild bird?” He did not sound surprised. No one was very surprised by anything Pippin did anymore. “And you went along with this?” He turned to Merry now, again not sounding particularly surprised, even if he did sound a tad disappointed. Merry could usually talk Pippin out of his worst ideas - when he wanted to.

Merry shrugged. “I didn’t see the difference either. A bird’s a bird, after all. I figured with time, it’d be tame enough.”

“I am beginning to think you lads have too much time on your hands,” Frodo said.

Paladin and Eglantine nodded in agreement. “Some chores of decent length will see to that,” Paladin said.

“For now, it’s time to eat,” Eglantine said. They followed her into the kitchen, a mostly solemn line of shamed obedience. Only Pervinca was eagerly enjoying the happenings around her. 

They reached the dining room and sat to their meal. Merry was about to take his first bite when he paused. Something clicked in his mind and he looked at Pippin shrewdly. “What did you mean, you’d have to give him one of the other ones?”

Pippin grinned sheepishly.

Their first assignment then was to wander the farm and outlaying fields, releasing all the caught birds back into the wild. No one ever saw the bullfinch again.

GF 7/29/10

For Lbilover, who wanted a story about a humorous disaster involving animals in Great Smials at Yule.

A/N: This story takes place the Yule following the events in Kindred. You won't have to read that story to understand this one, though it does have two of my OCs from that story, Amaryllis Took (older sister of Paladin and Esmeralda) and her husband Perry (aka, Peregrin Nettleburr).

A/N 2: I know the family trees say Ferumbras never marries. To that I say, foo. Everyone deserves to be happy, especially poor Ferumbras.

Two Peregrins, and a Brandybuck in a Pantry

1 Yule, 1402 SR

Tuckborough, Great Smials

Pippin is 12 and Merry is 20

Pippin didn’t know what to do, and neither did Merry, which up until tonight Pippin would have thought impossible. Merry always knew what to do, but so far his only contribution was to stand there and frown at the floor. At first, Pippin had the hopeful thought that Merry was merely in deep concentration, but even Merry’s serious thinking never took this long.

Pippin paced the room, fretting. Who would know what to do? Frodo wasn’t here yet; he’d be arriving in the morning (make that four hours) for Yule breakfast. Pervinca would only use this to blackmail them later. Everard would help, but he’d tease them endlessly all the while. For that matter, so would Pervinca. Ferdibrand was more reliable but less imaginative. 

Pippin wrung his hands. Folk would be waking up soon. They’d start wandering about and poking into things, and Yule breakfast wouldn’t last forever. They’d eventually make their way to the ballroom, where Thain Ferumbras was to marry their Aunt Heather in the afternoon. Or they were supposed to be married at any rate. Pippin wouldn’t be able to bear it if he cost his cousin Ferumbras his third (and likely final) opportunity for marital bliss! 

Oh, why oh why had they brought the sheep here?!

Sheep... Of course! Pippin smacked his forehead. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? 

“Uncle Perry can help,” Pippin said to Merry.

Merry’s frown deepened. “I suggest that ten minutes ago, in case you’ve forgotten. What happened to figuring it out on our own?”

Pippin had forgotten but he decided now was not the time for quibbling over details.

“He’ll know what to do. He’ll have it all sorted out in no time, and he won’t tell anyone.”

“You go fetch him then. I’ll keep an eye on the little monsters,” Merry said.

Pippin dashed out of the ballroom and ran through the dim tunnels to the guest quarters. He found the door to number fourteen, let himself inside and tiptoed over to the master bedchamber. He pressed his ear to the door, and hearing nothing other than snores, he opened the door and went to the side of the bed occupied by his uncle.

Peregrin Nettleburr, for whom Pippin was named, was a shepherd and a thumping good one at that. Sheep loved him. In fact, all animals loved him. He had a secret way with them. Perry had told Pippin once that he could even talk to animals, and Pippin believed it. Perry was the only hobbit Pippin knew who could get animals to do whatever he needed them to do, and without any of the struggle and side effects (kicked shins, torn shirts, bitten fingers) that others suffered.

