This is (sort of) a sequel to the events in A Tale That Grew in the Telling or, more accurately, the real events that Sam’s “made up” story was based on. This story is pre-quest and takes place a little over a year after A Tale.
 
 
 
 
 

A Mid-Year’s Walking Trip

Frodo is 44, Sam 33, Pippin 23, and Merry has just turned 31. (About 28, 21, 15, and 19 in Man years)
 

Chapter 1

7 Afterlithe, 1413 SR

The mid-summer sun was beaming down ruthlessly over the Shire, and everyone who could get out of the heat did so happily. No one worked – or worked very hard – when the sun was so blaringly hot, and the only hobbits that could be seen were lounging under trees or dangling their feet in The Water.

Up in the cozy, but nonetheless stuffy, comforts of Bag End, Sam was spending the hot summer hours helping the Master of the Hill pack for his annual mid-year walking trip. Or at least, he was supposed to be helping. What he was really doing was fretting like a mother hen.

“It’s awful warm this time of year, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said for what was easily the eighth time that day. “Folk were passing out all over at the Free Fair, and them just sitting there. Mayhap you should wait a week or two until it cools down some. What if you get heat stroke and pass out like poor Widow Rumble did?”

“I’m taking water with me, Sam,” Frodo replied, hiding the annoyance he felt with effort. He held up a handful of water skins to prove his point. They weren’t full yet of course, but he would fill them at the well tonight before he left. “Besides, I’m only going to Bindbole Wood. That’s not even a day’s walk from here and I’ll be hiking at night.”

“Do you really want to be going there, sir, begging your pardon?” Sam asked. He took the water skins from Frodo and scrutinized the seams for weaknesses and leaks. “I hear tell there’s bogs in them woods, and they’re unpleasant things.”

“I shall stay away from the bogs then.”

“But should you really go at night, sir? What if there’s somewhat on the ground and you can’t see it acause it’s dark and you fall and hurt yourself? What if you sprain your ankle and you can’t walk and you’re stuck out there in the heat all day with no water and no help?”

Frodo sighed tiredly and took the water skins back from his gardener and tossed them upon the bed, where everything was spread out and waiting to be packed. “Honestly Sam, if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you didn’t want me to go at all,” he said, trying to speak lightly, but sounding irritated all the same.

Sam looked at him intently, undeterred by his master’s cross mood. “Well, now as you mention it…”

Frodo squatted on the floor and began folding his sleeping roll, which he had let out to air the day before. He concentrated on his task, so as not to snap at his gardener instead. He wasn’t surprised this was happening really. He had noticed Sam’s ever-increasing agitation over the past few weeks and when he started asking questions about the trip, Frodo knew there was going to be trouble.

This was all because of what happened during last year’s walking trip. Frodo had taken his trip early, in the Spring, and had been caught out in an unseasonably strong rainstorm. He had been waylaid for over a week as a result of that storm and other unforeseen events. Now Sam was worrying himself sick thinking about every horrible thing that might possibly go wrong on this year’s trip. He had noted at least twice in as many days that this trip was actually late, what with the Free Fair and Frodo’s obligation as family to attend for the election of the Mayor. Would going late cause as many unforeseen disasters as going early had caused the year before? Sam didn’t like to think it.

If it came right down to it, Frodo would just order Sam along and put the poor lad’s mind to ease, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to do that. He quite enjoyed these trips, as they were the only opportunity he had to get away from the scrutinizing public – and his even more scrutinizing friends. He had hoped that staying away from the Bounds and only going a day’s walk away would permit Sam to relax about the whole affair. He realized now his error in this. Sam would never be able to relax when it came to his safety.

“It’s just, those bogs are nasty places,” Sam continued now as he stared down bemusedly at his master’s bent head. “I heard that some of them, you can’t even tell as they’re bogs. They’re invisible-like, and those are the worst. They say the ground’s so saturated, you just sink right through and are never seen again.”

“Really? And who says that Sam, if they’re never seen again?” Frodo asked as he bound the straps to his sleeping roll. He moved on to securing the already-folded tent and sleeping roll to his pack, still finding the need for distraction.

“It’s common enough knowledge,” Sam defended. “And what if you walk into one them invisible bogs and there’s no one there to help you get out? You really shouldn’t go alone, sir.”

“Sam,” Frodo sighed wearily. He stood up and clapped his friend’s shoulder and gripped it reassuringly. “I’m going to be fine. You can’t watch after me all the time, nor do you need to. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and it’s not as if this is the first time I’ve gone for a hike there.”

“I know that, sir. You went with Mr. Bilbo last time. With Mr. Bilbo. He knew not to go in there alone.”

“You told me your friend Robin went into Bindbole just last year,” Frodo pointed out.

“With the Shirriffs,” Sam reminded evenly. “And he stuck to the paths.”

“This isn’t the Old Forest full of imaginary ghosts and monsters. It’s just a regular forest, full of regular trees and regular bogs,” Frodo continued, fighting to keep the calmness in his voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

Sam nodded, but the worry remained in his eyes. “I know you do sir, but last year…”

“Last year was last year. It’s over and done. This is now,” Frodo said gently. “I’ll keep my feet under me, my walking stick ahead of me, and my water skins full. I’ll keep a good hundred yards between me and anything that can possibly resemble a threat, I promise. Besides, it’s only a three-day hike. There is no way anything can go wrong with this trip.”  

“What if Frodo doesn’t let us come?” Pippin asked worriedly and adjusted the weight of the pack on his shoulders as he and Merry walked up the Hill.

“We’ll go anyway,” Merry answered. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? There’s nothing he can do to stop us, short of tying us up in sacks.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Pippin, don’t be silly. There is no way Frodo could possibly tie us both into sacks. … Maybe we’ll just make sure we’re never alone with him.”

“Good idea.”

They have been planning this for months, since Frodo’s last birthday to be exact. After the fiasco that last year’s adventure had turned into for their cousin, they weren’t about to let him have any more fun without them. It was only fair really, after all their years of waiting. Frodo was forever telling them that one day he would take them on one of his walking trips rather than the usual one-day hikes they would occasionally accompany him on, and yet every year he came up with one excuse or another why they couldn’t come or why he had forgotten to invite them. Well, they were through waiting for an invitation. They were going, whether Frodo would have them or not.

They were bound to be met with opposition of course. Frodo was guaranteed to be unappreciative of their concern and might even interpret it as an intrusion, so Merry thought it would be best to arrive fully prepared for the journey, both with packs and counterpoints. They had everything they could possibly need for a trip, and Merry had even checked with his Uncle Merimac to make sure he had not overlooked anything.

As for counterpoints, Merry had constructed a list of answers to all of Frodo’s concerns. For one, they would not have to impose on Frodo for supplies or food, since they already had their own. Two, Frodo would not have to wait for them to get their things into order and so would not be delayed in the slightest. Three, by being prepared, it showed they were responsible and therefore dependable. Frodo wouldn’t have to worry about looking after them or have to fear about them being a burden. Four, Frodo had promised. Five, they were there only to help and enjoy each other’s company, and what was really so wrong with that?

Merry went through this in his mind and tried to think of any other arguments Frodo might possibly come up with. He had to be able to dispel them as Frodo brought them up and if he hesitated for even a moment, he knew Frodo would win his point. Not that it would matter in the end. He and Pippin were going and there was nothing else for it.

“But what if he sends word back home that we weren’t really invited along?” Pippin asked now, interrupting Merry’s thoughts. He didn’t like lying to his parents, though of course that never stopped him from doing so when it was absolutely necessary.

“Why would he do that? If Frodo wants to punish us, he could do that well enough himself,” Merry replied, not very reassuringly.

They reached their destination and entered through the familiar gate. Merry gave Pippin the honor of pulling the bell, and they readied themselves to greet their cousin cheerily. A minute passed. Merry and Pippin frowned at each other. They weren’t too late were they? Pippin pulled on the bell again and now they heard someone running to answer. They stood up, ready and determined, as the door swung open.

“Frodo!”

“You’re not Frodo.”

“Mr. Merry? Master Pippin? Was Mr. Frodo expecting you?” Sam asked as he let them inside.

“Not at all. Actually, we’re here to surprise our dear old cousin,” Pippin explained as he and Merry relieved themselves of their packs and stretched their backs.

Merry took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his brow and neck. “We haven’t missed him, have we?”

“He’s here,” Sam said, feeling rather surprised himself, but he knew better than to say anything about it. He figured he would find out soon enough what was going on anyway. “Mr. Frodo’s just packing, getting himself ready.”

“Wonderful,” Merry exclaimed. “We’d better say hello and get this over with, Pip.”

They left their bags in the entrance hall for now and marched resolutely down the tunnel to Frodo’s room. Sam quickly shoved their packs out of the way against the wall and closed the door. He then went to the kitchen to start preparing luncheon. His master’s cousins were always hungry when they arrived, especially when they walked from Tookland, and packing for a journey always made his master extra hungry as well. Besides, Sam suspected that the discussion taking place in the bedroom was strictly a family affair and he had no place in it.  

Frodo was beginning to stuff his travel pack when a knock rapped on the door behind him. “So who was it Sam? Did you send them away?” he asked without turning around.

“He didn’t actually. He’s grown quite lax in his duties. You should let him go,” Pippin said.

“Good day, Cousin,” Merry added.

Frodo whirled around and faced his cousins in surprise. They grinned at him, proudly unforgiving, and braced themselves for the inevitable. Even if this Baggins was not as predictable as most, they knew him well enough to guess what was going through his mind, or what would be going through his mind once he figured out why they were there.

Frodo quickly composed himself. Whatever reason for his cousins’ presence, he couldn’t take out his frustration at Sam on them, even if their sudden arrival was rather suspicious. “Good day, Cousins,” he greeted cordially. “If you’ve come for a visit, I’m afraid your timing is rather poor. I won’t be here.”

“Clearly,” Pippin said, taking in the items strewn about the room and bed. “Unless you’re going for a new look in here. Are you trying to punish Sam? He’ll never be able to keep it clean in this state.”

“Sam is not a smial servant,” Frodo replied, his previous annoyance flaring up again. Why did it seem that every time his cousins came to visit, they had this same conversation in one form or another? “It is not his job to look after the smial and you know it. The only one who keeps it clean is me.”

“Well, you’re doing a very poor job of it,” Merry stated matter-of-factly at the same time Pippin asked, “Then why is he making luncheon?”

“Really, Pippin, you’d rather eat Frodo’s cooking?” Merry said.

Frodo decided to ignore this last comment. He went back to his packing, which Merry and Pippin took as their cue to enter the room and make themselves comfortable. They found a patch of the bed that was free of camp gear and sat down so they were facing Frodo.

“Very well,” Frodo said at last, continuing their earlier topic of conversation. “You may stay here tonight, as I am sure you are tired after your journey. You’ll have to leave first thing in the morning though. I won’t have you here bothering Sam from his work while I’m gone.”

“Of course,” Pippin agreed. “That’s what we were going to do anyway. Actually, we weren’t even planning to stay the night.”

“You came all the way up here just to stay for a few hours and then leave?” Frodo asked doubtfully, not looking up from his task. Why would they do that unless…? Comprehension dawned and Frodo looked up through his lashes and fixed his cousins with a suspicious glare. They grinned innocently and nodded. “No, absolutely not.”

“Sorry, my dear Frodo, but we’re overruling you,” Merry said. “Besides, you invited us, remember?”

“When did I ever do anything as foolish as that?”

“At your birthday,” Merry answered. “You wrote that lovely story for us. How could you forget? You all but forced us to act the whole thing out.”

“Two friends, on a trip, growing closer together. It was so obvious that was your way of asking us along,” Pippin put in.

“Then you read it wrong,” Frodo said. “That story gave all the reasons why I don’t want you along. As you may recall, that camping trip was a complete disaster.”

“Please, Frodo, have more faith in us than that,” Pippin said. “We’re here to help you and keep you company.”

“I don’t need looking after,” Frodo said, letting his anger surface at last and shine through his eyes. How often was he going to have to repeat that? First Sam and now them. No wonder he always felt like he was being watched. He desperately needed to get away.

“We know you don’t,” Pippin said, quailing slightly under Frodo’s fierce gaze. “But when I asked you when are we going to be invited along on a walking trip, you said ‘maybe next time.’ You can’t deny that.”

“That’s right,” Merry jumped in. He too had trouble asserting himself when Frodo turned on that icy glare, but he was resolved. “You said next time, and this is next time. So here we are and we’re going with you.”

“I said maybe next time and you know perfectly well that wasn’t an open invitation, or you wouldn’t have come here in trickery,” Frodo pointed out. “You’re leaving and you’re doing so now. I don’t have time to look after you.”

“But you don’t need to,” Merry stressed. “We have our gear ready and packed. We took every precaution. We have food, and sleeping rolls and water, and we have cooking gear and tinder. We have everything. We’re not here to look after you Frodo, nor are we here to hinder you. We’re here to join you.”

“The answer is-”

“Tea?”

The cousins looked abruptly over to the doorway, startled out of their confrontation by Sam’s sudden presence. He was holding a tray loaded with three glasses of iced tea, and if any of them had cared to notice, he was gripping the tray rather tightly.

Sam had heard his master’s voice rising in agitation while he was making sandwiches and when he realized what was going on, he had hit upon a sudden idea. It wasn’t proper what he was about to do, and he was nervous about the consequences if his master suspected him even a little. But he had to at least try it. He would be very much relieved to see his master off tonight in the company of his friends, and that made it worth the risk.

He took Merry and Pippin their glasses first, so that he was facing away from Frodo. He gave them what he hoped was a significant look as he handed them their glasses. Then he turned and handed Frodo his own glass.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Sam said, “but I thought Master Pippin and Mr. Merry would like something cool to drink after walking here in such heat.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Merry said, wondering where this was going.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Merry. So, if you don’t mind my asking, what brings you here to Hobbiton?”

“We’re going camping with Frodo,” Pippin answered before Frodo could open his mouth to speak.

Sam’s face lit up with absolute joy and he smiled with relief. “You are!” He turned to his master, who was now looking quite put out. “Why didn’t you just say so, Mr. Frodo? Here I was worriting for naught, thinking as you’d be out there all by your lonesome, and Mr. Merry and Master Pippin going with you all along. How wonderful!”

“But I-” Frodo started to protest, but the look of joy on Sam’s face quelled his protest. This was the happiest and most relaxed he had seen the gardener in weeks and he just couldn’t bring himself to shatter the lad’s spirits. “I suppose I just forgot,” he finally muttered in defeat and didn’t have to look over to see the triumphant smiles on his cousins’ faces.

“You best hurry up with your packing then,” Sam went on. “Luncheon will be ready shortly.” He left then, and he didn’t take a full breath until he was safely back in the kitchen.

Back in his room, Frodo merely shook his head at his cousins, who were celebrating giddily. If he didn’t know Sam any better, he’d almost think this was a conspiracy.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 2

‘Maybe this won’t be so bad,’ Frodo thought to himself. After all, Merry was nearly of age and was maturing nicely, and he could manage Pippin better than anyone. Looking through their packs, which Frodo had ordered them to bring into the room, he had to admit they had prepared thoroughly for the trip and he couldn’t deny they were a resourceful pair. And he had been promising them for a long time to take them camping. He always enjoyed their company and he would be able to show them more of his homeland than they’ve had opportunity to see so far. And if it was a disaster, well, that would be good cause to deny them such a privilege again in the future.

Frodo set their packs on the floor and returned to preparing his own.

‘This might not be so bad. Please, don’t let this be bad.’  

“Sam, you are a wonder,” Merry said. He and Pippin were helping Sam prepare the last of the food as Frodo finished packing. Merry was in awe of the gardener; he had never seen Frodo cave so quickly on anything before, not once that famous Baggins stubbornness set in. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Pippin nodded in agreement, looking up at Sam with something akin to hero-worship. He had thought they’d have to force Frodo into letting them come along. Either that or they’d have to tag along after him and that would have been disastrous.

“What other talents have you been hiding from us?” Merry asked.

“I only did it acause I don’t want Mr. Frodo going alone,” Sam said with a disapproving scowl. “I’m telling him what I did soon as you come back, assuming he ain’t figure it out on his own by then. You promise you won’t let anything bad happen to him and bring him home on time?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here,” Merry replied. “But why don’t you come along?”

“Oh no, two uninvited guests are more’n enough for one trip, begging your pardon for saying so,” Sam said. He set the biscuits on the table and took in the spread approvingly. That should be enough food to satisfy everyone. “I’m going to let Mr. Frodo know the food’s ready, and don’t think I won’t be able to tell if you go sneaking any, Master Pippin.”

Pippin paused midway in grabbing a handful of sliced carrots and pouted at Sam’s retreating back. He plopped down in his chair and crossed his arms dejectedly over his chest. “He never lets me eat early,” he complained.

Merry chuckled softly and sat next to Pippin to wait for Frodo. He wasn’t surprised when Pippin refrained from eating, but he was again impressed by Sam. The gardener was the only one who could keep the impetuous Took from indulging his stomach nonstop.

And how was that exactly? What power did Sam posses to make such an impossibility, well, possible? Why would Pippin listen to Sam, who strictly-speaking had not even told him he couldn’t eat, when he would barely even listen to his own mother? There must be a story there somewhere, and Merry realized that he didn’t know what it was. Why didn’t he know the story?

Merry eyed Pippin contemplatively. He was trying to remember the very first time he had seen Sam subdue Pippin’s appetite when his cousin finally noticed his gaze.

“What?” Pippin asked, innocent for once.

Before Merry could form his question, Sam returned with Frodo just behind him. Within moments, they were all seated around the table, tucking in the delicious food Sam had prepared. Merry and Pippin relaxed to see that Frodo had warmed to the idea of having them along. At least he wasn’t glaring at them anymore, which was always a good sign.

After luncheon, Sam returned to the gardens. Merry and Pippin helped Frodo clean the kitchen, then started some meat and potatoes broiling for dinner. When the kitchen was in order, they went into the parlor to pour over Frodo’s maps and discuss their trip.

The southernmost edge of Bindbole Wood was just over ten miles from Bag End in a straight line over the hills. Frodo, however, planned to follow The Water west for a few miles and cut across the fields at the foot of the hills. It was a slightly longer route, but he hoped that without the constant climbing they could reach the forest in the same amount of time. Once they were in the woods, they would hike another half-mile to a clearing where they could camp and rest during the day.

“And after day is over?” Pippin asked.