And really, this was all Uncle Perry’s fault in a way. If Pippin hadn’t been trying to talk to the sheep the way his name-father could, then none of this would have happened.

He tapped his uncle on the shoulder until the older hobbit stirred. “Shh!” he hissed quickly, as Perry was blinking himself awake.

“Pip?” Perry asked, not actually whispering but speaking quietly enough not to wake Aunt Ami. “What’re ye doing in here, lad?”

“I have a sheep emergency,” Pippin whispered.

Perry considered the lad in front of him. He could ask questions and get nowhere, or he could just follow the lad to whatever emergency he felt he had at... Perry peeked out the window and groaned... three o’clock in the morning.

“What are ye doing out of bed? Do yer parents know where ye are?” Perry asked, despite his decision just seconds earlier not to ask questions.

“We waited until everyone was asleep. It was supposed to be a surprise. Actually, if we can’t fix it, I suppose it still will be a surprise but not the surprise we were hoping it would be,” Pippin said. He tugged on Perry’s hand. “Please, Uncle Perry! People will be waking soon!” His whisper was quickly becoming a shrill.

Next to him on the bed, Ami stirred. “What in the Shire?” she said upon rolling over and seeing her nephew standing there. “Pip? What are you doing here?”

“Don’tfret, dear heart,” Perry said, getting out of bed before Pippin could erupt with agitation. “Something to do with the sheep. I’ll go see to it, then take him back to yer brother’s.”

Pippin waited impatiently while Perry donned his robe, then Pippin was dragging him through the tunnels to the ballroom.

“Do ye mind explaining what’s going on now?” Perry asked.

Pippin shook his head. “You’ll see,” he said, to which Perry only chuckled.

They entered the ballroom and Perry stopped short. In front of him, in the once immaculately decorated ballroom, prepared meticulously over the last three days to be ready for the Thain’s wedding to Ami’s sister Heather, were six sheep. Three were sleeping in a pile of wool and hooves. One was grooming itself and the other two were slowly and methodically eating the garland decorating the small stage. Merry sat in one of the chairs along the back row, nursing a bite on his hand with a bit of torn shirt and looking foul enough to wilt the bouquets.

Perry looked down at Pippin and raised his eyebrows. “I think it’s time for that explanation, lad,” he said, calm and collected as ever. This was just one reason Pippin adored his uncle so: Peregrin Nettleburr rarely lost his temper, and he never got flustered.

“I thought it’d be fun if the sheep were trained to walk down the aisle with the wedding cloths,” Pippin said. “We’ve been trying to train them like Wren showed us, and we thought we had them trained well enough, so we brought them up here after everyone was asleep so we could do a practice run down the aisle and, well, it didn’t go so well. We were wanting it to be a surprise.”

“You were wanting it to be a surprise,” Merry corrected. “As I recall, I suggested we get Uncle Perry to help us from the start.”

“But Wren made it look so easy,” Pippin said, sounding on the verge of tears.

Perry wondered if his daughter had known what she’d been setting into motion last week when she showed her cousins how to walk the sheep. Wren had shown off, getting the sheep to walk in pairs and setting their pace by a click of her tongue. It’s been all the Tooks could talk about, besides the Thain’s wedding of course.

After two failed engagements (the first being to Perry’s own wife), everyone had thought the Thain was doomed never to marry. But now, finally, he was to marry Heather Took in the wedding of the century. Third time paid for all, or so they said, and everyone had high hopes for the couple. Looking around the ballroom, Perry wondered if some folk were simply destined to be alone.

The sheep had been busy. Not only had they tackled the garland, they’d also overturned a large vase, spilling water and cut flowers everywhere, they’d upset two whole rows of chairs, torn the runner with their hooves and made a considerable mess in one corner when they couldn’t get outside to answer nature’s call in more appropriate surroundings.

“I’d have been happy to help ye train ‘em proper,” Perry said, placing a gentle hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “That was a kind thought, lad, and a good one.”

Pippin sniffed, calming immensely. Perry would never question Pippin’s motives or judgment, or complete lack of same. That was another thing Pippin adored about his uncle. But even if Perry didn’t ask it, Pippin knew what he wasn’t saying. “I wanted to prove I could be just like you,” he explained. “I’m named for you, so I have to be like you.”

Perry considered this for a few moments before responding. “I’m named for a falcon, Pip, but I’ll not ever be able to fly, nor do I much care for the thought of eating rodents on a regular basis.” Pippin sniggered. “Ye don’t have to be just like me to honor my name, understood?”

Pippin nodded.

“So what do we do about the sheep then?” Merry asked. “And all this?”

“That’s simple,” Perry said. “I’ll take the woolies back to the barn. Merry, ye’ll go and fetch some cleaning supplies. Pippin, ye’ll go and fetch your Aunt Ami so she can help with fixing the garland and the bouquet. As for the carpet, I’m sure we can think of something.”

Perry gave Pippin’s shoulder a final squeeze before approaching the sheep. Merry and Pippin watched in awe as Perry snapped his fingers twice. The sleeping sheep woke immediately and the other three wandered over to see what he was offering them. Perry then snapped his fingers again and clicked his tongue once, and that was all it took for the sheep to line up behind him and follow him obediently out of the ballroom into the frigid winter night.

“He must be part wizard,” Merry said. “That’s the only explanation.” He stood up and walked, limping, to the tunnel. “Come on, Pip. You go and get Aunt Ami. I’ll get some buckets, water and towels. We’ll probably need soap too.”

“I’m sorry that ram butted you in the shins, Merry,” Pippin said, falling next to Merry as they entered the tunnel.

Merry couldn’t be sorry for that. The ram had been heading for Pippin, thinking Pippin was threatening the ewes. Merry did regret getting bit by one the ewes though. He shouldn’t have tried to calm the beast the way he did, waving his hands about. He realized that now.

“Go on,” Merry said to Pippin and turned in the opposite direction. There was a maid’s pantry around here somewhere. He just needed to find the right door.

Pippin returned to the guest quarters. He wasn’t entirely surprised to find Aunt Ami already awake and waiting. Aunt Ami was as sharp as they came. She and Uncle Perry had built a whole town and created a tannery, and Aunt Ami was a master carpenter. She’d even given Pippin lessons. 

He had never understood why Ami was never allowed in the Tooklands while Lalia was alive, much less why he could never tell anyone they visited her and Uncle Perry in Nohill. Merry told him once that Lalia hadn’t like Ami rejecting Ferumbras for a poor shepherd lad of no standing. Pippin could only suppose that Lalia had never become well acquainted with Perry if she could take offense at that.

Now that Lalia was gone and Ami was allowed back in Tookland, Pippin had been telling everyone about his amazing Aunt Ami and Uncle Perry and his cousins. He had tons of stories after all, and he was glad to finally be able to share them. 

Ami stood as soon as Pippin entered unattended. “Where’s Perry?”

“Taking the sheep back to the barn,” Pippin said, knowing he needn’t give his aunt an overdrawn explanation. Like Perry, she took things as they came. “Can you help us fix the garland and the vase and bouquet? And we need to figure out something to do with the carpet.”

“Let me get dressed,” Ami said and shooed him from the bedchamber.

A few minutes later, they were heading through the tunnels back to the ballroom. When Ami saw the mess for the first time, she only raised an eyebrow at Pippin. Merry entered shortly after them, pulling a wagon loaded with a bucket of water, a couple of empty buckets, several towels, a bar of soap, a mop, a broom and four pastries from the kitchen. Ami turned her raised eyebrow to him.

“I got hungry,” he said. “There’s hundreds of these. They won’t miss just four.” He handed Ami and Pippin a pastry each and wrapped the last one in a cloth for when Perry returned.

“All right, lads,” Ami said, taking charge. “You start mopping up all this water and getting the floor cleaned up. Stand the vase up if you can. I’ll find the extra garland and the extra cut flowers to make another bouquet. You said something was wrong with the carpet too?”

Pippin pointed to the runner. Ami hummed. Merry munched on his pastry.

“I’ll have to think over that one,” she said at last and went in search of the garland and flowers.

Merry and Pippin finished their snack, and Merry picked up the mop and an empty bucket. “I’ll mop,” he said. “You follow with the broom and sweep up.” He handed the broom and dustpan to Pippin and they set to work.