“There’s a trail we can follow and explore through the heart of the forest,” Frodo explained. “There are also a couple of dells just off the trial that Bilbo showed me once. We can camp in one of those clearings the second night. Then we’ll come home.”

“That’s a short trip,” Pippin commented, to which Frodo and Merry said nothing.  

Merry pointed at the larger map that hung in the entrance hall. This map showed the entire Shire and had marked on it many hiking trails in red ink. “There’s Bindbole.”

“And look, it’s marked with a trail!” Pippin said. “Bilbo must have liked going there. What do you think it will be like, Merry?”

“Well, they say it’s dangerous and haunted, and sometimes, hobbits go in to never be seen or heard from again,” Merry intoned dramatically.

“Liar.”

Frodo slipped out the back door, shutting his cousins’ chatter inside. He strolled casually through the kitchen garden and turned right toward the back of the property. He was in no real hurry to find Sam, as this was likely the last few moments of peace he would have in the coming days, but he did need to speak with his gardener. The more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had been tricked into inviting his cousins. Sam had answered the door after all and let them in; he would have noticed they were carrying travel packs. Well, Frodo wasn’t too old to play a trick of his own. And really, why should Sam get off scot-free?

“Sam?” he said after a few minutes wandering. Where was he? “Sam?”

“I’m here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam answered from the tool shed.

“What are you doing back here?” Frodo asked, walking up to find his gardener scrutinizing his various tools.

“Trying to remember where I put that wee hand spade,” Sam answered. “I know I threw it in here somewhere.”

“Threw? That doesn’t sound like the proper way to handle your tools, Sam,” Frodo chided teasingly.

“I know,” Sam said regrettably, “but I was in a hurry and not thinking. Now I can’t find it for the life of me. I thought it landed here.” Sam squatted down and looked under the workbench and in between the bench and wall.

“Look for it later, lad,” Frodo said. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Sam looked up, a hint of surprise on his face. He stood up and nodded. “Of course sir. What do you need?”

“I want you to come with us, Sam,” Frodo said. “You’ve been wanting to come along anyhow and now that my cousins are here, well… Please, Sam, don’t doom me to a camping trip alone with them. I need at least one other level-headed person in the group.”

“But Mr. Frodo, I thought this was just a simple hike that couldn’t possibly go wrong,” Sam said, teasing now also.

“It was, until the Terrible Twosome arrived. Anything’s possible where they’re involved.”

Sam chuckled knowingly. He knew only too well of what those two were capable. “I’ll go ask me Gaffer then. I’m sure he’ll find heart to spare me for a couple of days for your sake.”

“Then I’ll ready a pack for you,” Frodo said with obvious relief. “Now go ask your father and make it official, then take the rest of the day off. You’ll need the rest, believe me.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said. “I’ll just put everything away and clean up before I leave then.”

“Thank you lad. Be back by dusk,” Frodo said and went back inside, feeling slightly better about this sudden change in events. At least he wouldn’t have to be the only one to monitor his cousins and Sam’s presence would at least keep Pippin from hoarding the food.  

Gaffer Gamgee was in the middle of his ale-brewing when he heard the front door open and close. He frowned down at his piles of hops. Marigold had gone into town an hour earlier and couldn’t possibly be back yet, unless something had happened. He was just about to get up and step into the kitchen when Sam found him.

“Afternoon, Gaffer,” Sam said casually, though his expression was slightly guarded.

“Afternoon, Sam,” Gaffer greeted in return and settled back down in his chair. He eyed his son curiously. “What’re you doing down here, in the middle of a workday as it is?” he asked. It wasn’t entirely unheard of that Mr. Baggins would give Sam an afternoon off during the slower parts of the seasons, but summer was always a busy time.

Sam remained sheltered in the doorway to the little pantry that the Gaffer converted to his brewery during the summer months and answered as casually as he could manage. “Mr. Frodo’s cousins showed up out of the Blue today. They’re going with him on his walking trip and Mr. Frodo wants me to go along and help keep after them. He told me to rest up as he’s leaving at sundown to avoid the heat.”

“Seems to me he could avoid the heat better by keeping himself at home,” Gaffer mused to himself, and Sam gave a small half-smile. “How long is this hike and where’s he planning on taking you?”

“It’s only for a few days,” Sam answered. He hesitated for the briefest of moments then continued, “We’re going to Bindbole.”

Gaffer grunted, the meaning of which Sam could not quite decipher. Gaffer returned to his measuring and pouring, and it was some time before he answered. “You best be careful then and don’t go a making a nuisance of yourself. Go get some rest then if that’s what Mr. Baggins is wanting you to do.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said and excused himself to his room. He hadn’t been entirely certain his father would approve of the plan, and he was relieved it went over so well. There had been a time not too long ago when Gaffer would have been firmly against Sam spending casual time with his master, but once Gaffer realized he was fighting a losing battle, he had relented and had not raised another objection since. Still, he could always change his mind and that was one of Sam’s worst fears.

Sam reached his room and cocooned himself inside. He spread out face down on his bed and hid his face in his pillow, more for the softness of it than an actual need to block out any light, as there was no window in his room. He doubted he would get any actual sleep, but he would rest his eyes for a few hours all the same.  

“Is it really haunted?” Pippin was saying when Frodo came back to the parlor.

Frodo had been preparing Sam’s pack and had just finished. Merry and Pippin had at some point returned to the parlor and Merry was once again studying the smaller maps spread out on the table. He was scrutinizing every last inch of them, as if he were trying to burn the images into his mind. Pippin fidgeted about the room, tinkering with the various knick-knacks and keepsakes, with a mixture of boredom and nervousness.

“Of course it is,” Merry answered his young cousin casually, not looking up from the maps. “I keep telling you it is, don’t I?”

“But those are all just old tall tales,” Pippin said. “They’re not really true, are they?”

“They have to come from somewhere, don’t they?” Merry said logically. He ran his finger along one of the trails shown on the map.

“Maybe, but some of it must be made up,” Pippin continued. “Such as the ghosts and such. I mean, folk don’t really just disappear.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you were joking before, right?”

“Absolutely, you’ve caught me red-handed. I was joking.”

“Were you really?”

Frodo left his cousins to amuse themselves and went to the kitchen to prepare tea and check on supper. Despite his cousins’ endless teasing, Frodo was a good cook and knew his way around the kitchen. He may not be as easily efficient and confident as Sam, but his cousins really couldn’t – and didn’t – complain about his culinary skills.

He kept himself busy with the food, trying to keep his doubts from creeping back into his consciousness. He tried to ignore the fact that Merry was just barely out of his tweens and still far too interested in mischief. He tried to ignore the fact that Pippin was just entering his tweens and was far too impulsive. He focused instead on Merry’s practicality and Pippin’s lightheartedness and how those things could be assets on their trip.

Frodo sighed and slumped down on a chair. Who was he fooling? This was going to be a disaster.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 3

Sam arrived just after dusk and the four hobbits enjoyed a delightful – and if Sam wasn’t quite mistaken, an unusually long – supper together. Just as they finished one serving, Frodo would produce a second, third and fourth, and he had at some point during the afternoon made a pie, two in fact, which he dished out in servings of very thin slices and took his time retrieving.

Merry and Pippin happily ate whatever was put before them, and Sam suspected that Frodo was attempting to make them so full and content that they would fall asleep where they sat. That plan failed of course and once all the food was consumed, Frodo put his cousins to work cleaning up the kitchen.

While they were preoccupied, Frodo gave Sam the pack he had prepared for his use. He allowed the gardener to go through it and make sure there wasn’t anything he had forgotten to include. Sam could see nothing missing but made a quick stop to the pantries all the same, then carried his pack to the porch and set it down with the others. He then took the many water skins to fill at the well, where Frodo joined him for a customary pre-journey pipe.

Far too soon, Merry and Pippin joined them and declared the kitchen clean. Frodo went through the smial to ensure all the fires and candles were extinguished, then locked up the doors and windows and met his companions on the front porch. Now having no other way to stall the inevitable, Frodo shouldered his pack and his companions followed suit. Merry and Sam waited for Frodo to take the lead, but Pippin dashed down the walk path to the gate, which he then held open for the others. Once on the lane, they all looked at Frodo expectantly.

“To the Water then,” Frodo eventually commanded and everyone fell into step around him.  

The night air was warm and a welcome relief from the day’s suffocating heat. A half moon hung in the sky above and bathed the land in muted light. The stars added their own dim radiance and the hobbits passed quietly along the lane, stepping surely and confidently, their walking sticks in hand.

They reached the bottom of the Hill and turned west at the Water. They followed the babbling river out of town, enjoying the hushed stillness of the land. Evening flowers bloomed and filled the air with their rich fragrance, and in the distance crickets chirped and frogs croaked, and beside them, the Water lapped gently upon the riverbank.

Hobbiton was soon behind them and the last of the homesteads that dotted the outskirts of town were dark and silent. Another half-mile down the river and there was nothing surrounding them but the dark water and the vast, vacant fields. Frodo turned them north and slightly back to the east, so they would reach Bindbole at its southernmost point. If they went due north, they would risk missing the forest altogether or coming upon it on its long western edge, which was not where Frodo wanted to go as there were no paths there to lead them into the woods.

They passed a time in complete silence, not even their footfalls making a sound in the soft and tender grass. Then Pippin grew tired of the silence and became restless with the inactivity of only walking. He looked up at the stars, which Frodo seemed to be using as a guide or compass through the fields. “Do the stars have names?” he asked, so suddenly his companions jumped slightly. “I mean, trees have names, like fig and elm. Are there different types of stars?”

Merry and Sam waited patiently for an answer. Sam of course knew much about the stars, having grown up on tales of the Elves, but he was always eager to hear more. Merry knew a little also but the thought that there were different types of stars had never before occurred to him. He supposed the idea made sense. There were so many stars after all; they couldn’t all be exactly the same.

Frodo slowed the pace slightly as he considered the question and regarded the stars more closely than he had been previously. The one to really answer that question, short of the Elves themselves, was Gandalf, but as the wizard had seemingly disappeared from the Shire for good, there was no chance of asking him.

Finally, Frodo pointed at one particularly bright star, somewhat larger than all the others. “See that one there?” Pippin nodded in answer. “That is Eärendil’s star, and it’s light comes from a Silmaril, beset on the brow of Eärendil the Mariner, and it shines as a beacon of hope to all on Middle-earth as he sails the skies for time eternal.”

“Well done, Frodo,” Merry said with a grin. “Now he has even more questions.”

One look at Pippin proved this declaration to be true. Frodo could almost see the questions whizzing around in the young Took’s head and Frodo knew the only reason for Pippin’s silence was that he was trying to decide which question to ask first.

“Ah, but that’s always the risk of answering a Took,” Frodo said. “You answer one question and get twenty more in return.”

Pippin ignored the teasing, as he had far more important things on his mind. “So then, what’s a Silmaril and what is it hope for? And how can it shine so bright that we can see it all the way down here? How big it is? And who’s Eärendil and why is he sailing around in the skies? And how can you sail in the skies anyhow? Is that what all the stars are then and who or what put them up there?”

Frodo smiled fondly at his youngest friend and started with the first question. This could turn into a long conversation – if Pippin didn’t think of something else to talk about – and it would be a pleasant way to pass the time.

“I do not know the full tale, just pieces of it,” he started. “A Silmaril is a jewel of pure light and it was made by an elf named Fëanor during the First Age. There were three such jewels, made from the light of the Two Trees, and they were the most beloved creation of the Elves. But with their beauty came the greed to possess them, and many battles were fought for them, between the Elves themselves, and the Elves and the Enemy.

“Two of the jewels were lost, but one eventually came to be in the possession of Eärendil, a great warrior of Men. He was Half-Elven actually: his mother was an Elf, but his heart lay in the way of the Men of his father. The battles with the Enemy had reached a peak and all in Middle-earth seemed lost, so Eärendil set sail upon the seas to find the shrouded island of the Valar. With the Silmaril upon his brow, he was able to find his way to Valinor with his wife Elwing, and he beseeched the Valar for help in the wars with the Enemy on behalf of the Two Kindreds.

“The Valar granted his request but as he was mortal, they would not allow him to return to Middle-earth after setting foot on Valinor. Instead, they set him to sail the skies in his great ship, with the Silmaril ever upon his brow, till the end of days. It was the light of that new star that announced the coming of the Valar to Middle-earth that led to the downfall of the Enemy, and the Elves named it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope, and they were relieved, for now the Silmaril could be enjoyed by all and sought by none.

“It was Elbereth, Queen of the Valar, wife of Manwë, who created all the stars, the sun and moon. The stars she created first before any other light, and it was by the light of those stars the Elves first set their eyes upon as they awoke from their slumber and knew life. The Elves revere the stars and She who made them above all else, and that is why the week begins with Sterday, the day of the Stars.”

“So then Eärendil’s a man or an elf, or both?” Pippin said and shook his head. “Doesn’t he ever get hungry, or lonely, or bored? And if he’s mortal, how can he sail the skies until the end of days? Wouldn’t he be dead by now? And if the Silmaril is small enough to be on his brow, then it must be really bright for us to see, so wouldn’t that make him blind? He won’t be able to see where he’s going.”

Merry chuckled. “My thoughts exactly the first time I heard that story, but Frodo insists that it’s true and nothing will get him to say otherwise.”

“That’s because it is true,” Frodo stated easily before considering Pippin’s questions. “Well, as the Silmaril is upon his brow, he can’t actually see it, so I suppose the light doesn’t effect him. He and his wife are both half-elven and it was she who determined the judgment of their fate. She chose to be judged as one of the Noldor, so I suppose that means that Eärendil is now immortal, so he doesn’t need food like we do. Besides, he doesn’t stay in the skies all the time. He returns to Valimar each day to be with his wife, who does not sail with him, though she sometimes takes the shape of a bird and flies out to him as he returns.” Then Frodo smirked and gently nudged Pippin’s shoulder. “And I’m certain he can never be bored with someone like you to look down on and watch whenever he wishes.”

“He can see us?” Merry and Pippin asked together. Then Merry laughed. “Well, as long as he’s up there and can’t possibly tell our parents anything he’s seen, I suppose we’re in the clear.”

“I suppose, but parents have a way of finding things out, and I think yours know more than they let on,” Frodo said. “But he is a father, he is Elrond’s father.”

“Bilbo’s Elrond?” Sam asked, speaking for the first time.

Frodo nodded. “The one and the same.”

“He must be old then,” Pippin said in awe.

“Of course he is,” Merry answered. “He’s an Elf, you nut.”

“No, I mean Eärendil,” Pippin clarified, with a somewhat disconcerting look at Merry. He turned back to Frodo with an expression that meant he didn’t quite believe everything he was hearing. “That’s a nice story and all Frodo, but it all seems rather impossible. And I don’t much like the idea of him looking down and watching us whenever he pleases.”

“I like it,” Sam put in softly. “Just think, no matter where Elrond is, he can always look up and see his folks, just right there.”

“That must be nice,” Frodo said wistfully and looked up at the star with new appreciation. If only he had such a star of his own, for his parents. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and looked back to find Sam regarding him knowingly. They smiled at each other softly; they both knew the feeling of missing a loved one.

“So then how did this Fëanor make the jewels? What are the Two Trees and how do they have light? Trees don’t have a light of their own Frodo,” Pippin continued. Whether he believed the tale or not, he had to admit it was fascinating.

“I don’t know, Pippin,” Frodo answered. “Perhaps you might ask Gandalf the next time he comes for a visit.”

“Gandalf? I’ve all but forgotten what he looks like,” Pippin said and sighed restlessly. “How much farther?” The boredom in his voice was obvious. Without any answers forthcoming, he had quickly tired of the previous conversation. On top of that, his shoulders and back were starting to ache from the pack, and he was, quite frankly, famished. He wasn’t used to being awake so late or walking so long and his stomach was adding to his discomfort.

“Until we get there,” Frodo answered unhelpfully and shared another knowing glance with Sam, who was grinning now.

Merry pulled Pippin in for a brief word, an admonishing one by the sound of his hushed tones. Pippin grew quiet then and the companions walked in silence for a time.

The moon climbed to its zenith and a chilled breeze swept through the plains, bringing refreshing relief to the hobbits. Somewhere overhead, an owl swooped through the sky and in the fields to their right, the grass rustled and the paws of a tiny animal scuttled away. The crickets continued their eternal music and Sam silently pointed out a few of the flowers he thought would look good in the garden. Frodo nodded absently, enjoying the elegant peace of his surroundings and feeling much more relaxed than he had in weeks, even in spite of his unplanned company.

Then Pippin began to hum and then sing an old walking song. He had learned it when he was a wee lad sitting upon his father’s knee, and had not thought of it in a good long while. Perhaps Frodo’s story brought it to his mind now, for there were a few similarities among them that even Sam picked up on. Merry and Frodo knew the song well, but Sam had not heard it before. He listened intently the first time through, as the melody lilted up and down in a jovial, but somewhat plaintive, tone.

With grass ‘neath my feet,
And sky wide above,
With birds in the trees,
The jay, lark and dove;
 
Hum a pretty tune,
Down the lonely lane,
’Till the moon shall rise,
O’er the hill and plain;
 
Then to bed I go,
Under star-filled night,
Sleep in calming peace,
’Till the dawn’s first light;
 
Homeward bound I am,
To yellow round door,
Where my love awaits,
To greet me once more.  

When next shall I walk?
Not ‘till I am old,
I’ll slip ‘way in sleep
Down that final road.
 
Round my grave they’ll come,
But I’ll still be there
To watch over them
With all heart and care.

By that road I’ll wait,
’Till she comes to me,
My sweet bonny lass,
Forever lovely;
 
One by one they will
Come to us my love,
And down eternal road,
We’ll walk in stars above.

Pippin sang it again, and this time his cousins and Sam joined him. After the second round, they sang many other songs, most of them Bilbo’s.

They were now far from any homes, the nearest one being many miles away in any direction. They allowed their voices to rise high and fill the air, and they reveled in the absolute freedom of their untouched surroundings. There was a simple seduction to being surrounded by so much open land, and Merry began to understand why Frodo sought out these fields so often. He almost felt guilty about barging in on his cousin. Almost. He was having far too much fun for the feeling to last very long. If anything, he was berating himself for not thinking of this sooner.

They were making their way through one of the many versions of The Man in the Moon when Frodo broke off and pointed out ahead of them. They looked in the direction he was pointing, and there they saw it, on the shadowy horizon, the dark looming trees of the Bindbole.