By the time Ami returned with the necessary decorations, they had the floor clean but hadn’t been able to stand up the vase, which was easily twice their size. Ami told them to leave it for now and showed them how to twine the garland so she could begin to assemble another bouquet.

Perry returned while they were still at work. He ate his pastry, then righted the vase and fixed the chairs before tackling the mess in the corner. Afterwards, he walked the whole room, making sure there weren’t any overlooked messes or damage. When he was satisfied, he set his attention to the ruined carpet.

The runner was old and had been used for Took weddings for generations. Undoubtedly, it had seen tears and stains before in its long life, but Perry doubted it’d seen so many at once. He counted six in all, and they were small enough, but he knew how brides could be. Heather was a sensible lass, for a Took, but even she wanted everything to go perfectly on her special day. Perry couldn’t blame her. She’d waited nearly forty years to remarry after her first husband died of the ague. She and Ferumbras deserved their happiness. 

He straightened the rug so it lay flat on the floor, then looked at it again. A few of the rips were instantly more difficult to see, though if one looked closely, they would still see them. The longer tears still gaped up at him. Mending them properly would take longer than they had time, even with each of them working on it. Fortunately, all the tears were along the sides of the runner, which would make concealing them easier. 

Perry wandered over to the stage where his wife and nephews were finishing their tasks. He brought the vase to the stage and helped Ami insert the new bouquet, then held up the stems so Ami could pour water inside. Then he carried the vase back to its place. It looked close enough to the original that no one should notice.

Ami, Pippin and Merry looked down at the runner. “I think I’ve got an idea,” Perry said and told them. A half-moment later, they were setting to work once again.

Dawn was approaching when they finally finished. They stood back and admired their work. 

“It looks better than before, if I do say so myself,” Ami said.

“It ought to. It took long enough,” Merry said and yawned so widely his jaw popped. He dropped the broom on the cart and picked up the handle. 

“Can we still teach the sheep to carry the wedding cloths?” Pippin asked.

Perry nodded. “Of course we can, if yer auntie’s wanting us to. It’s her wedding after all, and I’ve found as brides can be particular about their weddings.”

“I can ask her,” Ami offered.

“You’ll help us train them!” Pippin exclaimed, hope renewed. He bounced, though not as high as he would have bounced were he not sleep deprived.

“What do you mean, us?” Merry asked. “I’m done with those dratted beasts, no offense, Uncle Perry. If I never see a sheep again, it’ll be too soon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take these supplies back to the pantry, then I’m getting some sleep. Thank you for your help, Aunt Ami and Uncle Perry.”

“Sleep sounds good,” Ami agreed. “If I oversleep, tell my sister I had a late night and I’ll be there in time to walk the aisle, will you?”

Merry nodded. Telling his mother that would raise questions, but Merry was sure he could think of something. He pulled the cart behind him, dragging his feet as he struggled to stay awake. He could hear his bed calling to him and he yearned to get in it. As soon as he dropped off the supplies...

Ami arched an eyebrow at Perry, then the other one at Pippin. Perry nodded and Ami left, seeking her own bed. Perry patted Pippin on the shoulder. “Walk with me, lad. I did say I’d take ye back to yer daddy’s.”

“Are Merry and I in trouble?” Pippin asked. He always knew A Talk when he saw one, and this was going to be A Talk. Of course, this was also Uncle Perry, so The Talk wouldn’t be like all the others.

Perry shook his head. “Nay, Pip. I think ye two know well enough the damage ye did and how close it came to ruining a fine day. Good intentions though ye had, ye overreached yerselves.”

“We’ll never be able to charm sheep, will we?” Pippin asked.

“Ye just need to learn a different way of training ‘em, is all. I can teach ye that if ye want, after we learn the woolies to walk the aisle, assuming Heather wants ‘em of course.” He paused to give weight to what he had to say next. “Ye said as ye want to be like me, and I’m right flattered by that. I think as ye should be like yerself, though if I do teach ye one thing, I’m hoping it’ll be this: when ye don’t know what it is yer doing, stop and ask for help afore a sheep tears up yer carpet and attacks your cousin. All right?”