Their singing slowly died down and they walked in silence once more. Pippin edged over to walk closer to Merry. He knew, of course, that all the stories one heard about these woods were just folklore and nothing more, but still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive about entering them. It was silly, he knew. After all Frodo would never take them anywhere dangerous, but then again, they weren’t supposed to have been here and they hadn’t exactly given him time to alter his plans.

Merry allowed his cousin to walk near him, and he in fact drifted slightly closer to Frodo, though he kept a good distance between them still. He glanced beyond Frodo at Sam and noticed the gardener had grown suddenly serious. Sam would have heard many stories about Bindbole growing up so near to the forest, probably as many wild and unbelievable tales as folks told of the Old Forest outside Buckland. Maybe he get could some tales out of Sam once they made camp, if the gardener wasn’t feeling too shy.

Sam sensed Merry’s gaze and briefly met it before concentrating on the ground before him again. He was relieved that Mr. Frodo was enjoying himself so far and to be honest, Sam was quite enjoying the trip as well. He knew he should have protested coming rather than readily agree as he did, but he couldn’t deny he was every bit as curious about where his master would go on his walks as Mr. Merry and Master Pippin were. He was also very much eased to know that his master would not be going into those woods alone. He didn’t actually believe any of those nonsense rumors about the forest (or at least, not most of them), but when it came to Mr. Frodo, even the most improbable threat was far too real to be ignored.

Within the hour, they were standing on the brink of the forest. They looked up at the towering figs looming overhead and peered into the pitch-blackness of the woods stretching out before them. ‘It’s no different than the Woody End really,’ Pippin thought and scooted still closer to Merry.

Frodo took the lead and brought them around the edge of the forest until they found the path that was marked upon Bilbo’s map. The path was narrow and allowed only room for them to pass in single file, so Frodo went in first, followed by Merry, then Pippin, and Sam brought up the rear. The tree cover was not so complete along the trail, and thin strands of silvery moonlight trickled through the foliage to dot the ground around them. They were completely quiet, and only the leaves upon the ground made any sound, a soft rustling and crackling as they were pressed flat by deft hobbit feet.

A mile in, just as Frodo had reported, the trail widened so they were two abreast, Frodo and Merry in front, with Sam and Pippin behind them. Then the trail widened again and the trees fell away on either side. Spread out before them was a small glade bathed in moonlight and surrounded on all sides by flowering shrubs and billowing trees. On the other side of the glade, the trail continued on into the heart of the forest, but they would not venture there tonight.

“Sam and I will set up the tent,” Frodo announced. “I only hope it’s big enough for all of us.”

“Pip and I will get firewood,” Merry offered, as Pippin gratefully cast off his pack, then frowned as he was halfway to sitting down. Merry grabbed his hand and pulled him up again. “Come on, Pip, bet I can carry more wood than you.”

“You cannot.”

Soon, four packs were resting in a row on the soft ground, and Frodo and Sam were unrolling the tent while Merry and Pippin went in search of firewood. They did not have to go far into the forest. They only had to gather enough to keep a small fire burning long enough to cook some food, and they certainly did not need a large one to keep them warm. The weather was warm enough as it was, even in the dead of night.

Frodo and Sam had the tent up in no time and they were scratching their heads over the sleeping arrangements when Merry and Pippin returned with an armload each of wood.

“It’s going to be a tight squeeze no matter what we do,” Frodo was saying. “It’s really only big enough to fit two hobbits comfortably. Perhaps I should have left it behind.”

Sam only shrugged. It was clearly too late to think about that, and the tent was here now and set up. It would be a waste not to use it, but he didn’t fancy being squished inside it either.

“I would rather sleep out under the stars myself,” Merry put in as he set to work digging a fire pit and arranging the wood. “We’ll keep the packs and food inside the tent, to keep any animals out of it, and we can sleep out here.”

Frodo considered this and then nodded. “That will work,” he agreed and moved the packs inside. He brought the sleeping rolls back out and lay them about in close proximity to the fire.

Sam said nothing. That wasn’t the proper use of a tent, but who was he to argue? It did settle the problem of being squished quite nicely, though he’d rather be in the tent all the same if something could have been worked out. He didn’t much care for sleeping out in the open.

From the look on Pippin’s face, the youngster rather agreed. He leaned toward Merry and dubiously whispered, “We’re not sleeping in the tent?”

“You wanted an adventure, Pip,” Merry replied. “You’ve got one, along with all the unexpected developments that come with it.”

“This was your idea,” Pippin responded meekly, though what that was supposed to prove was beyond anybody’s guess. It was always Merry’s idea, and Pippin always went along with him, for better or worse. Pippin hadn’t yet decided if this idea would prove to be better or worse. So far it was a strange and delightful mixture of both, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to find out what might happen next.
 
 
 

To be continued…

This chapter makes reference to an incident that happened in “Under the Harvest Moon”.
 
 
 

Chapter 4

Frodo insisted that Sam sit down and rest while he prepared a quick snack for everyone. He had brought travel food naturally, nuts and berries and other such things that can be easily carried in one’s pocket and eaten single-handed without slowing the traveler down. These snacks would come in handy over the next two days, but while they were seated and a fire was burning, Frodo preferred to prepare food. Of course, it being so late in the night, or early in the morning as the case may be, he also preferred something simple and easy.

Frodo rummaged through his pack and found some of the bread and cheese he had packed. He took out his small jackknife and sliced the food into four equal shares. He grabbed a water skin for them all to share as they ate, and returned to the campfire, where he found Merry and Pippin trying to badger stories out of Sam about the forest.

“Come now, Sam,” Merry goaded. “You must have some stories, growing up so close to here.”

Sam blushed under their eager stares and shuffled his feet uncomfortably in the dirt. “Well, they ain’t stories so much as just common talk,” Sam started. “Just things as folk’ll say. But there is one story, about old Nodi Hatcher, who come to these woods and was never seen again.”

“What happened to him?” Pippin asked.

Sam shrugged. “Can’t say, as he was never seen again. But I know some Hatchers up in Overhill and they say as sometimes they can still hear him whistling about the place, just like he did the day he left and that being a hundred years ago or more now. Tale is, he was taking the forest as a shortcut to somewheres, only he never got to where he was going. They reckon he wandered off the paths.”

Merry frowned as he absorbed this information, and Pippin stared down the dark winding path with uncertain eyes. “What other rumors are there?” Merry asked.

“Well, apparently there are hobbit-devouring bogs that will drown you in a heartbeat if you should wander into them,” Frodo said lightly as he sat down and handed everyone their plate. He gave Pippin the water skin first and by turn, they each satisfied their thirst.

“Hobbit-devouring bogs?” Merry asked skeptically and bit into his wedge of cheese.

“So Sam maintains,” Frodo said. “Perhaps that’s what happened to poor unfortunate Nodi.”

“The story’s true, sir,” Sam said in a somewhat wounded voice. “There’s a Nodinas on the Hatcher tree and there’s a notation under his name that he went into Bindbole and was heard of no more. That’s when folk stopped wandering in these woods.”

“Well, the path is safe enough,” Frodo said unconcerned. “And you’ll see flowers in here that you won’t find anywhere else in the Shire.”

“Truly?” Sam asked, perking up.

Frodo nodded and would say no more on the subject. Talk ebbed down as they concentrated on their food and passed the water skin between them.

Another complication of his friends’ coming, though he had not yet mentioned it, was the water supply. Merry and Pippin had brought a skin each for themselves, and Frodo had six of his own which would have been more than enough had no one accompanied him. He knew the water would not hold out and they would have to go in search of some before too long. He also knew there were no direct paths to any water source. He would wait to mention this though, as now was not the time to bring it up, not when his cousins were spooking themselves on nonsense stories.

They finished their meal and Pippin began to yawn, so they retired to their bedrolls. Frodo had arranged them in a line about a yard away from the fire pit, between the fire and the tent. Pippin took the roll between Frodo and Merry and snuggled into the soft folds. He was asleep an instant later. Merry took slightly longer to drift off and Sam was snoring softly soon after.

Frodo watched his three friends sleep and pulled out his pipe. He sat on his sleeping roll and looked up at the stars glowing radiantly overhead. So far, the trip had been pleasantly enjoyable and he sent a silent wish up to the stars that it would remain that way.  

The midmorning sun woke Merry first, and he found his arms full of slumbering Took. At some point during the night, Pippin had awoken and moved himself to his cousin’s bedroll. Merry carefully untangled himself now, and stood up, stretching and yawning. His left arm, which had been trapped beneath Pippin’s rather hard head, was completely numb and Merry shook it out as he stumbled his way to the edge of the glade in search of a place to relieve himself.

When he returned to camp, his arm still tingling sharply, he realized they needed more wood for the breakfast fire. He went back to the edge of the glade and gathered an armload of branches and twigs. After a couple of such trips, he arranged the wood on the fire pit and got the tinder ready, but he would not light the fire until everyone was awake and ready to eat.

Wondering how long he had slept, he pulled out his pocket watch. It was now nearing ten o’clock, and they couldn’t have gone to bed until a couple of hours after midnight at least. However long he had slept, he did not feel adequately rested, and he had acquired a crick in his back from sleeping on the ground. Whatever seduction the road held for Frodo, Merry rationalized this could not be part of it.

Sam was the next to awaken, and after answering nature’s call, he wasted no time in starting the fire and heating up a bit of water to wash up with. He went into the tent and brought out some sausages and onions for frying, as well as more cheese and bread and another water skin to complete the morning meal.

“Let me help you with that, Sam,” Merry offered.

“No need to, Mr. Merry. I’ve got it under control,” Sam said.

“I don’t doubt that, but let me help you anyway. I’d feel foolish sitting here and doing nothing,” Merry insisted and took over chopping the onions before Sam could say another word about it. Sam had brought a small flask of cooking oil and Merry poured some of this on the onions to sauté them. He was just wishing for some pepper to season them with when Sam produced this as well.

“Did I say you were a wonder before?” Merry said. “I think I understated the fact.” He took the pepper from Sam and sprinkled this over the onions.

Sam seemed to accept Merry’s help after that, or at least realized there was no point in trying to stave him off. They prepared the meal together, keeping the conversation on the task at hand. Merry attempted a few times to bring up other, more casual topics, but Sam would only nod politely and return the subject to the cooking.

It was a sad fact for Merry that he and Sam long ago stopped being friends, back when Sam was preparing to take over the gardens from his father. It had suddenly become improper for them to be friends, especially following The Incident, and over the years they had become little more than acquaintances. But now that the gardener was of age, and Merry very nearly so, it was Merry’s intention to remedy that distance between them. He just wasn’t quite sure how to go about it yet, as every attempt he made, Sam would side step around it, keeping to propriety out of habit. Even Frodo complained about this at times, so Merry knew this would be no easy task.

“So how are May and Marigold?” Merry asked now, making yet another attempt.

“They’re fine, sir,” Sam answered. “May’s settled into her home and Marigold’s doing well also.”

“I forgot May got married. She and her husband live nearby?”

“In Needlehole. Here, sir, let me stir that up a bit. A shame I didn’t think to bring any mushrooms. That would go good in here.”

“Maybe I could find some,” Merry offered. “There’s no one in the Shire better at scavenging mushrooms than me. Except maybe Frodo.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, sir. This will do just fine. But if you really want some, I could go look,” Sam said.

“No, that’s all right,” Merry said with a sigh, then grinned. “Frodo would likely eat the whole bunch and then we’d have nothing but water to get us by.”

Sam smirked but said nothing at this. He easily took the pan from Merry and stirred the contents. He checked the bread, which he had sliced for making breakfast sandwiches with the sausage, onions and some melted cheese, and had laid on some rocks near the fire for toasting. Merry sat back and watched, carefully considering his next step.

Pippin woke then, the smell of the food far too enticing for his stomach to allow him to keep sleeping any longer. He stared cautiously into the woods and squirmed. He bit his lip and glanced quickly at Merry, who hardly noticed he was even awake. Pippin took a deep breath, jumped out of the sleeping roll and dashed off to the edge of the glade, his bladder nearly bursting. When he came back – rather quickly had anyone taken notice – he washed up and grabbed his plate, ready to eat. He sat by the fire and waited impatiently as Sam lingered over the final preparations.

Sam finally declared the meal ready and Pippin eagerly held out his plate. Sam served him, and then Merry and himself, leaving a generous portion for his master whenever he eventually awakened.

After eating, Merry and Pippin went to explore around the edges of the glade. In the light of day and in each other’s company, the forest did not seem nearly so perilous as it had last night. There were large patches of sunlight filtering through the trees all about them, and yet there was still plenty of shade to hide from the climbing summer heat.

At first, they stayed within sight of camp, but they gradually forgot precaution and wandered farther into the woods, their walking sticks ever before them. Merry was careful not to lose themselves and they quite enjoyed their stroll. They discovered other, smaller paths, long ago grown over with vegetation but still present all the same. There had at one time been many routes through the forest but over the years, as the rumors grew, only the more traveled paths continued to be trod and the rest were forgotten or avoided.

They noticed also many patches of thick brush that could not be passed through, a veritable wall of foliage, and there were many shrubs and plants with long, thick needles protruding out dangerously and groups of thistles in unexpected places. Pippin wandered too close to one such bush and smarted his hand upon a needle. His hand instantly began to itch and turned red, and Merry was luckily able to find an aloe plant to soothe the sting. After that, they called it a day and turned back the way they had come.

By the time they returned to camp, Frodo was awake and he and Sam had moved the fire to the shaded path. They were fixing a late lunch of chopped vegetables, and some various berries and a couple of eggs they had found on their own explorations. They took their time eating, and then Pippin and Merry cleaned the dishes as Frodo and Sam took down the tent and packed up their gear. The sun was sinking below the treetops by the time they shouldered their packs and set off on the next leg of their hike.

Even waiting until so late in the day to begin, they were soon sweating from the heat and the burden of their packs. They wisely did not attempt to wear any jackets or vests, and after a time, they undid the first few buttons of their shirts to let in some air. Sam fared better than them all, being used to laboring in the heat, and Frodo fared well also, being accustomed to hiking with a heavy load on his back. Merry and Pippin however soon lagged behind, and they took sips from their water skins to stave off thirst. Merry didn’t worry about falling behind though. If anything, he saw this as the perfect opportunity to question Pippin about his confounding subjugation to Sam when it came to food.

“So Pip,” Merry began casually, “I noticed yesterday at tea that you didn’t sneak any food, just as Sam asked.”

Pippin only nodded. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled absently, too absorbed in looking for more bird nests in the trees to really pay attention.

“When Aunt Tina tells you not to eat, you sneak food anyway,” Merry continued.

“Of course I do,” Pippin said, now confused about where this conversation was going. “That’s part of the game. We all do it. Well, Pimmie doesn’t anymore, and Pearl is a mum now herself, so I don’t imagine she still does either. But Vinca does, and she always trying to sneak more food than I do.”

“But you listen to Sam, even though you don’t have to,” Merry stressed.

Pippin shrugged. “It’s not much of a game with him. Besides, you listen to him too.”

“I do, but I listen to my own mother as well,” Merry pointed out. “You however seem only to listen to Sam.”

Pippin paused for the briefest of moments and shot a quick, perplexed glance at his cousin. “What’s this about, Merry?” Pippin asked at last.

“I just want to know why is all,” Merry said.

“Know why about what?”

“Why you listen to Sam when he tells you not to eat.”

Pippin shrugged again. “It’s the polite thing to do,” he said, trying to sound dignified.

Merry snorted, not buying the act for a second. “No, I think not. There’s a story behind it and I want to know what it is.”

“There’s no story,” Pippin said, keeping his eyes on the path before them. He snuck a quick glance at Sam walking up ahead, and Merry took note of this.

“There is too,” Merry countered. Not the most intelligent argument, granted, but when arguing with Pippin, one had to make adjustments.

“There is not.”

“Is too.”

“No.”

“Pippin.”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Tell me what happened.”

“I would, but there’s nothing to tell.”

Merry stewed for a couple of minutes. He couldn’t believe Pippin was actually refusing to tell him anything. Pippin always told him everything he ever asked to know. Merry was even more intrigued and determined now to know the story behind this little mystery. “Very well, I’ll just ask Sam. He’ll have to tell me,” Merry said smugly.

Pippin sighed and refrained from rolling his eyes. “Why would he tell you anything?”

“Because, I’m one of his ‘betters’ remember? If I ask him something, he’ll have to answer.”

“Nonsense, he would not. Besides, I thought you wanted to try to be his friend again. How do you hope to do that if you’re going to pull rank over him?” Pippin pointed out and smiled coyly. He had scored a point and he knew it.

Merry fumed some more. Now he was positive there was a story behind all of this, and he was frustrated with trying to find a way to discover what it was. At last, he smiled and said, “Then I’ll ask Frodo.”

“Ask him then,” Pippin said unconcerned, knowing Frodo would be just as clueless as Merry. Whether Merry believed it or not, Frodo didn’t know everything his gardener did.

Merry frowned now, knowing too well what that tone in Pippin’s voice meant. What if he never found out the story?

Up ahead, Frodo was reminiscing with Sam about his first trip through Bindbole with Bilbo.

“We followed this very path. It snakes all the way up and around in a winding ‘U’ before being crossed by another path that cuts diagonally through the forest and lets out a mile from where we entered,” Frodo explained, using his hands to draw the paths in the air.

Sam didn’t have much of a mind for maps, but he was heartened to learn that his master knew so much about the forest. Perhaps he had been worrying for nothing after all.

“Did you and Mr. Bilbo camp in that wee glade also?” Sam asked.

“We did,” Frodo confirmed. “We sat around the fire that night and he told me some of his adventure with the dwarves, about the trolls appropriately enough. I had heard the story numerous times before that of course, but it was the first time I had heard it while actually camping out in the woods. It rather spooked me to be honest,” he said and then added, “but of course nothing ever happened.”

“Of course not, sir,” Sam replied, taking the hint.

Then Frodo laughed, suddenly remembering something else from that trip. “Did you know, I wasn’t supposed to be there either?” he said. “That was the first spring I spent with Bilbo after my parents’ death and it had been rather short notice for him. He even considered canceling the hike, until he realized how miserable it made me that he was having to alter all his plans for me.”

“Was that your first spring?” Sam asked, thinking back. He had been quite young when Frodo first started visiting Bag End and he didn’t remember much of those first few springs.

“It was indeed,” Frodo said, a hint of nostalgia – and bitterness – in his voice. “I’ll never forget that first spring. In many ways, it was both the worst and the best time of my life.”

“How’s that? If you don’t mind my asking,” Sam said and looked over at his master. He could usually guess what his master was thinking or feeling simply by looking at him, but on this occasion, the mixture of emotions was hard to decipher.

“I was fifteen at the time,” Frodo started, remembering more and more of that year. It had been a long time since he had thought of it at all. “I was misbehaving quite a lot, disappearing, running off, raiding farms and whatnot, and lying about it all of course. Esmeralda and I were constantly at heads, which naturally upset Merry. He was just a bairn still and didn’t understand what was going on whenever we would start yelling. Saradoc could hardly get a handle on me either and Uncle Rory was constantly sending me to Uncle Dodi and Aunt Del for punishments. They were forever giving me the most horrible chores to complete, and I was forever shirking them and sneaking off whenever they took their eyes off me for even a second. Finally, Uncle Rory had enough and sent me packing to Bilbo with a note to keep me there until I learned some manners.”

“I never knew any of that,” Sam said, shocked to hear such things about his master. He wasn’t sure what to make of it really, but he was more than a bit upset at Mr. Frodo’s relatives for being so rough on him. As far as Sam was concerned, Mr. Frodo had never been anything but the perfect gentlehobbit, despite what his master had just told him.

“Not even Merry knows any of that,” Frodo admitted. “It’s water under the bridge now as they say, and it was for the best in the long run. Not that I was entirely kind to Bilbo that first month, but he got me straightened out in the end, didn’t he?”

“You’ve always been more than kind, sir,” Sam said.

Frodo only shook his head. “Trust me, I wasn’t. I was a scoundrel to be honest, one of the worst.”

They fell into silence then, each lost in his own thoughts, until Merry and Pippin caught up with them. “So, how far are we walking tonight?” Pippin asked. “And isn’t it time for tea and dinner yet?”

“I suppose that’s our cue to take a rest,” Frodo said with a relieved smile at his cousin. He was glad to have more practical matters to think about rather than brooding unnecessarily over events long past. “Let’s go a little bit farther. If memory serves correct, there should be a place up ahead we can sit comfortably and have a bite to eat.”

They continued forward in the slowly gathering dusk and reached the resting spot quicker than Frodo expected. They took their time eating, and Merry and Pippin had a fine time running in and around the many vines that hung down from the trees here. Try as they might, they couldn’t convince Sam to join them, and Frodo took advantage of their distraction to make a quick and discrete survey of their water supply. He estimated they had enough to last them the night, but they would have to look for some more come morning.

For the time being, they rested peacefully and sang many songs, and did not continue their march again until after dinner, when the sun was dipping under the distant hills and the heat was not so great. Pippin’s hand was itching again by then and he was hard pressed to keep from scratching it. Sam finally produced a bit of honey and used that to soothe the sting of the itch and keep off infection, then wrapped a handkerchief tightly around Pippin’s hand. Merry just shook his head in silent wonder. Cooking oil, pepper, honey: no one other than Sam would think to bring such things on a hiking trip.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 5

They camped that night just off the path in a circle of fig trees. The dark was not so complete here as it was elsewhere in the forest and they could glimpse small patches of the nighttime sky through the foliage above. Pippin was relieved for the little bit of light that reached them, but he was disappointed that these trees didn’t have any vines to play with. Not far in the distance a family of owls was calling into the night and in the bushes surrounding them, small animals could be heard rustling about in the underbrush.

Frodo again took charge of setting up the tent and storing their gear inside with Sam’s help, and Merry and Pippin again assumed the job of gathering firewood. Once everything was settled and the fire was crackling, Frodo and Merry prepared a quick snack while Sam and Pippin laid out the sleeping rolls in between the various tree roots where the ground was relatively smooth. After they ate and satisfied their stomachs, the older hobbits pulled out their pipes to enjoy a smoke while Pippin looked on in yearning.

“It’s not fair,” he complained. “I think I’m old enough to smoke.”

“Of course you are,” Merry humored him. “Just like you were old enough to have ale at last year’s Harvest Celebration.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Pippin quickly defended himself. “Fatty put bourbon in the ale, in case you forgot. An ale all by itself wouldn’t have affected me like that, I’m certain.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard this story,” Frodo said, curious to hear more. He had difficulty imagining Fatty sneaking ale to Pippin, much less spiked ale, unless Fatty had been drunk himself at the time. Yet Harvest in the Tookland tended to be a wild time and almost anything was possible. This could prove to be an interesting tale.

“You don’t need to hear it,” Pippin said hastily and shot Merry a warning glance. “It’s really rather dull.”

“Dull?” Frodo said doubtfully.

“Only if you consider mooning Aunt Amber and Aunt Heather dull,” Merry said casually.

“You didn’t!” Frodo laughed in shock as Sam gawked wide-mouthed at the young Took and Merry grinned innocently.

Pippin blushed bright red and crossed his arms with a pout. “I wasn’t the only one. Ferdi and Everard did it too. They talked me into it.”

Now Frodo doubled over with laughter, clutching his side, his eyes watering. He could just picture the scene now. If he had thought his Aunt Dora was the stuffiest and most rigid hobbitess in all the Shire, he had been corrected upon meeting his cousins Amber Took Lightfoot and Heather Took Brockhouse. The elderly matrons were forever serious and stern, and they must have nearly died of shock to suddenly find themselves confronted with such a sight.

“And that’s not all,” Merry said when Frodo finally caught his breath and was wiping the tears from his eyes. “After Uncle Pally put him in his room to sleep it off, he snuck out and mpfh…”

He was abruptly cut off by Pippin, who had all but leaped over the fire and smacked his hand over his cousin’s mouth. This only succeeded in making Merry dissolve into giggles. Merry tried to get away from his cousin, but Pippin had a firm hold. “So Frodo,” Pippin said, still blushing fiercely, “I imagine you must have numerous stories of our Merry here. Let’s hear some of them.”

Merry finally dodged away from Pippin’s hand and scoffed at his younger cousin through his giggles. “I’ll have you know, I was a perfectly behaved child before you came along.”

Now it was Pippin’s turn to laugh. “Perfectly behaved?” he said. “Please Merry, you’re amongst friends. None of us are going to believe that.”

“Very well, but I was nowhere near as bad as you are,” Merry said and leaned toward Frodo, out of Pippin’s immediate reach. “I, for one, never would have mistaken Reginard’s leg for a tree while in a drunken stupor and taken a leak all over him.”

“Merry!” Pippin intoned indignantly while Frodo doubled over with laughter again. Sam did his best to keep a straight face and for the most part succeeded.

“What?” Merry asked innocently, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Pippin turned to Frodo, who was merely chuckling now. “So, Frodo? What about Merry? What sorts of things has he done?”

Frodo gave a few more chuckles, then concentrated on finding the perfect story to both make Pippin feel better and get Merry back for his scheming about this trip. If Merry wanted to come camping with Frodo, he would have to put up with everything that comes with it as well, including embarrassing childhood stories. “I do remember one story involving an aunt of mine,” Frodo said and laughed at the memory.

“What story?” Merry asked, baffled. Frodo had three aunts on his mother’s side and Merry knew that any story involving them would be horribly embarrassing, as Merry’s grandmother Menegilda and great aunts Asphodel and Amaranth were stern and proper in their own right, even if they were not so stuffy as Amber and Heather.

Frodo cleared his throat of his last few giggles and sat up to tell the tale. “You had just learned to walk and had quickly moved onto running. You must have been three or so, and just as every child that age, you constantly had your hands into everything, eagerly exploring whatever came into your path.

“We were out in the stables one morning watching the mares nurse their young. You were absolutely fascinated by it and I’m afraid to say I allowed myself to become a bit lax in my vigilance of you. I started talking to one of the stable lads about how he was enjoying his apprenticeship to Brandy Hall. He was new and still didn’t know very many of the lads his age yet. We got to talking about Brockenborings where he came from when we heard some of the other stable lads yelling in horror.”

And here Merry groaned, for he suddenly remembered where this story was going. It had been so long since anyone had told this tale, Merry had gratefully allowed himself to forget it ever happened. Of course, he couldn’t really remember it for himself anyway, but as long as everyone else seemed to forget about it, Merry happily had let it slip completely from his knowledge.

Frodo only grinned and continued without pause. “I looked down, and sure enough, you’ve taken off and you had discovered the most amazing thing upon the stable floor. I suppose you thought it was mud of some sort, smelly, warm mud, not at all anything you were used to, and you had wasted no time in starting to play with it and smearing it all over your hands and arms.”

“You mean he…” Pippin started.

Frodo nodded. “He had pony dung all over him. When he saw the reaction he was getting from the stable lads, he thought it was a game and went chasing after all of them. They were running away as fast as they could, climbing up into the haylofts or darting behind stable doors, and Merry was just pealing with laughter. Of course, all that commotion attracted much attention, and folk started coming into the stables to see what was going on.”

Now Merry was blushing furiously and he hid his face in his hands and groaned again.

Frodo started laughing again, so hard he had difficulty getting through the last of the story. He had to stop every few seconds to catch his breath and attempt to suppress his giggles. “So, there Merry was… dashing after everyone… and everyone darting out of his way… including me naturally… when who should come… around the corner… and get a sticky, smelly Merry… running full speed into her… brand new frock?”

“Who?” Pippin asked, already snickering uncontrollably.

Frodo gulped for air and managed to regain enough control to say, “None other than Aunt Menegilda.”

Pippin burst into sidesplitting laughter and Sam struggled not to grin too widely and to keep his shoulders from shaking. Merry pulled his shirt up over his face.

For a long time, all Frodo and Pippin could do was laugh and many minutes passed before Frodo calmed down enough to continue. “She was furious,” Frodo said breathlessly, remembering how the Mistress of the Hall had pulled Merry by the ear screaming and crying through the tunnels back to Saradoc’s apartment. “When Uncle Rory found out, you could hear him roaring with laughter clear into the dining hall. The stable lads came up with a rather humorous nickname for you after that, which I will not repeat here, and none of us could go anywhere for weeks without everyone wanting a recount. And I must say, you rather enjoyed all the attention.”

Pippin collapsed helplessly on his side, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, and Sam was having great difficulty keeping his muffled laughter respectfully quiet. Merry finally showed his face and tried valiantly to look aloof, failing miserably. When everyone finally recovered, many minutes later, Merry quickly turned the subject of conversation back onto Pippin. He knew he wouldn’t be able to top that story, but he could at least steer them toward less embarrassing tales.

“I remember when you were first learning to run,” Merry said to his younger cousin. “Aunt Tina had a special weskit made for you, with the buttons up the back so you couldn’t get out of it on your own. Then she had a loop attached to the middle of the back, and there she would fasten a rope and tie you down so you couldn’t scuttle off and disappear on her or your sisters.

“This worked marvelously at first, until you grew up a bit more and eventually figured out how to unknot the rope yourself. Naturally, that was also the same day your mother was busy preparing first breakfast for your grandparents, who were visiting at the time, and she had us all doing various chores about the house. So there wasn’t really anyone watching you, but as you were tied down, she didn’t think it a concern.

“I was hiding behind the settee so I wouldn’t have to do any chores, which meant I also had to hide from you or you’d have given me away, and I saw the whole thing. You untied yourself from the table leg and jumped up and started roaming about the parlor. Whenever you heard someone coming to check on you, you would dash back to where you were supposed to be and wrap the rope back around the table leg and sit there innocent as can be. When you realized that no one noticed you were untied, you saw your opportunity for freedom and took it.

“You dashed out the door when one of the farm hands came in to deliver the daily eggs, and what an alarm it raised! Soon everyone was outside, chasing after you and you were just tearing down the rows as fast as your feet could carry you. The farm hands, your sisters and I were constantly leaping after you, grabbing for the rope and missing every time. The only reason we were able to catch you at all was because you got hungry, stopped to pluck some berries off a bush and the rope got tangled in the branches.”

“Beaten by your own stomach,” Frodo added with a laugh. “I remember that weskit, and that rope always reminded me of a leash. I used to call you Puppy. I’d clap my hands on my knees and say ‘come here Puppy, come here little Puppy’ and you would come dashing over with your arms wide open, a big grin on your face.”

Pippin looked at Frodo, aghast at the idea. “You did not.”

“He did,” Merry chuckled, remembering that also. “You were the only ‘puppy’ Frodo didn’t object to being around. You would even get on all fours and wag your rump in the air and bark.”

“I would not,” Pippin said.

“You would too,” Frodo said, laughing again. “We even got you to eat from your plate off the floor once, before Aunt Tina found us out.”

“I did not do that!” Pippin said hotly, blushing again.

Merry nodded, laughing hard. “You did. You thought it was the best game ever.”

“Did you have any nicknames for Merry?” Pippin asked then. “Did you ever make him do anything like that?”

To Merry’s shock and surprise, Frodo nodded. “Merry was constantly tagging along after me everywhere I went. So I started calling him my Merry Shadow. This somehow got shortened to Meadow, and I would say, ‘let’s go to the meadow, Meadow’ and Merry would jump up and down and grab the throw from the settee and go dashing out the door for our picnics.”

Merry frowned slightly. “Mother still calls me that sometimes. I can’t stand it. I didn’t know you were the one who started that.”

Frodo shrugged. “It was more pleasant than the name the stable lads came up with.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Merry said and restrained himself from asking what that nickname was. If Frodo didn’t wish to supply it, it must truly be in poor taste.

“What did you make him do?” Pippin asked.

“Well, it’s not funny really. Actually, it caused quite a huge row between Esmeralda and I. Once, when Merry was seven, he tried to follow me when I went out on one of my walks that inevitably lasted all day and night and into the next day. He didn’t like that I would always disappear and he got it in his head one day to tag along after me. I hate to admit it, but I knew he was following, so I walked quickly to lose him, thinking that he would just give up and turn back to the Hall. Well, he didn’t of course. He kept on walking even long after he lost sight of me, and wound up outside Cousin Milo’s house, crying at the top of his lungs. He had the Hall in quite an uproar looking for him, and of course I got an earful when I eventually got back. Esmeralda was furious and Saradoc was nearly beside himself with what might have happened to you because of my carelessness.”

“I remember that,” Merry said. “You wouldn’t talk to me for a week after. It was horrible.”

“I didn’t talk to anyone after that,” Frodo said. “And I was afraid to leave the Hall again for quite awhile. That’s when I got in the habit of sneaking out after you had gone to sleep.”

They grew silent and forlorn. Sam held his breath, not wanting to move or make any sound that would disrupt their contemplation, but Pippin had no such holdbacks. “So, did you ever make him do anything funny?” he asked.

Frodo and Merry laughed, relieved to have the tension broken. Frodo searched his memories, knowing there had to be something he could relate. Finally, he grinned and said, “I did actually. We were digging through one of the mathom rooms and we found some old clothes that were his size. He must have been four or five at the time. I told him they were lad’s clothes from hundreds of years ago and convinced him to change into them. Then I told him to go show his mother. So he went running up and down the tunnels looking for her, not understanding why everyone was laughing and gawking at the sight of him.”

“What was he wearing?” Pippin asked.

“Some lass’s underclothes. And a bonnet. He cried when Esmeralda took them away.”

“Is that why Uncle Dino used to call me Wee Bonny Merry?” Merry asked huffily.

Frodo nodded. “It was.”

“I thought he was just being senile. When we get back to Bag End, I’m going to write down all the nicknames I’ve ever been called and you’re going to tell me which ones are because of you,” Merry said, his arms crossed. Then his eyes widened. “Hold on. When Uncle Dino would call me Merryless, did he really mean…?”

“Merry Lass,” Frodo snickered shamelessly. Pippin was laughing uncontrollably again.

“Now this is hardly fair,” Merry complained crossly. “There must be some embarrassing stories about you Frodo. There has to be, but the only ones who know about those are you, Bilbo and my parents.”

Frodo only smiled innocently and Sam wisely refrained from making eye contact with any of the cousins. He did have a few stories about his master that he was positive Merry and Pippin would pay dearly to hear – if either of them had any money – but Sam would never divulge them. If Frodo wanted his cousins to know, he would tell them himself. For the time being, Sam enjoyed simply observing the cousins’ easy bantering and reminiscing, and they seemed for the most part to forget he was even there.

The cousins next began recalling various pranks and jokes they had pulled over the years on unsuspecting relatives. Frodo recalled the Yule prank on Merry and Pippin that he had helped Pippin’s sisters with. Merry and Pippin told of a prank they had played on Estella one day when they were visiting Fatty. Pippin and Fatty had distracted her while Merry slipped into the bath and added some food coloring to her bathing soap, and that had made for quite an interesting evening. But ever since Estella had planted that kiss on Merry a few years back, Merry had been spending most of his time running away and hiding from her. Of course, that didn’t stop him from yanking down Gordibrand’s pants when he showed up at Pervinca’s last birthday party as Estella’s escort.

They continued on the topic of pranks and jokes long into the night, until Pippin’s eyes started to droop and Merry started to yawn every few seconds. Frodo snuffed out the fire embers with some dirt and they turned in then, slipping into the sleeping rolls and maneuvering themselves around until they found a relatively comfortable position. One by one, they drifted off to blissful slumber, smiles on their resting faces, wrapped in the warmth of their sleeping rolls and the crisp night air.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 6

The trees provided shade from the unrelenting sun and gave relief from the sweltering heat, so that it was again nearing mid-morning before anyone awoke.
 
Sam stirred first and gathered more firewood and began the morning meal while he thought in quiet reflection. So far, this trip was nothing like he had expected. When Mr. Frodo had asked him along, he figured he would be taking care of all the cooking and other such preparations, yet that was not what happened. Mr. Frodo had easily assumed an equality of duties among the four companions and his cousins had fallen quickly in line. Sam made no complaints, but he was beginning to wonder why his master had wanted him to come if it was not to see after things.

And then there had been last night. He didn’t mind being ignored. In fact, he preferred it to having to scramble frantically through his head for stories and being the center of such expectant attention. But he had felt like an intruder, hearing all those family tales, like he was one of them when he was not, learning things he had no right to know. He could well imagine what his father would think of all this camaraderie.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He had allowed himself to get caught up in the moment last night, but he would be mindful not to do so again. Despite what his father might think, Sam had not forgotten his boundaries altogether and he could remain within them. He would not step out of line again.