“All right. Are you going to tell Mum and Da?” Pippin asked next, dreading the answer.

Perry nodded. “Nay, lad, I won’t be telling ‘em.”

Pippin grinned and took his uncle’s hand. His relief was short-lived.

“Ye’ll be the one to tell ‘em once the wedding’s over and the newlyweds are on their way,” Perry continued. “Ye made a decision, Pip, and ye got to take responsibility for that.”

“But we fixed it!”

“Aye, and ye can repay yer aunt and me by being honest with yer folks. The damage to that runner won’t be hid once the wedding’s over. Folk are going to want to know what happened to it. Merry and ye are going to be the ones to tell ‘em.”

Pippin swallowed and Perry tightened his grip on his hand. When they got to Pippin’s door, Perry knelt and looked him in the eye. “And can ye do me one more favor?”

Pippin nodded. “Of course, Uncle Perry.”

“Stop getting caught.”

“What?”

“Do ye know what I’ve been hearing near every day since we got here two weeks ago?”

Pippin shook his head.

Perry smirked. “My name, and not in overly pleasant tones at that. I’ve not heard my name called this many times in all my life, and I find I’m tired of hearing it. So have yer fun, but try to be sneakier about it. But if something should go terribly wrong as it did tonight, yer to own it, caught or no, understood?”

Pippin smirked back. “Understood.”

They shook on it, and Perry opened the door. “Now get in bed and take yer sleep.”

“But what about the sheep?”

“Let me worry about ‘em. I’ll see ye at breakfast.”

“Good night, Uncle Perry.”

Pippin closed the door and went to his room. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Merry wheeled the cart into the pantry and tried to remember where he found everything, squinting in the dim candlelight from the tunnel. The broom and dustpan went there, the mop over here. The soap was on this shelf and the buckets were piled with the others in the corner. The rags needed to go in the laundry basket, there was no way around that. Hopefully, the maids wouldn’t think anything of finding a half dozen more rags in the basket. 

He looked everything over and decided it was orderly enough, forgetting about the cart entirely in his fuzzy state. He nodded at his handiwork and took a step back. His ankle banged hard against the cart, sending a thrill up his leg to his lower back. He was more startled than hurt, but in his startled state, he jumped forward, bumped into the table, jabbed his toe against the table leg and let out a yowl. A fleeting thought of gratitude that no rooms were close by, and so no hobbits nearby to hear him, went through his mind as he hopped in place, his offended toe throbbing. Then he stepped on the soap, which had fallen off the shelf when he banged the table into the wall, slipped and landed on his back with a thud that pushed the air from his lungs. He heard several things falling over and the door to the pantry closing, but he couldn’t find the energy to care at the moment.

He lay there, staring up at the ceiling in the sudden darkness and taking stock of his injuries: bruised shins from being head-butted by a ram, finger bite from a ewe, his favorite shirt torn, his heel banged, his toe jammed, his breath knocked out of him, and he doubted that landing did his back any good either.

He sighed. “I should have stayed in bed,” he told the ceiling, which silently agreed.

He waited at least ten minutes before cautiously sitting up. He felt around him in the dark, found the soap and placed it on the table. He found the cart and pushed it against the wall. He got on his knees and felt around some more. Several brooms had toppled over, as well as half the buckets, but the path to the door was clear. He could bring one of the sconces from the hall into the room to quickly clean, and then he could finally get back into his bed and, if he were wise, not leave it again until it was time to go home.

He crawled to the door, stood cautiously, and turned the knob. Or he would have, had the knob been there. He stared at the door, hidden in blackness though it was, in disbelief. How could there not be a doorknob?! He checked again and only found a hole where the doorknob should be. He stuck his finger in the hole, searching blindly for the mechanism that would open the door. It had to be there, as he was able to open it from the outside. 

His finger found metal and he felt around for the gear. He found it a moment later and fiddled with it, trying to get it to turn, hoping for that delightful click that would signal his freedom and the end of his torment. What he heard instead was a ping, a pop, and the small, tinging thuds of the gears and springs falling loose and dropping to the floor. The lock bolt was still stubbornly in the jamb and refusing to budge. 