Merry woke next and again found his arms full of a peacefully sleeping Pippin. He untangled himself with a small shake of his head at his young friend and joined Sam. He was glad to find the two of them alone again. This would give him another opportunity to get back on friendly – truly friendly – terms with Sam. For of course, Sam was always properly friendly to everyone, even the loathsome Sackville-Bagginses, but Merry wanted more than that. He wanted to be able to confide in Sam, the same as he did Frodo and Pippin, and he wanted Sam to feel free to do likewise.

“Here Sam, let me help you with that,” Merry offered and started to reach for the frying pan.

Sam shook his head. “No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Merry. I’ve got everything under control.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“Really, Mr. Merry, I’ve got it handled,” Sam insisted. “You don’t need to be helping, it ain’t proper.”

“Not proper?” Merry said lightly. “Now what’s not proper about wanting to help a friend?”

“Nothing, but…” Sam didn’t finish the sentence and trailed off to an uncomfortable silence. He didn’t need to finish. The thought hung palpably in the air between them, stinging sorely. But we aren’t friends.

Sam returned to his cooking, stirring hastily and avoiding Merry’s gaze. He kept his head bent and poured all his attention into the skillet in his hand. He could feel Merry watching him intently and tried his best to act normally. He didn’t like the distance between them any more than Merry did, but there were some things that should not be tempted and his friendship with Merry had landed him into more trouble than he cared to remember.

Merry clenched his jaw in frustration and took a slow, deep breath while reminding himself that he already knew this was going to be difficult. Naturally, he hadn’t thought it would be this difficult. He felt like he was constantly running into a brick wall. Another thing he was learning on this trip about the gardener was that Sam could be incredibly stubborn. Merry could be even more stubborn though and he was not about to give up. He waited a few minutes, then tried a different approach.

“It occurs to me that you didn’t get to tell any stories last night, Sam,” he said. “We shouldn’t have hogged the floor like that; it was incredibly rude of us and I apologize.”

Sam shrugged without looking up. “Oh, ‘tis all right Mr. Merry. I didn’t have aught interesting to say anyhow.”

“Come now, I find that impossible,” Merry said. “Everyone has stories.”

“Aye, that we do, but you ain’t knowing any of my friends is all. They wouldn’t be very interesting to you, I don’t think,” Sam explained.

“Well then, tell me about your friends,” Merry said and tried not to show his concern when Sam cast him a doubtful, questioning look. He waited until Sam stirred the contents in the frying pan and added peppers to the mix. “I met your friend Robin once, and I’ve met Tom a few times. I met his siblings at the Birthday Party, remember? We had fun that day, playing all those games,” Merry supplied. “Pippin and I, you and your sisters, Tom, Jolly and… the other two brothers.”

“Nick and Nibs, sir.”

“Right, I knew that. And his sister Rosie. I understand that you have a fondness for Rosie. Are you going to start courting her now that you’re of age?”

“She’s twenty-eight, sir,” Sam said so quietly Merry could barely hear him. He shifted restlessly and there was a crinkle now in his brow as he single-mindedly diced the sausages into small bits and added them to the pan. Then he gazed up at the treetops and easily changed the subject. “Too bad I couldn’t have brought any more of those eggs with us. That’d be right fine in this dish, but eggs ain’t something as you can carry about too easy and these trees here are far too tall to be climbing to look for any. I could of brought taters from home though, I suppose, and we’re out of onions now. Should of brought a few more of those as well.”

Merry nodded absently, gazing up at the trees also, not looking for eggs or bird nests but sending up a silent request for some way to break through that wall Sam had built up. Clearly, beating around the bush wasn’t going to work. He’d have to come straight out and say it. “Sam, I want us to be friends again.”

Sam paused in his inspection of the trees and looked sharply at Merry, the shock evident in his eyes. Only the sizzling of the food finally got him moving again. He went back to his stirring, not sure at all how to respond to what Merry had said. In the end, he simply muttered, “It wouldn’t be proper, sir.”

“So we’re back to proper again, are we?” Merry asked and he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. He felt more frustrated than he had in years and he suddenly pitied Frodo with what his cousin must have to put up with day in and day out. … Frodo! “You’re friends with Frodo,” Merry pointed out.

“He’s my employer,” Sam replied, the doubtful, questioning crease returning to his eyebrows.

“So you’re only his friend because you have to be?”

“Of course not,” Sam said, clearly insulted.

“But don’t you see? If you can be his friend, you can be mine,” Merry stressed. “I know we stopped being friends years ago and I know that’s largely my fault. I got you in trouble with your Gaffer and he no doubt told you to keep clear of me for your own good. But it’s different now. We’re older, we can make our own decisions about who our friends are.”

Sam was truly miserable now, but he tried his best not to show it. Letting Mr. Merry see how uncomfortable he was wouldn’t help Sam’s position or make what he was about to say any easier on either of them.

“Not all of us are so free in our decisions, sir, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Of course you are. Everyone’s free to make their own decisions. We’re no different from each other in that respect,” Merry replied.

Sam finally met his eyes and held the gaze long and steady. Then he shook his head ever so slightly. “Meaning no disrespect, but you’re in the position where you can be saying that, sir. I’m not. That’s what makes us different.”

Merry stopped at this, caught off guard by such a calm and sad proclamation. He knew what Sam said was true. He also knew it was ridiculous. And he knew there was no way around it. They came from two different spheres of the social classes, and with that came different rules, different customs, different traditions and expectations, different ways of seeing the world and interacting with those in it, even different ways of dressing and talking. Merry remembered sharply the day a few years back when he had teased Frodo about ‘spending too much time with the gardener.’ Frodo had been visiting Brandy Hall and had lingered behind in the library, promising to “catch you up” in a few minutes. Merry cringed now to think about it and hoped desperately Sam had not heard about that quip.

“Good morning!” a cheerful Tookish lilt greeted, interrupting the strained silence. He plopped down next to Merry, oblivious of the tension into which he had broken. He sniffed the air and licked his lips in anticipation. “Is it almost ready? I’m starving.”

“It’s just about finished, Master Pippin.”

“I wonder what Frodo has planned for today,” Pippin said. “Exploring again, I suppose. Do you know what it is Sam?”

“I don’t, sir,” Sam answered as he placed some slices of bread near the fire for toasting.

“Come on, Pippin,” Merry said suddenly and abruptly stood. “Let’s get more wood.” He walked away at a quick, stiff pace, and Pippin scrambled to follow him.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh when they were out of eyesight. He had never been happier to see Master Pippin awake and he hoped the topic wouldn’t come up again, but knowing Mr. Merry, it most likely would. He would have to think hard about what Mr. Merry had said.  

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Merry complained to Pippin once they were an adequate distance from camp.

Pippin didn’t need more of an explanation than that. He hummed sympathetically and hurried to keep up with Merry, who was walking blindly through the trees, not even attempting to look for firewood.

“It’s as if he doesn’t trust me enough to be my friend. He never has, not since… well, he just never has,” Merry continued as he crashed thoughtlessly through the bushes.

“Well, you are the one who set the bonfires ablaze and nearly burnt up half the Party Field,” Pippin reminded needlessly. “Sam took quite a few lashings for that.”

“I know that, Pippin,” Merry seethed.

That memory was still too painfully shameful to think about even after all these years, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and continued stomping through the forest until he came to a wall of brush too thick to storm through. He came to an abrupt halt and Pippin nearly collided with him. Merry frowned angrily at the bushes, as if they had materialized there simply to get in his way. He turned left and continued his reckless stomping until he came to another wall, and then another and another. Finally, he found a rock and sat down upon it dejectedly.

“But that was years ago,” Merry said at last. “Shouldn’t he have, I don’t know…”

“Forgotten about it?” Pippin supplied.

“Forgiven me?” Merry whispered with a defeated sigh. Then a moment later, he jumped up and started pacing back and forth. “It’s just so frustrating, the way we wander back and forth between being almost friends and being barely more than acquaintances.”

There had been many times over the years since that dreadful Harvest Moon Dance when Merry believed that the rift between him and Sam could be mended. Until the next day arrived or the following visit came around, and Merry found to his consternation and chagrin that Sam had distanced himself yet again.

“Take Bilbo’s Birthday Party for instance,” Merry went on. “Not even a year after that little fire and on the same exact field no less! You were there, you know. We played all those games with Sam and his sisters and friends, and no one even batted an eye about ‘improper’ anything. And what about that time we all four went to Michel Delving for the Free Fair? No one cared; there was no talk about Sam trying to be ‘above himself.’ He didn’t seem to mind being our friend then. Why does it matter now? Why is it only acceptable when there’s some sort of festivity or event?”

Pippin stood back and watched his cousin silently. He knew that when Merry got like this, it was best to be quiet and to just let him rant until the storm had run its course. The only thing that was required on his part was to occasionally offer an “I’m sorry Merry” or another such comforting phrase when his cousin paused to draw breath.

Only this time, he said, “Have you ever asked him to?”

“Hmm?” Merry said distractedly. He stopped pacing and stared at Pippin blankly. “Asked him to what?”

“To forgive you, of course,” Pippin clarified.

Merry scratched his head uncertainly. “Well, no, I haven’t.”

Pippin lifted an eyebrow and shook his head. “Now honestly Merry, he can’t forgive you if you don’t ask him to,” he pointed out. “Maybe that’s all there is to it. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re being sincere and are only trying to compete with Frodo for his friendship.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because it wasn’t until after Sam declared his friendship with Frodo to his Gaffer in no uncertain terms that you suddenly decided you wanted to be his friend again,” Pippin said.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Merry replied, taken aback by the very thought and horrified that he had just tried using that same exact argument with Sam. Would Sam really think that? “That was just a coincidence of timing. I had been thinking about it for quite a long time before that. I just didn’t think Sam would take to the idea until he said that about Frodo.”

“And because you’re competitive,” Pippin continued as if Merry hadn’t spoken.

“I am not competitive.”

“Yes you are, and it would do you well to put your pride aside and ask him to forgive you, properly.”

Merry considered this carefully and regarded his little cousin with an appreciative nod. “When did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart,” Pippin said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “In fact, I’m smarter than you really, I just don’t like to flaunt it in front of you. I know how sensitive you can be about such things, seeing as you’re so competitive and all.”

“I am not competitive,” Merry said, a smile on his face now.

“Oh no? I’ll race you back to camp then, and since you’re not competitive, I know you’ll let me win,” Pippin said and dashed off.

“I am not a fool either,” Merry said and gave chase with a laugh. “You just want to beat me back to the food!”

“Do not!” Pippin squealed as he darted ahead of Merry, evading the older lad’s tackles with practiced ease.

They chased after each other, their laughter rising through the trees and filling the forest with cheer and delight.  

“Where are the others?” Frodo asked as soon as he woke up and found Merry and Pippin gone again. “Getting firewood again?”

Sam shrugged. “So they said,” he muttered into the frying pan.

“They didn’t take their walking sticks,” Frodo noted as he came and sat by the fire, spying all four walking sticks leaning against the tent.

He held his hands out to the fire, more out of habit than need for warmth. If possible, today seemed set on being even warmer than the day before and he only hoped his cousins’ good-natured ways could hold out for the rest of the trip. They had made no complaints so far, but they were tearing through the water skins at an alarming rate and they would soon be on their last one. Frodo would have to break the news to them as soon as they returned and had a bit of food to eat. And speaking of the food…

“I’m surprised Pippin would wander off when there’s food to be had,” Frodo said lightly. “That lad nearly eats Paladin out of house and home. There’s no end to his appetite. I’m amazed we still have food left.”

Sam chuckled, grateful that his master seemed unaware of his dour mood. He put it aside as best he could and gave the meat a final turning before grinning up at Frodo. “He’s a typical growing lad. Truth is, I’ve seen worse. My brother Halfred for one could have put Master Pippin to shame in his day.”

Frodo laughed at this. He had met Halfred on his earlier visits to Bag End and liked the lad quite a lot. He too had noticed Halfred’s insatiable appetite. “Be that as it may, I find it hard to believe anyone could be worse than Pippin, though I think your Fred does come in a close second.”

“You’ve the right of it, sir. Gaffer used to say as Fred et enough ‘to fill up two hollow legs and an arm besides.’ But Dad had ways of curbing Fred’s appetite right enough,” Sam said.

“Is that why you’re so efficient with curbing Pippin’s appetite?” Frodo asked, for it had not escaped his attention either that Sam had a unique gift for keeping Pippin from eating everything in sight.

Sam blushed now and chuckled again, shyly now. “Oh, we got a bit of an understanding, Master Pippin and me.”

“What’s that?” Frodo asked, intrigued.

“If you don’t mind, sir, it’s between him and me,” Sam said. “I made him a promise see?”

“Well, I don’t obviously,” Frodo said, and then shrugged. “But keep your secrets if that’s what it takes to keep us in vittles until we return home.” He was a bit disappointed to be honest, but he wouldn’t pry into Sam’s affairs.

After few more minutes, the food was ready for serving. Frodo and Sam ate in pleasant silence, listening to the birds in the trees and catching the occasional glimpse of rabbits and squirrels running about. Sam banked up the fire with the remaining wood to keep the food warm, and then they took a quick inventory of their remaining stores.

“We’ll be having to go look for some water today, I see,” Sam said as he assessed the water skins with a critical eye. “I reckon you know where we can be finding some hereabouts.”

Frodo gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t actually. Do you have any suggestions?”

Sam looked about at the vegetation and scratched his head. “Well, where there’s plants, there’s water, if you’re willing to dig deep enough to find it that is, which I don’t reckon you are.”

“Not particularly,” Frodo said. “It would be quicker to walk to the Sea and back. I suppose we’ll have to turn around early and go home.”

Sam grinned knowingly. “Trying to end the trip so soon are you, Master? Not to be forward, sir, but you seem as you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I am,” Frodo said, the surprise evident in his voice and the relief in his eyes. “I’m actually starting to wonder why I delayed doing this for so long. After all, I’ve gone on short hikes with them numerous times, but it was always the camping out that worried me. It’s going quite smoothly really.”

“I’m right glad we didn’t spoil your fun.”

“And I’m right glad you tricked me into inviting them and agreed to come yourself,” Frodo said and laughed at Sam’s abashed expression. “I’m not angry with you, Sam, but don’t think I’ll be so easily duped again in the future.”

“I wouldn’t never,” Sam insisted, a tease now evident in his voice as well. He relaxed visibly and sighed with relief. He continued repacking all the travel bags, distributing everything fairly, and didn’t notice Frodo’s sudden stillness until his master spoke.

“Where are Merry and Pippin?” he asked again, worry creeping into his voice. He stared at the cooled remains of breakfast and his cousins’ walking sticks lying against the tent and frowned. It wasn’t like his cousins to be late for a meal, most especially the first one of the day.

Sam looked up and frowned also, a twinge of guilt in his gut. He knew the real reason for Mr. Merry leaving like he did, and Master Pippin following him of course. He glanced up at the sun and noticed with trepidation that nearly an hour had passed since they had left. “We better go looking for them.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Frodo agreed and stooped down to pick up the empty water skins. “We may as well take these with us. Cover up the food with something, lad. We don’t need anything wandering into camp and sniffing around while we’re all gone.”

When the camp was secure, they went off in the direction Sam had seen Merry and Pippin go, calling their names as they went.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 7

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Pippin asked for the third time.

“Of course I do,” Merry stated, somewhat worriedly. “Look, I’ve seen that bush before.”

“We just passed that bush two minutes ago,” Pippin pointed out and the cousins fell silent.

After they had chased each other for a good click, Merry finally caught up and tackled Pippin to the ground for a tickle attack. When Pippin admitted defeat, Merry helped his cousin up and the two began to make their way back to camp. That had been nearly an hour before and they were still walking about aimlessly.

Merry frowned and tried to remember how many turns he had taken before finding the rock, though what good that would do him, he wasn’t certain for he had now lost the rock as well. He noted with consternation that Pippin had also lost his handkerchief and was scratching at his cut again. Merry reached out and gently took Pippin’s hand in his own. “Don’t do that,” he chided softly.

“But it itches, and I think it’s getting worse,” Pippin complained.

“Of course it is. You keep scratching at it,” Merry pointed out. “It’s going to get infected. Leave it alone.”

They walked on in silence, until Pippin looked up through the treetops and pointed excitedly. “Look! We can see the sun!”

“What of it?” Merry asked, wondering how that was good news. The sun only added more heat to the already blistering day, and Pippin’s comment reminded Merry sharply of how thirsty he was. He wiped agitatedly at his brow, moping up the sweat with his soaked handkerchief.

“We can watch the sun’s path,” Pippin explained. “It will tell us west to east, and from that we can figure north to south.”

“Yes, but we still have no idea where we are.”

“We know we camped near the path, and we left camp this morning to the west. So, if we can find east and go that way…”

“We’ll find the path,” Merry finished with a grin. He squinted up at the sun and held his thumb up to cover the yellow orb. A few minutes passed, and the sun peaked out on the left side of his thumb. “We’re to the south, and east is that way,” he said and pointed to his right. “Let’s go then.”  

“They don’t seem to have come this way,” Frodo said, his concern growing. All of Sam’s tales finally came to life in his mind and he could only imagine Merry and Pippin being swallowed up by some bog, never to be seen again. What a cruel way to be proven wrong!

“They’re probably already back at camp, sir, and wondering where we are,” Sam reasoned. “We best be getting back as well, and search for some water if we can.”

“Yes, you’re most likely right,” Frodo said and sighed. “If they are there, I’m going to strangle them.”

Sam gave a soft chuckle, and fell into step behind his master. He kept his eyes peeled for any signs of his master’s cousins, a stream or even those one-of-a-kind flowers Mr. Frodo had promised him. He noticed a fair number of geraniums and crocus, elderberry and juniper bushes, as well as bushes that carried poisonous seeds upon them, tempting but deadly. He saw numerous hawthorn shrubs and reckoned that was what Master Pippin had smarted his hand against the day before. Buttercup daisies, lavender, ivy, roses.

He let out a gasp when he saw the roses, in colors and sizes he had never seen before. Nearly twice the size of his hand and in colors that matched the sunset, all on one bud. He left his master’s side and went to inspect the flowers with earnest. He touched the delicate petals, silky soft, and imagined plucking that flower and placing it behind his Rosie’s ear. Oh, but he would never pick such a flower, nor ever be bold enough to make such a move on the lovely Cotton lass, but the image it planted in his mind was real, so real he almost thought it had already happened.

“They’re lovely aren’t they?” Frodo said, coming to stand beside his gardener. “Those would look wonderful in front of the study, don’t you think?”

Sam nodded in a trance. “They would at that and along the walk path besides.” He knelt down and raked his fingers through the topsoil, picking out as many seeds as he could find. He placed the seeds carefully in his left breeches pocket and stood back to stare at the roses some more.

“Come along, lad, maybe we’ll see other blossoms you can feast your eyes with,” Frodo offered and gave a slight tug on Sam’s sleeve. If he let him, Sam would stand here all day and they would never find Merry and Pippin.

Sam followed with reluctance, and cast one final glance back at the dazzling roses. He would have to plant the seeds as soon as the seasons would allow. Beauty like that shouldn’t be hidden away where no one could see it, as far as he was concerned.  

Merry and Pippin’s eastward progress was cut short when they came upon a large wall of impenetrable brush, covered with more of the prickly thorns that had cut Pippin’s hand the day before. The wall extended a great distance in either direction from what they could see of it, and there was no way to crawl underneath or climb over it.

Pippin’s shoulders slumped in discouragement and he sat upon the ground against a tree with his knees tucked in under his chin. He waited for Merry to think of something and he was not disappointed.

Merry stared intently at the wall, studying it with great scrutiny. This wall was taller than all the others they had seen thus far and actually reminded him of the Hedge that protected the eastern borders of Buckland. He brought up images of Bilbo’s maps in his mind’s eye and went through them one by one. The maps of Bindbole had been frustratingly lacking in detail – not even the energetic, adventurous Bilbo had seen cause to explore the old, forgotten paths of years gone by – but the main trail itself was drawn quite accurately and Merry thought he knew where they were at last.

“I think this is the hedge that runs alongside the path for a spell,” Merry said excitedly. “Which means the path is just on the other side.”

“Well that’s good news,” Pippin replied and stood up again. “Now how do we get over there? Climb a tree and jump over?”

“No, certainly not,” Merry said. “But climbing a tree should help us see if my guess is correct.”

“I’ll do it!” Pippin exclaimed, excited now also. If there was one thing he loved to do, besides all of the other things he loved to do, it was tree-climbing. He found that the tree he had previously been sitting against was perfect for climbing and instantly began pulling himself up into the branches while Merry waited on the ground – in case Pippin fell, he told himself.

“Do you see anything?” Merry called up after a time, when the branches stopped moving.

“Look Merry!” Pippin called down. “There’s a nest of squirrels in this tree! Oh, and there’s little baby squirrels! Do you see?”

“Of course I don’t,” Merry called back up. “Now turn yourself around and tell me if you see the path.”

The branches quivered back and forth slightly and a light shower of leaves fell upon Merry’s head. There was a short pause, followed by more quivering branches and a frantic shower of leaves.

“Pippin, be careful!” Merry warned, fearing his cousin must be jumping up and down.

Pippin wasn’t exactly jumping. He would say he was bouncing, but it was quite correct that he was not being as careful as he should be. At Merry’s warning, he calmed himself down and scrambled out of the tree to deliver the good news he had seen.

“The path is indeed on the other side,” Pippin declared once his feet were firmly upon the ground. “More than that, this hedge ends just around that bend and if I’m not quite mistaken, I believe I spied smoke from our campfire not much farther off from that. We’ve a mile to go is my guess, and about time I say. I’m starving! I can’t wait to eat.”

“Unless of course Sam tells you not to eat,” Merry ventured, instantly ceasing upon the chance to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Pippin only shrugged and trotted off, following the hedge as it dipped south. “Sam would never be that mean,” he stated and smiled sweetly at Merry.

“Come now, Pippin,” Merry said, near to pleading now. “Why won’t you just tell me? I won’t tell anyone else, you know I won’t.”

“I would tell you if there were anything to tell, but there is nothing to tell, which I keep trying to tell you, but you won’t listen, so why should I tell?”

“Will you at least attempt to make sense?” Merry asked grudgingly.

Pippin smirked. “Sorry. Was I flaunting my intelligence again?”

Merry laughed despite himself. No matter how much Pippin might irritate him at times, he could always get Merry to laugh. “You scamp! Keep your secrets then, but I will find out what it is, one way or another,” he declared.

Pippin made no comment, but he delivered one more beaming smile before skipping ahead, humming under his breath. He could taste the food already and he only hoped Sam was as insistent on saving food for him and Merry as he was when it came to Frodo.  

“They’re still not back,” Frodo said when he and Sam returned to camp and found it exactly as they had left it. “What could be taking them so long? Are you certain they were just gathering firewood?”

Sam shrugged and fiddled nervously with his shirt buttons. He hated seeing his master so distressed and assuming the worst, and no doubt blaming Mr. Merry and Master Pippin for running off so recklessly. If anyone was to blame for the current situation, it was Sam alone. Mr. Merry had extended the hand of friendship and Sam had hastily batted it away.

Sam sat down by the cooling timbers and poked them to start a fresh blaze, more to give him something to do than for need of a fire. The noon sun was directly above them, battering its unforgiving rays down through the trees and into their camp. Frodo sat down next to him and mindlessly fanned himself, watching the small tongues of flame dancing about.

“I brought my cousins into Bindbole and now they’ve been eaten by hobbit-devouring bogs,” he said woefully. “What are their parents going to say?”

“I think it’s more likely they just went off to talk, sir,” Sam said at last.

“What could they talk about that would keep them away from food for this long?” Frodo asked, and not without reason. There was nothing so important to any hobbit that it couldn’t wait for discussion until after a proper meal.

“I think, sir,” Sam started quietly, “that Mr. Merry may have wanted to talk to Master Pippin about me.”

This statement caught Frodo completely off guard. He looked at Sam, baffled to say the least, and simply waited for further explanation.

Sam took his time building himself up. He thought he knew already what Mr. Frodo would say once he explained everything and he wanted to make sure he had a response ready.

Frodo allowed his gardener the time he needed, sensing that Sam had something important to say. He mindfully kept his own nervous fidgeting to a minimum. No good would come of rushing Sam, he knew, so he forced himself to stop worrying for a few minutes at least and focus on his friend.

At length, Sam took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Merry and me had some words this morning afore Master Pippin woke up. Seems Mr. Merry want us to be friends again.”

“Oh that’s wonderful,” Frodo exclaimed, delighted with the news, but he quickly became confused about Sam’s somber mood. “You don’t agree?”

Sam hung his head. This was the reaction he had expected. And now came the hard part. “It’s not that I don’t agree, sir, it’s just that we can’t be friends.”

Now came the crinkled brow and the displeased frown. “Why not? You used to enjoy being friends with Merry when you were younger.”

“I did, until… But it was different then.”

“Different how?” Frodo asked.

Sam shook his head, trying to sort out his thoughts, not daring to meet his master’s gaze. Mr. Merry and Master Pippin were wrong to fear Mr. Frodo’s angry glare; his look of disappointment was a hundred times worse. “We were just kids then, for starters, and I imagine any distraction as kept me out of my dad’s hair when he was too busy to learn me about the garden was welcome to him. It put him in a bit of fix though, what with him always telling me not to get above myself or go bothering my betters, and off he sends me up to Bag End to play about. Left me confused most times, but he made it clear in no uncertain terms when I got older that I had to put such privileges behind me and get on with being a simple gardener. And I’ve done that, for the most part.”

“I still don’t see why that means you can’t be friends with Merry now,” Frodo stated.

“A little bit of mischief is to be expected when you're younger, but I'm too old for such things now,” Sam replied. “We can’t be friends, not like he’s wanting to be. That’s just the way of things, sir.”

“Things are the way you make them, Sam,” Frodo said.

Frodo wanted the four of them to be close, for Sam to feel comfortable in their company. That had been another reason for inviting Sam along. Only at the time, he had thought the biggest obstacle would be getting Merry and Pippin to see Sam as more than just a gardener and start appreciating him as an individual. His cousins liked Sam of course, they always had, but as they got older, they slipped more and more into seeing all hobbits who worked with their hands as servants in one form or another. They were hardly what anyone would consider snobs, far from it, but it was a natural development in thinking when one lived in Brandy Hall and Great Smials, or even Whitwell. Even Frodo had to break himself of the habit when he first moved to Hobbiton.

He had assumed that Sam would be reluctant of the notion, but he had not expected his gardener to put the brakes on so completely. Sam was naturally cautious of change, but as he and Merry had been playmates once, Frodo had thought that Sam would warm up to being friends with Merry again rather quickly. Now it seemed that Sam was determined to do just the opposite.

“Sam, just because your father says that’s how things are, doesn’t make them so,” Frodo tried again.

Sam shook his head. “Begging your pardon sir, but this has naught to do with him. Some things just are the way they are, and you can’t go changing them on a whim. It’s why some flowers can bloom for months without a single drop of water and why others wither up if you don’t feed them everyday. It’s why some plants need sun to grow, and why others wilt if they don’t get enough shade. It’s why the sun always rises in the east, and why the moon goes about its cycles. It’s just the nature of things. I’m common folk, he’s gentry; we can’t be friends.”

“But you and I are friends,” Frodo stressed, trying for a different approach.

“You’ve lost your parents, and I’ve lost my ma,” Sam answered sadly. “We’ve got something in common, see? Something that goes beyond everything else. What have Mr. Merry and I got in common?”

Frodo had no answer and so he joined Sam in staring mutely at the fire. He knew Sam was speaking the truth. He knew it was easier for Merry to declare friendship with Sam than it was for Sam to do likewise. There would be talk of Sam getting above himself, and not just from the Gaffer. There was a reason Hamfast stuck so strictly to his boundaries and insisted that his children do likewise. As Sam said, it was just the nature of things, and he remembered sorely what had happened the last time those two natures had clashed on that long ago Harvest night. Frodo knew all this, but he did not agree with it. Yet how could he change it? How could he alone change anything?

Before he could wonder too long on that strand of thought, something came pounding into camp, dropping next to the nearly dead fire across from them. Sam and Frodo looked up, startled out of their reveries, and into the grinning, sweating, panting face of Peregrin Took.

Frodo smiled with relief but instantly asked, “Where’s Merry?”

“Coming along. The poor lad’s getting slow in his old age,” Pippin answered and looked about eagerly. “So, where’s the food?”
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 8

Not more than a handful of seconds passed before Merry came bursting into camp, equally sweaty and short of breath. “You won’t be eating my food today, Peregrin Took!” he panted triumphantly and plopped down next to Pippin.

Frodo relaxed visibly to see the two of them back, whole and sound – and with no evidence of encountering hobbit-devouring bogs. Still, he had to wonder what had taken so long. Even if Merry had been upset, Pippin should have cheered him up long before now. “And where did you two wander off to? We were worried,” he said casually.

“Oh I’m sorry, dear Frodo, but Merry got us lost,” Pippin answered smoothly.

“And I do beg your pardon, dearest Frodo, but I had the most annoying distraction bothering me as I was strolling through the woods,” Merry put in. “I tried to lose him, but as you can plainly see, I quite failed in that endeavor.”

“And a good thing you did, or you’d still be lost,” Pippin returned. “Let’s not forget who it was that found the way back to camp.”

“And you’d be stuck on top of a thorn-riddled hedge if it weren’t for me,” Merry countered.

Sam quietly retrieved the leftovers from breakfast and grabbed more food for luncheon while the cousins talked. By the time he returned, Merry and Pippin were bustling about getting more firewood and Frodo was watching them with fondness in his eyes. Just as before, when the young cousins came back, they and Frodo swiftly and without a word of discussion between them began banking up the fire and preparing the midday meal, Merry and Pippin taking bites of their breakfast in between preparations.

Sam tried to help with luncheon, but each time he reached for something to chop or stir, one of the cousins would grab it out of his way. Finally, Sam had to resign himself to sitting back and watching the three cousins work. He didn’t know what to make of his position really. On the one hand, he was Mr. Frodo’s employee and he should be the one working while Mr. Frodo relaxed and took it easy. On the other hand, Sam wasn’t supposed to be here, and Mr. Frodo would be doing all this and more himself if none of them had come along. Clearly, his master didn’t mind doing for himself. Even at home, Sam’s duties were more often than not restricted to the gardens, and apparently Mr. Frodo preferred to keep to that pattern while camping also. Even realizing that, Sam was still left with nothing to do.

Not wanting to feel useless, he eventually offered, “Mayhap I’ll look about for some water sources then.”

“That might take some time, Sam,” Frodo stated. “We’ll all go together after we’ve eaten.”

Merry and Pippin looked up in puzzlement at this exchange. “What’s this about water?” Pippin asked and finished the last of his breakfast with a flourish.

“We’re nearly out of it,” Frodo explained. “The weather’s so warm, we’ve been plowing right through our supply. If we don’t find a source, we’ll have to turn back for home tonight.”

“We’ll find a source,” Merry stated with confidence. And even if they didn’t, he for one was not going to return home early. Frodo had promised them three nights camping under the stars and Merry wanted his last night. Besides, how hard could water be to find anyhow?  

When they finished their meal and secured the camp once again, they took up two water skins each and spread out into the woods. As they had fairly well covered the forest immediately west of camp in all their various wanderings and not seen sign of even a puddle, Frodo decided to check the woods to the east.

They stayed together at first, their walking sticks in hand, until they came to a large boulder they could use as a landmark. “Let’s split up,” Frodo said. “Merry and Pippin, you go north. Sam and I will go south. We’ll search until the sun begins to wan and then return here before dusk. Go slowly and carefully and please keep your feet. We can’t afford anyone getting lost again.”

“Yes Merry, do be careful,” Pippin teased and started off at a casual click.

Frodo turned to Sam and steered them south. The ground here was littered with creeping vines and thistle bushes and they had to pick their way carefully so as to not get tripped up or step on any thorns. They passed the time in attentive reflection, simply taking in and observing the land around them. Not until an hour passed did Frodo break the silence.

“Next trip we take, we’ll have to bring more water skins,” Frodo stated as he sidestepped around a questionable patch of what looked like dried grass.

“Aye, especially in such as this,” Sam agreed with a vague wave of his hand at their surroundings. “Meaning no disrespect, Mr. Frodo, but you might have picked a cooler time of year for a tramp, and a less bothersome place to hike besides.”

“I might have, had I known I’d have company along,” Frodo said and started planning his next hike. “What do you think of early fall? We could go for a hike through the Eastfarthing, through the fields north of the Water, and maybe a few nights in the Hills of Scary. There are caves up there, and that would be a good long hike, two weeks at least. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”

Sam nodded, a mixture of wistfulness and apprehension in his soft brown eyes as he searched the ground for any sign of water or moist soil. “That does sound mighty nice. I’m sure you and your cousins will have a grand time.”

Frodo paused momentarily, then started walking again. “You’ll be coming too, Sam, if you want.”

“It’s not a matter of wanting,” Sam started, though secretly he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to make such a long trek from home, especially when this rather short one was making him so uncomfortable. “It’s the garden, sir. There’s a lot of work as needs doing to fix the beds up for winter and get them ready for spring. I wouldn’t dare leave it for two days, let alone two weeks.”

“Oh,” Frodo said simply and puzzled this out as he stepped around some thistle plants. They came to a small wall of thorn bush and steered to the left, finding a way around through a pair of trees. They had to dodge around some more thistles before the land was safe again, and Frodo commenced the conversation. “Well then, we could go after Harvest.”

“Aye, we could do that. We could go to sleep under a star-filled sky and wake up covered in snow,” Sam stated.

“We’ll be sure to bring two tents then,” Frodo said happily, thinking the problem solved. “We could go hunting and fishing. Ptarmigan and grouse are good that time of year and trout should be running still in the Brandywine. It will be almost like a real Adventure.”

“It’d be a mite tricky going after Harvest wouldn’t it, sir?” Sam asked. “Won’t your cousins be spending the time in Buckland this year?”

Frodo considered this. It would delay the trip by a week at least if Merry and Pippin had to travel to Hobbiton to fetch him and Sam. Unless… “They could spend it in Tookland again. Or I could just invite them to stay at Bag End for a change. It’s been too long since they’ve spent a Harvest there.”

Sam nodded silently at this and looked about them at the various plants and shrubs. They had to sidestep past several more thorn bushes, so much so that Sam felt they were walking through a maze. He hoped his master was keeping track of all the twists and turns they were making, as Sam had lost count of lefts and rights quite a ways back. They were coming back to the vine trees and the sun was beginning to wan when Sam spotted it.

“Mr. Frodo, look!” he cried and dashed off to the right.

Frodo ran after him, water skin ready, and caught up with Sam who was looking at a flowering bush. The flowers’ petals were thin, long, and pointed at the end, overlapping in gentle waves, and were colored rich yellow with dark splotches of honey brown.

“It’s beautiful,” Frodo said, forgetting his disappointment in his gardener’s enthusiasm.

“It looks like a butterfly,” Sam said and lightly traced a petal with his fingers. Then he slouched down and dug softly through the topsoil for seeds. “Can you just imagine these along the walk path with the roses? No one else’ll have aught like it.”

Frodo smiled now. If he didn’t get his gardener out of these woods soon, Sam just might decide to take up residence here. “That would be lovely, but would they bloom anywhere other than here?”

Sam nodded vigorously. “Oh aye, sir. This here is a lily, though it’s one as I’ve never seen afore, but all lilies are the same in what they need to grow, just like roses are.” When he had enough seeds, he deposited them into his right breeches pocket, so as not to mix them up with the rose seeds. “Or at least, they should need the same to grow. I hope I don’t kill them.”

“You won’t kill them, Sam,” Frodo said encouragingly. “They will bloom if only to make you happy. Come on now, lad. We need to be getting back.”

Sam stood and they walked back the way they had come in the slowly fading light. The sun was sinking closer to the horizon and the sky was streaked in crimson and gold by the time they found the boulder. They had made their way back easily enough – Frodo had indeed taken care to memorize the path they had picked through the shrubs – and sat down to wait for Merry and Pippin. They stared through the trees at the setting sun and listened to the wind blowing gently through the treetops. Sam wished the breeze would make its way down to where they were sitting; he could use a break from the continual heat.

Frodo tried not to be disappointed and hoped that Merry and Pippin had better luck in finding water. As much as it surprised him to admit it, he would be sad to see this trip end and wasn’t looking forward to cutting it short. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow and neck of sweat as he lowered his gaze to the surrounding shrubs. “I hope they didn’t get lost again,” he mused.

Sam laughed under his breath and clucked his tongue, but kept his mouth shut.  