Merry didn’t know whether to whimper or growl. He settled on banging on the door and shouting, until he remembered that there were no rooms nearby, and so no one to hear him. The irony of his earlier glee rubbed raw on his other wounds and he sat down on the floor.

“Well, someone’s going to have to come in here eventually,” he reasoned. “Take the supplies back and then go to sleep. That’s what I said I’d do, and there’s no reason I can’t do that here, I suppose.” 

He felt around for the clean towels, stacked enough on the floor to give him a cushion, lay back down and went to sleep.

“Is Merry with Pippin?” Esmeralda asked Eglantine the following morning as they sat to breakfast in the bride’s chambers. 

“No, and Pippin is fast asleep,” Eglantine said with a shake of her head. “I’ve never seen him sleep in so late.”

“He must be off doing something,” Esmeralda mused and shrugged it off. Merry could take care of himself well enough, and she had other matters to attend to today, namely her sister. Speaking of sisters...

“Where’s Ami?” Heather asked, coming into the chamber, followed by their older sister Amber.

“It’s odd that she wouldn’t be here,” Amber said, then sighed. “Who are we fooling? She’d be late to her own funeral. Let’s get started without her, shall we?”

They set to their breakfast, then prepared for the quickly approaching nuptials.

Merry sighed. The maid’s pantry wasn’t near any windows, so it was difficult to tell if it was getting lighter outside or not, and for that matter, how long he had been asleep. He only knew he had a terrible need to relieve himself, and his stomach wasn’t much happier with him either. He pressed his ear to the door, hoping for the sound of movement on the other side. Where was everyone?

Pippin rolled onto his side and yawned. The yawn was followed by a long stretch in which joints popped and muscles rejuvenated themselves. His peaceful waking was interrupted by a pounding on the door.

“Pigeon!” Pervinca said. “Are you and Merry awake yet? You need to be getting ready!”

Merry? Pippin looked about but saw no sign of Merry. Why would anyone think Merry was in here?

Pippin rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the door, opening it just as Vinca was readying to pound again.

“Well, it’s about time,” she said. “Mum wants you washed and dressed, and Aunt Esme says that Merry’s to do the same.”

“Merry’s not here,” Pippin said.

“Then where is he?”

Pippin thought back. The last place he knew Merry was headed was the maid’s pantry, and if no one has seen him this morning, thus causing them to believe that he must be here oversleeping... 

Pippin was wide awake in an instant. He darted around Pervinca and down the hall.

“Where are you going?” she called after him. “You’re supposed to bathe!”

Pippin didn’t respond. He tore out the door and down the tunnel. Choosing the quickest route, he ran down the nearest ramp and jogged along the outside tunnel and through the main entrance parlor where several wedding guests were arriving. He just barely caught sight of Frodo, luggage in hand, coming through the door.

“Pippin!” Frodo called out.

“Not right now! I have to rescue Merry from the pantry!” Pippin shouted, eliciting many curious glances as he ran through the parlor and continued on his way.

“What is the Shire?” Frodo said.

“If you needed further proof you’re in the Tooklands, there you have it!” Reginard said to him in greeting.

Pippin continued down the tunnels, past the dining hall, past the blocked off ballroom and rounded the corner. The broken door to the maid’s pantry stared back at him. If doors could look sinister, this one would be doing so. 

Pippin knocked. “Merry? Are you in there?”

“Pippin?” Merry asked, sounding relieved and nearly jubilant. “This dratted door won’t open.”

“It’s broken.”

“Yes, I did figure that out. Get it to open.”

Pippin tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. “It’s broken,” he said again.

“Then be a good lad and go get a screwdriver.”

“Why?”

“So you can remove the screws that are holding the lock in place.”

“The screws are on your side.”

There was a muffled response that was likely Merry swearing. “Blasted Tooks and your confounded locks! What’s wrong with a latch? Honestly!”

“Latches are fine and well, but they needed locks to keep the little ones out of dangerous places. There’s lot of things to hurt yourself with in there.”

Silence was his only answer to this statement.

He heard footsteps behind him. “Pippin?” Frodo said. “Why are you talking to the door?”

“It’s Merry.”