“There’s nothing up here, Merry,” Pippin said at long last. They had been searching in vain for the last two hours and found nothing but more tangling brush and spiky thorns. They had finished nibbling all their snack food and Pippin was, predictably, hungry. “Let’s go back now.”

“Just a little bit farther,” Merry insisted and rolled his sleeves up again. They kept rolling down no matter what he did and he was getting quite irritated with them, and Pippin wasn’t helping matters. He really wasn’t helping. “Don’t you have any ideas?”

“I already told you what I thought,” Pippin answered shortly. They had been going around and around this topic all afternoon and he was getting quite tired of it.

“But what if Sam doesn’t forgive me, even after I say all that?” Merry asked. He was more than a little afraid of reliving that horrible night and finally revealing his feelings behind his ill-thought acts. What if he mustered the courage to do that, and it didn’t pay off? What if Sam simply couldn’t forgive him?

Pippin stopped walking and turned to face his cousin. He regarded Merry closely for several minutes before answering. “I think he already has, he just needs to hear you ask to say so.”

“But what if you’re wrong?”

Pippin shrugged. “Then I’m wrong. You’re never going to know though if you just fret about it and continue to guess and worry about it. This isn’t like you, Merry. What’s the real problem?”

“It’s just that no one’s ever talked about it since,” Merry said and slumped down on the ground in some shade. He fanned himself as best he could with his shirt. Pippin sat next to him and waited. “We left here so suddenly after, we didn’t get a chance to say anything to Sam or the Gaffer. When I got home, everything was explained in the letter Bilbo sent to my parents. I never had to explain and I don’t think they wanted me to anyway. By the next time I came to visit, it seemed like everyone just sort of forgot about it, pushed it to the back of their minds and locked it up tight where it could do no harm. At the very least, they certainly didn’t want to talk about it, Sam least of all. What if Sam still doesn’t want to talk about it? What if I bring it up and it only hurts him? I might lose the little bit of friendship we still have. What if I can’t talk about it after all these years?”

“I don’t know, Merry,” Pippin said and shrugged again. “But you have to do something, or things will never change. ‘You can’t do the same thing and expect different results.’ Trust me, I’ve heard Da say that enough times to know it’s true.”

Merry contemplated this and sat in silence until the shadows began to grow long on the ground around them. Then he shook himself from his thoughts and stood up. He offered his hand to Pippin and pulled his cousin up too. “Come on, let’s get back. Maybe Frodo and Sam found something.”

They walked back in the general direction from whence they came. Their route had not been so winding as Frodo’s and Sam’s and they were able to walk more or less in a direct line back to the boulder, always looking about for overlooked water sources. They found none, but Merry did spot an odd patch of small, deep green stalks shooting out of the ground near a hawthorn bush.

“Look,” he said and went to get a closer look.

He and Pippin crouched down over the patch, which was roughly the size of the entrance hall to Bag End.

“What is it?” Pippin asked.

“They’re onions, you nut,” Merry said. “For someone so in love with food, and living on a farm no less, you know very little about what vegetables look like while still underground.”

Pippin rolled his eyes and said, “So why are we staring at an onion patch? Even I’m not so hungry as to go eating them straight out of the ground.”

“Sam said we were out and that he wished he had brought a few more,” Merry said.

“We should bring him here then.”

“No,” Merry shook his head. “It’s getting dark and we still have to get back to camp. There won’t be time. I’ll just uproot a few and take them to him.”

Merry choose a fairly large-looking onion near the edge of the patch, were the ground looked relatively loose and easy to dig through. He soon found that it was quite the opposite. He had a time trying to find the bulb beneath the ground and when he did, the plant still did not want to yield to his gentle pulls. He tried again, yanking a little harder with no results. He dug a bit deeper and got a better hold on the bulb, but still it would not budge.

“Maybe we should just leave it,” Pippin suggested but Merry shook his head. He had that look of stubborn determination on his face and Pippin knew it was pointless at this point to try to talk him out of his mission. Merry yanked and pulled and dug and yanked some more, until he was panting heavily, with sweat running down his face and in his eyes.

“Why… won’t… it… come… out?” he said, speaking each word with yet another fruitless tug. Finally, he wormed both his hands around the bulb, got his feet under him and pulled up with his legs and back muscles. The onion finally yielded, popping out of the ground, disturbing the soil and leaving a gapping hole, coming so suddenly and unexpectedly that Merry fell onto his back.

“I got it!” he cried triumphantly and held up his prize. He looked at it appreciatively in the fading light. “A good find, wouldn’t you say? Sam won’t be expecting this.”

Pippin just shrugged. “I would have expected it to be bigger,” he said. “And look how long those roots are! No wonder you couldn’t get it out. … I’m hungry.”

Merry shook the plant until the dirt fell away from the roots, which were about as long as his forearm. He beamed at the vegetable and glanced back down at the patch. The onion had left quite a big hole in the ground, and something was struggling there in the soil that had fallen from the roots. They watched as the small yellow and black insect flipped itself over and flew over to the hole. Merry frowned worriedly and felt a small twinge of dread in his gut.

That’s when they heard it, the distant buzzing of angry wasps below the ground where they sat. They looked at each other, looked at the onion, then down at the hole it had created. The buzzing grew louder, alarmingly louder, and the noise was near deafening by the time the first yellow jackets made their way to the surface. They looked at each other again, and though it seemed like an hour had passed, it was not more than a split second later when Merry shouted, “Run!”

Pippin didn’t need telling twice. They were on their feet and running as fast as they could manage through the thistles and bushes and creeping vines. Merry stumbled a couple of times and Pippin nearly ran right into a tree before dodging out of the way, and all the while they had the sickening drone of buzzing in their ears.

“Ouch! Something bit me!” Pippin screamed as a sharp burning spread through his lower calf.

“Run faster!” Merry said and grabbed Pippin’s hand and pulled him along, moving his own legs faster than he ever thought he possibly could without them falling off.

They turned a corner and the boulder came into view. Two figures were relaxing upon it, lying back, resting with pipes in hand. “Run! Hurry!” Merry called out but the figures did not move. “Run! Quick!” he said as he and Pippin reached them.

“Merry, what in - ?”

“Run!” Pippin cried now and they grabbed Frodo and Sam and dragged them along.

“Not that way,” Frodo warned, for Merry was taking them south, where there were too many obstacles in the way. He steered them east, not caring at the moment why they were being chased by wasps, and Sam was simply too shocked by the sudden change of events to do anything but follow after them.

The buzzing was beginning to fade, but Merry’s sudden cry of pain proved that they were not out of danger just yet. The land dipped, down a slight slope, and up ahead Frodo spotted some mist rising from the ground in the last strands of sunlight. “There!” he shouted and led the way to the promising sight.

Down another small slope, around a bend… They were hip deep in the creek before any of the others even knew what had happened. They dunked under the surface of the water, even Sam, and came up splashing and flaying about until the last of the buzzing had stopped.

The danger over, they stood where they were, soaked and shocked, hearts racing, and caught their breath. Then Frodo turned to glare at his cousins, and Merry shrugged sheepishly. “At least we found the water.”
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 9

“Ouch.” Pippin limped over to the campfire, supported by Merry and Frodo. Merry helped him sit down as Frodo put the now-filled water skins in the tent.

Once Pippin was settled, Merry sat down next to him and reached over to put the remaining logs on the fire. “Ow,” he hissed. He examined his arms and found three angry red mounds, two on his right forearm and one near his left elbow that stretched the skin achingly when he moved his arms. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to roll up his sleeves after all. He checked his neck and legs and found another bite near his right ankle.

Sam came back then, arms loaded with fresh firewood and kindling. He took over the job of building the fire from Merry and banked up the fire to a roar before joining his master in the tent. He closed the tent flap behind him and knelt next to Frodo. “Well?” he asked.

“We should have enough food to get us home,” Frodo stated. “But I don’t know if we should rest here or move on. It’s a long hike back home from here, but I don’t imagine they want to do any more walking tonight. Yet if we stay here, we’ll just have that much more we’ll have to walk tomorrow. At least neither of them are allergic. Still, I want to get them checked by a healer as soon as possible. We need to keep an eye on them, Merry especially. He was stung the most; he might get ill yet.”

“How long would it take to get back?” Sam asked.

Frodo shrugged and dug through the packs for food. “A whole day of steady walking. We’re nearly at the topmost part of the woods and there are no short cuts from here.”

Sam pondered all this as he took the items his master handed him, piling them up on the floor between them. “May’s nearby,” he offered. “Needlehole’s close to here, closer’n Hobbiton at any rate.”

“That’s kind Sam, but I don’t wish to impose on your sister.” He smirked and gave Sam a mischievous wink. “I don’t want it getting back to your Gaffer that I got you chased by a swarm of wasps. He’ll never let me take you anywhere again.”

Sam laughed then, something he had been struggling not to do since they emerged from the creek and Merry and Pippin had stood there looking so comically miserable. “I’ll be certain not to mention it to him then. I doubt May’d be there anyhow, now I think of it. She was going to visit with Hamson after the Free Fair and she’d not be back yet. Maybe I should of gone with her when she asked,” he mused.

Now it was Frodo’s turn to laugh. “If you only knew then what you know now.”

Sam chuckled, then looked at his master critically. “Are you certain you weren’t stung, sir?”

“I’ve checked myself over. I’m fine,” Frodo assured. “And you?”

“Not even a scratch,” Sam said and fell silent in thought. He was trying to remember all the plants they had passed by today and where they were. Though he had no mind for maps, Sam could usually memorize the lay of the land after one casual pass through, especially when it came to plants – exempting thistle mazes of course. “Mr. Merry said he found some aloe at our last camp. Could be there’s some more hereabouts, but I don’t remember seeing any. Did you catch a glimpse of any, Mr. Frodo?”

“No, and it’s too late to go looking for any now,” Frodo said, thinking hard. He had been nearly thirteen when he and some of the other lads from the Hall had inadvertently walked into a beehive. What had the healer used? “Did you see any goldenseal, slippery elm or juniper berries?”

“I saw some berries. There’s some bushes nearby, just a small click into the woods,” Sam said. “I can go fetch some.”

Frodo nodded. “We can make a tea with them to help wash out the poison, and crushing some more for a poultice should help relieve the pain of the sting.” With that plan decided, Frodo quickly made up his mind about what to do next. “We’ll rest here tonight and leave early in the morning. We should be able to reach Bag End by nightfall if we don’t get waylaid again.”

“Yes sir.”

They were silent for a moment, both of them exhausted and worn, and still a bit on the damp side. The heat was slowly drying them off though, even in the darkness of night. Frodo combed his fingers through his drying curls, looked about the tent and down at his clothes, then dissolved into giggles.

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Frodo said between his laughter, “but the looks on their faces as they were running up to us…” he trailed off into another laughing fit.

Sam laughed again, more freely this time. “And the look on your face, Mr. Frodo, when you realized what it was as they were running from. However did they manage to make that happen I wonder?”

“I don’t want to know,” Frodo managed to get out and they both doubled over until they were clutching their sides for air, tears in their eyes.  

Near the fire, Merry and Pippin sat miserably. Merry managed to keep from scratching at the itching, throbbing, burning stings but the pain was nearly unbearable. Pippin wasn’t even trying. He was holding tight to his calf, pressing against his solitary bite, glaring at Merry. The laughter from the tent did not improve his foul mood.

“Are they laughing at us?” Merry said and finally noticed Pippin’s hostile regard. “What?” he asked.

“What? What?!” Pippin cried resentfully. “What do you think? You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? You just had to dig up that blasted onion, didn’t you? ‘I’m not competitive.’ Please Merry, you couldn’t even lose to a vegetable!”

“Oh like you would have done any different!” Merry shot back, his temper flaring in an instant. “You’re worse than I am and don’t deny it.”

“No, you’re worse. When I’m curious about something, I ask questions. When you’re curious about something, you fiddle around with it until you send a hornet’s nest after us!”

“Is that so? You’re conveniently forgetting about the time you wanted to know what a cat would look like with no fur,” Merry countered. “And the time you glued Granddad’s desk clock to the ceiling because you wanted to know how strong the glue was. And the time – ”

“That’s enough, Merry,” Pippin interrupted, his voice strained with barely controlled anger. “I never got you stung or bitten by anything, much less giant monstrous wasps ready to bite our heads off.”

“They weren’t that big, and besides I was stung much more than you were.”

“Good! You should have been!”

“Maybe if you had been running faster, you wouldn’t have been stung at all.”

Pippin narrowed his eyes dangerously, making the sharp angles of his face take on an ominous appearance. “So it’s my fault I was stung?”

“Well at least you can admit it.”

Before Merry could blink, Pippin was on top of him, hitting him with frustrated fists. Merry fell backward and rolled them over, delivering a few punches of his own, and was rewarded with scratches and pulled hair. He yelped in surprise and pushed himself off his cousin, only to reach down and pull Pippin to his feet so they could fight fair.

By the time Frodo and Sam emerged from the tent, Merry and Pippin had each other trapped in head locks, both of them fighting for balance while simultaneously trying to trip each other over. Sam just shook his head at the sight. He was used to such things, having two older brothers and having spent so much time with the Cotton lads. He shrugged sympathetically at Frodo and went in search of the berries.

Frodo watched Sam disappear into the night and sighed deeply. He then cleared his throat – loudly. “Boys,” he said.

They stopped struggling instantly and looked up.

“What are you doing?” Frodo asked sternly.

Quick as lightning, the cousins released each other. “Nothing,” they said sheepishly and sat down at opposite sides of the fire pit, their arms crossed over their chests while they stubbornly refused to look at each other. Glad that at least the fighting was over, Frodo motioned his friends to sit closer together. He wasn’t going to go back and forth between them. They grudgingly complied, but continued to face away from each other and Pippin went back to clutching his leg.

Frodo knelt to examine their bites and instantly removed the youngster’s hand. “Don’t do that, Pippin. You’ll only spread the poison,” he warned.

Merry hummed satisfactorily and Pippin began fidgeting with the desire to attack Merry again. Frodo noticed this but knew the best thing to do was ignore it. If he said anything, then he’d have to listen to Merry and Pippin competing over each other as they tried to tell Frodo their sides of the story, and Frodo didn’t particularly care to hear either of them.

“We need to make sure the stingers from the wasps didn’t break off under your skin,” Frodo explained matter-of-factly. “I’ll have to get them out if they did and that could hurt, so sit still.”

Merry and Pippin submitted to their examinations. Pippin’s bite was clean, but the one near Merry’s elbow was not. Frodo heated his knife over the fire to sterilize it, let the blade cool, then slowly and carefully scraped the stinger loose. Merry bit his lips against the pain, and while he cringed he caught a satisfied smirk on Pippin’s face. Only Frodo’s presence between them kept Merry from reaching over and smacking that smirk off Pippin’s face. As if reading Merry’s mind, Pippin stuck his tongue out and grinned devilishly. Merry clenched his fists tight and pointedly looked away again. When Frodo was done, he ordered Pippin back to the opposite side of the fire before starting dinner and boiling water for the tea.

Sam came back then, his shirttails serving as a pouch to hold the dark purplish berries. He deposited the berries on a plate and prepared the tea and poultice as best he could. For the poultice, he added a handful of dirt to the berries, knowing the dirt would help even if the berries were not the right degree of ripeness. When both were finished, he spooned out two cups of tea and handed them to Merry and Pippin. He noticed Pippin’s hand then, the cut a slightly swollen red line. He frowned at this and retrieved the honey also when he went into the tent to look for the small coil of rope he had brought and the last of the clean handkerchiefs. He returned to the cousins shortly and put all this on the ground between them.

“You brought rope too?” Merry said before he could think.

“Aye, sir,” Sam answered. “You always need rope.” He cut the rope into six small chords and sat in front of Pippin. “I’m sorry, Master Pippin, but I’m no healer and I don’t know if I made this right. I suppose it’s better’n naught though.” He gently smeared the crushed berries onto Pippin’s sting and tied a handkerchief over the bite. Then he held up Pippin’s hand and examined it closer. “You’ve been scratching at this.”

“It was itchy,” Pippin said.

“I reckon it was, but I wouldn’t scratch it any more if I were you. You’ll get it infected next,” Sam warned kindly. He spread some more of the honey on the cut and tied another handkerchief around Pippin’s hand. He then moved on to Merry, repeating the poultice treatment four more times.

“You know what also works for stings? Baking soda,” Merry said knowledgably as Sam worked on his forearm. “You mix a bit with cold water to make a paste. Uncle Mac showed me once.”

“We’ll do that when we get home then,” Sam said.

“What? You mean you don’t have any baking soda?” Merry said lightly. “I thought you had managed to bring the entire pantry with you, Sam.”

Sam shrugged and moved over to Merry’s elbow. “I wasn’t planning on doing any baking, Mr. Merry,” he said, then grinned. “I wasn’t planning on wasp stings either, but I’ll be sure to add baking soda to the checklist for next time.”

“Along with the taters and mushrooms,” Merry added.

“Aye, sir, along with those.”

Sam moved onto Merry’s ankle then, working gently but surely all the while. Merry hardly noticed the gardener’s touch, but the relief from the poultice was nearly instantaneous.

“Maybe we could get Aunt Tina to make another one of those weskits for Pippin to keep him out of trouble,” Merry supplied next and was rewarded with a glowering glare from Pippin.

“Then she’d have to make one for you too, Mr. Merry, meaning no disrespect,” Sam replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he tied the last handkerchief into place.

Frodo and Pippin laughed at this and Merry regarded the gardener with mild surprise. Was Sam quipping with him? He smiled despite his pain and misery. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But I had found some onions and I know you said you wanted some.” He fished the onion out of his pocket, where he had quickly stored it for safe keeping before running for his life. He held it out. “I thought I’d bring you some, but this was all I could manage.”

Sam took the vegetable, a look of wonder and amusement on his face. “That’s right kind of, Mr. Merry, but you needn’t have bothered.”

“It wasn’t any bother,” Merry said before he could think and was rewarded by three sets of skeptical eyes. “Well, maybe it was a little.”

“Aye sir, just a tad,” Sam agreed. “Thank you, Mr. Merry.” He pocketed the vegetable and went to help his master cook.

Merry wondered what, if anything, this could mean. He knew better than to get his hopes up, and he knew only too well that he would probably wake up in the morning to find Sam once again properly distanced from him. He bit back the bitterness and frustration as best he could and came to a decision. Before he left for home, he would get Sam alone and speak plainly with him, no matter what might come of it in the end. Sam deserved no less and it was far overdue. Only, he still didn’t know what to say or where to begin. He sighed and fell into silent contemplation.