“The door is Merry?”

“Frodo? Is that you!”

“Merry? When do you become a door?”

“Don’t be daft! Get me out of here!”

“You insult me, then expect me to help you?”

“Frodo!”

“Oh, very well.” He studied the door then said to Pippin, “We need something slim but sturdy, like a putty knife. Be a good lad and fetch one, will you?”

A few minutes later, Frodo had the door open and Merry, grateful though he was, hurried past in a labored gait in search of a bathing room and a chamber pot. 

“You could have just used a bucket, you know. Perhaps you should leave the door open, just in case!” Frodo called after him, grinning impishly.

It was probably a good thing they couldn’t understand Merry’s response.

All the Tooks and guests were gathered in the ballroom. A small band played a slow ballad as the wedding procession began, walking cheerfully down the aisle and the runner, now decorated along it’s edges with garland and poinsettia. No one knew who did this extra bit of decoration, but they all agreed that it was most proper for a Yule wedding.

The sisters came first, Amber escorted by her son Arlo, Ami with Perry and Esmeralda with Saradoc and lastly the bride, escorted by Paladin. Heather looked radiant in her ball dress, a soft blue gown that complimented her blue eyes. Her greying hair hung loose, covered with a white lace veil weaved with hydrangea leaves. A necklace with a pendant of the heather flower completed the ensemble, and her bouquet was of anemone, forget-me-nots, roses and heather. She beamed at Ferumbras, who stood at the end of the aisle, awaiting her with pride.

The wedding would be remembered by one and (nearly) all as the wedding of the century, which was saying something as the century had only just begun. Merry and Pippin however slept through most of it; everyone politely ignored their snores.

Esmeralda, Saradoc, Paladin and Eglantine looked between their sons, Perry and Ami and each other. None of them really knew what to say, though they all agreed (silently) that the lads had paid enough for their error. 

Finally, Eglantine said, “I think it’s only proper you help with mending the runner. I’ll tell Mistress Flora to expect you.”

“I think too that you should also go to bed early tonight,” Esmeralda said. “I know you were looking forward to staying up till midnight to see the lighting of the Yule logs and bring in the new year, but there will always be next year.”

“Yes, Mother,” Merry said. He ached for his bed. It seemed to him he hadn’t seen it in years. He skin tingled thinking about that soft mattress and warm sheets.

“Yes, Mum,” Pippin said. He didn’t know how much help he and Merry would be in mending the runner, but they’d certainly give it their all - after a proper night’s sleep of course.

“You can stay here tonight if you want, Pippin,” Saradoc said.

Merry and Pippin said good night and shuffled off to Merry’s room. Only when the door was closed and they were sure the lads couldn’t hear them did they finally allow themselves to laugh. Saradoc laughed so hard he cried. He wiped the tears away and shook his head. 

“So what happened to the sheep?” he asked, when he could finally talk again.

“Heather didn’t want ‘em,” Perry said. “She figured as they’d take attention away from her.”

“She adored what you did with the runner. I wouldn’t be surprised to see it decorated so in future weddings,” Esmeralda said. She took Ami’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for helping them, Darling.”

Ami smiled and stood, her back popping. “It was our pleasure. I think Perry and I will go to bed early as well. We’ll see you in the morrow.”

And so it was that the four conspirators were fast asleep when the Yule logs were lit and the new year arrived.

Summer 1450 SR

Thain Peregrin was asleep in the library when he was woken by an urgent tapping on his shoulder. He blinked awake and at first thought he was seeing double, until he realized he was looking at his twin nieces Summer and Dawn. Well into their tweens, they were proving to be more of a handful than their mother Pervinca had been at their age, and Pervinca had been a terror.

“What’s a matter?” Pippin said, yawning widely.

“There’s been an... incident,” Summer said.

“It just sort of... happened,” Dawn said.

“We didn’t mean for it to happen,” they whispered in unison. “Please, Uncle Pippin, can you help?”

Pippin yawned again and got to his feet, setting aside his forgotten book to fall asleep to again later. He followed his nieces out of the library and chuckled. He finally knew what Uncle Perry had to be thinking all those years before: 

This should be interesting.

GF 12/31/11