Dinner passed quietly, and Merry and Pippin turned in soon after. They had just finished a long and eventful day, and Frodo couldn’t blame them for being tired. Of course, they were also just trying to avoid each other, but Frodo wasn’t too concerned about their fight. Come morning, they would be back to their regular bantering as if nothing had happened. A half hour later, Merry and Pippin were breathing deeply, and Frodo and Sam were finishing the pipes they had been enjoying on the rock before they were so abruptly interrupted.

“What shall we do with the rest of our night, Sam?” Frodo asked at length. He was tired himself and rest was inviting, but he was not quite ready to turn in yet.

Sam considered the question, then picked up a twig. He drew in the dirt two sets of four lines crossing each other to form a grid. “We can play biscuits-and-scones. I’ll be the biscuit and you be the scone?”

Frodo fished a small twig from the unused tinder and selected his square.  

Pippin woke to pitch dark night all around. At first, the only sounds he heard were the deep, even breathing of his slumbering companions. Then he heard high above the whispering of the wind through the treetops and far off in the distance the soft singing of crickets. Nearby was the scuttling of animals through the underbrush, most likely rabbits, squirrels, lizards and other such small and harmless creatures.

He yawned and rolled over to his side and closed his eyes. He was drifting off to sleep, grateful for the lack of the sound that had woken him on the last two nights. It had sent shivers up his spine and set his heart to hammering both nights.

He was on the edge of sleep, sinking back into a pleasant dream of chocolate-covered strawberries and caramel apples when he heard it. Same as the previous two nights, it was just faint enough to make him doubt it was really there. In fact, the first night, he had thought he was imagining it because of Sam’s story, but the noise had continued for far too long and in a pattern completely unfamiliar to him. And now it was back, still as always on the edge of hearing, constant and melodious. Someone was whistling.

Pippin clamped his eyes shut and forced himself to be completely still, hoping the sound would go away. It did not. The whistling continued, the same ageless tune, moving casually back and forth on the dark and hidden horizon. Then the rustling of the animals in the underbrush started to sound like footsteps, and the gusts of the wind through the treetops became the sound of someone pushing their way through the bushes, and the chirping of the crickets stilled as they did when someone comes near.

‘You’re letting your imagination get the better of you, Peregrin Took,’ he silently berated himself for all the good it did him.

His heart was hammering out of control now, his breath was short and he had to force the air to enter his lungs. A hot prickly tingling like many needles started at the base of his neck, and the heat slowly spread over his head, pulling the skin tight, and down his back to his arms and legs, the needle pricks following to drain the blood from his limbs and leave him cold and trembling.

‘Stop this!’ he told himself. ‘There’s nothing there and you know it.’

Then all went silent and for one long unbearable moment, the world was bereft of sound. And then…

My sweet bonny lass,
Forever lovely…

That did it. Without even a thought in his head of anything other than the desire to hide and be protected, Pippin shot out of his sleeping roll and into Merry’s. He squirreled down into the sheltering blanket, and in his sleep, Merry’s arms automatically encircled him and drew him close.

The world of noise returned to normal, and even if the whistling did not stop, Pippin was no longer afraid, safe as he was in his friend’s embrace.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 10

Frodo woke first. Though his friends may find it difficult to believe, he could rise early when he wanted to and today, the last day of his hike, he wanted to be the first one up. He had many objectives to fulfill today and no time to waste.

He started a fire with the last of the wood, just enough to make some tea and nothing more. Frodo always brought tea to enjoy on his last morning out and he had taken care to bring enough for his friends. He poured half a water skin into a pot and set the tea leaves into the water. He rinsed out the cups and washed the rest of the cookery, then sat back to reflect on the trip while he waited for the water to boil.

Despite his initial concerns and certain recent events of mishap, the trek had been pleasant indeed. His cousins had proved more capable than he would have expected, though in the future, it would be wise not to leave Merry and Pippin alone for too long. If he could get the trek to Eastfarthing planned without any hitches, he thought it would be best to have Sam keep an eye on Pippin while he and Merry did the hunting and whatnot.

Now, if only something could be worked out between Merry and Sam. Frodo knew better than to hope that Sam’s teasing the night before meant anything had changed. If anything, it could very easily be worse that it was before. Once Sam was allowed some time to think about it, he would likely come up with even more reasons not to be Merry’s friend. Frodo could just hear it now. “But Mr. Frodo, even when he doesn’t mean to start trouble, he does.”

His cousin and gardener needed to mend the rift between them once and for all, and for their own sakes, they needed to do it soon. They couldn’t keep ignoring the issues and pushing them aside to be dealt with later, all the while acting as though everything was normal. Of course, the problem there was that acting normal had become normal.

Merry was clearly ready and willing to make an effort, but there were a few crucial facts that, by chance or purpose, he was continually overlooking. If Merry wasn’t made aware of what he was doing, he would never get very far in his attempts. It hardly helped that so many years had passed since this all first started, but now that Frodo could look back on it, he could see that the rift had been widening even before The Incident, and no one had helped the situation by sweeping that ill-thought prank under the rug. Over the years, more and more complications had piled onto that one initial problem, and it was quite a tangle now indeed. Yet Frodo could not cut through that tangle for them. Merry and Sam would have to work it out on their own, and it needed to start with Merry.

Fortunately, it was Merry who woke next.

“Pippin, you’re drooling on me,” Merry murmured suddenly. He stirred an instant later and was soon crawling out of his sleeping roll. He frowned down at his shirtsleeve, where a large damp spot could be seen. Then he shrugged unconcernedly and stretched his limbs.

“Good morning, Merry,” Frodo greeted before his friend could turn and spot him.

Merry jumped slightly and whirled around. “It must be nearly night time again,” he quipped with a smile, “if you’re up and about. Have all the stars fallen from the heavens?”

“No, the pigs flew up and ate them,” Frodo answered and was rewarded with a laugh. “Have some tea, Merry dear, and sit with me for a while. We need to talk.”

“I know. I’m sorry about the wasps and the fight. It won’t happen again,” Merry promised as he settled down next to Frodo and spooned out a cup of tea for them both. He added honey to taste and handed Frodo a cup.

“That’s good to hear,” Frodo replied and took note of Merry’s stiff and careful movements. He removed the handkerchiefs briefly to inspect the stings on Merry’s arms and leg. They were still an angry shade of red and roughly the size of his shirt buttons. Merry was also a shade or two paler than normal, but Frodo could see no other signs of possible illness. “How are you feeling?” he asked when he was finished with his inspection.

“Foolish,” Merry said honestly. “I must stop acting so rashly.”

“That’s good to hear as well,” Frodo said. “Which leads me to what I want to speak with you about.”

“You didn’t want to talk about the wasps?”

“No, I want to talk about Sam.”

Merry paused in mid-sip, the tea sweet and warm against his lips. He swallowed cautiously and lowered his cup to stare at its contents. He wiped at his lips with his shirtsleeve, drawing out the moment when he would have to respond, knowing that Frodo was carefully scrutinizing his every move. “What about Sam?” he asked at length. This conversation could easily go many different directions depending on what Frodo had heard from his gardener.

“Sam told me you talked yesterday morning, about wanting to be friends again,” Frodo started, studying his friend closely. “What are your intentions Merry?”

“What do you mean?” Merry asked, baffled.

“Just what I asked,” Frodo said and took a sip of his tea. “It’s been quite a long time since the two of you were last friends. Why the sudden change in heart?”

“It’s not a change,” Merry frowned and stared into the fire. “I never wanted for us to stop being friends. It just sort of happened.”

“It did not just happen, Merry,” Frodo said, his voice soft with empathy and hard with admonition. “You know that better than anyone else.”

“But it did just happen,” Merry said. “I came to visit one day and all of a sudden I was ‘Master Merry’ and he wouldn’t spend time with me anymore, unless I was asking after the garden.”

“So you’re blaming this on him?”

“Of course not!” Merry exclaimed, shocked that Frodo would get such an impression. First Pippin and now Frodo; why did he keep having this same conversation? He let out an aggravated sigh and tried again. “I know it’s all my fault.”

“Yes it is,” Frodo agreed gently and took another sip of his tea as he searched for the best place to start. He shifted his position to face Merry more directly and continued just as gently, “I remember the very first time you met Sam. You were just about to turn eight, he was ten, and it was your first visit to Bag End since I moved there. I pointed him out to you in the garden, and I said, ‘There’s little Sammy, the gardener’s son,’ and you said, ‘That’s him?’… like he was competition.”

Frodo paused and waited for this to sink in, for if Merry did not understand that point, he would not understand anything else Frodo was about to say either. He didn’t have to wait long. Merry’s shoulders sunk ever so slightly and his eyes filled with resignation. His nod was nearly imperceptible, but Frodo noted it and continued.

“I don’t doubt that you were truly his friend then, and I don’t doubt that you’ve sincerely missed his friendship all these years. I’ve seen how hard it’s been for both of you. I’m happy that you’re willing to make this effort, but there are some things you must first understand about Sam. And about yourself.”

Merry waited solemnly. Any advice he could get at this point was welcome and there was no one better to offer advice than Frodo. He knew Sam better than all of them. Of course, he also knew Merry better than all of them, even Pippin, and Merry had the distinct feeling that whatever Frodo was about to say would not be easy for him to hear.

“I love you, Merry. You are my dearest of friends,” Frodo started. “You’re funny, smart, enthusiastic, incorrigible, resolute, caring, imaginative and protective. You’re also incredibly inconsiderate.”

The backs of Merry’s ears and neck started tingling hotly with the sudden criticism, but he gamely kept quiet and waited for whatever else may come.

Frodo nodded encouragingly and softened his tone yet again. “You get away with your jokes and pranks because all of your relatives are used to them, and indeed have come to expect no less of you. They know that’s just how you are and that you mean no harm by them. So they forgive you immediately, or at least by the next day, and always before you even have to think about how what you did affected them.

“But not everyone is like our family. Sam isn’t like them. Sam is a very respectable hobbit, both in how he treats others and how others regard him. He’s just barely come of age, but he’s long been held in high regard by near everyone in Hobbiton and Bywater, and that’s because he’s earned it. It was never just given to him, like it is to us. I’m not saying he doesn’t have a sense of humor, because he does, and it’s sharper than most give him credit for. But he is never inconsiderate with his humor. He treats everyone with dignity, even when they prove themselves undeserving of such treatment.

“Another thing you must understand is that Sam is not naturally trusting of others, especially those from other parts of the Shire. However, once he decides that someone is worthy of his trust, he will put all faith in him without question, and with that faith comes the expectation for respect, both that he will give it without fail and that it will be received in kind. If that trust should be broken, he would hardly see reason to extend that faith again, and you, my dear Merry, you broke that trust amazingly well. If he’s cautious around you, it’s for good reason. Starting that fire was hardly the last prank you ever played on him, even if it was the last mean-spirited one.

“Why then should he trust you? What have you done to earn his faith in you? Sam owes you nothing, least of all his friendship, just because you now have decided that you want things back the way they were. Why would Sam wish for that to happen, if it means the chance of even more pranks and jokes at his expense?

“I know the reason you gave for what you did that Harvest night, but he was not the only one ignoring you that visit. I wasn’t spending much time with you either as you may recall. You could have just as easily pulled some pranks on me, yet it was Sam you picked. And we both know why.

“So I ask you again. What are your intentions? Because if you don’t know, you won’t get very far with Sam. And if your intentions are for the wrong reasons, he will know it in a heartbeat and he will keep you at the distance you belong.”

Merry hung his head. Over all the years, during all the lectures and admonitions from his parents and the scowling disapproval of his various relations, no words had stung him as harshly as those. He felt like a fool for not making those connections sooner. On top of what Pippin had suggested yesterday, Merry was beginning to see that this problem was much more complicated than he ever suspected, and he was becoming discouraged that it would ever be remedied.

“So it’s hopeless?” Merry asked, forlorn. “There has to be something I can do.”

“There is,” Frodo said and reached over to squeeze Merry’s knee supportively. “Just be his friend, but on his terms. Be honest, hide nothing and expect nothing in return. Accept his silence as his answer. Don’t insult him by assuming he’s here to help you. He is not a simple servant; he is a master in his trade and if he would set himself a decent wage, I would let him do so in a heartbeat. I am not his employer; rather he does me the honor of tending my gardens every day that he wakes up, when he could just as easily work for everyone in Hobbiton and Bywater that would have him. And if you think no one’s tried to steal his service from me, you’d be wrong.”

“But what if I do that and still it isn’t enough?” Merry asked worriedly.

Frodo considered this carefully. He looked over at Sam, whose sandy curls were all that could be seen of him in his sleeping roll. How could he describe Sam – sensible, even-tempered, bashful Sam – to Merry, who had spent most of his life with a friend who was as equally impulsive, reckless and outgoing as he was?

“There is a plant in the garden that is very difficult to tend, and only a few specially-skilled gardeners even attempt to grow it. You have to be patient with it, spend countless hours with it. You have to tend to it as it requires to be tended, not as you wish to. Its soil must never be allowed to dry out, nor to become too moist. This plant can only get a certain amount of sun or the leaves will turn black and fall off. But if you don’t give it enough sun, the whole of it will wilt and it will never thrive.

“You could easily make the mistake of thinking it pointless to tend it so, when it gives you nothing in return for your efforts but barren stems for eleven months out of the year. But if you keep at it, if you’re patient and do what it requires of you, it blooms so magnificently, so brilliantly, it takes your breath away and you can’t look anywhere else. It makes all that effort and sweat worth it, a thousand fold, and after that, you will happily tend it tirelessly for the next eleven months, just to see it bloom again.

“Be the friend to Sam that he would be to you, and I think you’ll be surprised with the results. Of course, the key word in that piece of advice is patience.”

“I’m patient,” Merry said and was rewarded with a dubious look from Frodo. “I know, I know. I’m competitive.”

Frodo smiled and chuckled softly. “Yes you are. And while I wouldn’t have you any other way, not everything is a competition. You must learn to swallow your pride, Meriadoc.”

He went back to sipping on his tea and Merry followed suit. They sat and watched the last of the fire embers die, only marginally aware of the heat that was already building from the still-rising sun. The scent of earth and wildflowers were all about them, and except for the occasional shifting of their sleeping companions, they nearly forgot that anything else existed but for their small tucked-away corner of the world.

They eventually reached the bottom of their cups and Frodo gathered them for washing. “Why don’t you talk to Sam again this morning,” Frodo suggested.

“I’ve talked to him the last two mornings and got nowhere,” Merry said. “It won’t be any different this morning.”

“I think you’re better prepared this time. Besides, third time pays for all,” Frodo pointed out. “Talk to him. Listen to your heart and hold nothing back. He deserves that.”

On the other side of the fire pit, Sam and Pippin began to stir. Frodo spooned out two more cups of tea and added honey. He handed them up as each hobbit came to sit around the ashes, yawning as they struggled to regain full consciousness.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Frodo asked.

Pippin nodded meekly and sat close to Merry. He leaned on his older cousin slightly, resting his head on Merry’s shoulder. Merry turned and placed a kiss in Pippin’s curls, and that was the only apology needed between them.

Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched long. He would never say anything, but he would be grateful when he had his own bed to sleep in once again. He sipped on his tea and looked about the camp, taking in the flowers and shrubs in the pale rays of morning light.

“And I hope you slept well, Sam,” Merry ventured.

“Aye, I did, thank you, Mr. Merry,” Sam responded formally. “And you, sir?”

“Quite well,” Merry answered. “Or at least I would have, if not for a certain younger cousin, who shall remain nameless, crowding me out of my own sleeping roll for the third night in a row.”

Sam nodded and took another drink of his tea. He cast his gaze down at the fire pit and frowned. “We need more wood,” he mumbled. “I’ll get some. What would you like for breakfast, Mr. Frodo?”

Merry sighed softly and gave Frodo a look that said, ‘See? I told you.’

Frodo returned it with a look of his own, ‘Patience.’ Out loud, Frodo said, “Let Pippin and me worry about breakfast, Sam. See if you can’t find any more of those juniper berries, and take Merry with you to get the wood.”

Merry and Sam shot each other a surprised look, then quickly looked away. “Yes sir,” Sam said and started to rise, the panic in Merry’s chest rising with him. Merry was not ready for this.

But Frodo was. “Finish your tea first, Sam, and wake up a bit more,” he said with a kind laugh. “We can do without food for awhile yet.”

“We can?” Pippin asked, a pout forming instantly. “But I’m hungry.”

Frodo and Merry said nothing. Merry was too immersed in scrambling for ways to approach Sam again and he was only marginally paying attention to Pippin. Frodo however discreetly raised an eyebrow at Sam, who nodded gamely. “Now, Master Pippin, tea’s a fine treat afore first breakfast, you know.”

“It is?” Pippin said, unconvinced. “I wish my treat were a little more solid. I dreamt of chocolate-covered strawberries last night, and caramel apples. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had caramel apples? But I suppose I could wait for first breakfast,” he finished with a sigh and leaned further into Merry.

Frodo gave Sam an impressed look. That conversation would have lasted much longer with either him or Merry, and it would have only ending once they gave into Pippin’s pleading green eyes and quivering lower lip. Only Sam wasn’t paying Frodo any heed either. The gardener was suddenly immersed in thoughts of his own, and he wore a reflective and studious expression Frodo knew only too well. Comprehension suddenly dawned, and Frodo hid his smirk with difficulty. ‘Very clever, Sam. Very clever indeed.’
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 11

“Come along, Pippin, let’s see what’s left of our stores. We’ll need to leave enough food for luncheon and tea at least,” Frodo said once they finished their morning tea. He pulled Pippin up and walked with him to the tent.

“What about second breakfast?” Pippin asked. “And elevenses? Ever since we left Bag End, we haven’t been eating properly at all. I’ve missed eight meals already.”

“You’re hardly wasting away, Pippin, so stop complaining,” Frodo said and lifted the tent flap to allow Pippin inside.

Pippin entered, grumbling softly under his breath. He most certainly was wasting away and at this rate, he would likely die of starvation, the first hobbit ever in history to do so. He could only hope that Merry and Sam came back quickly. They couldn’t start breakfast without a fire.

Frodo chose that moment to turn back to Merry and Sam, who were preparing to leave to fetch the wood and juniper berries. “I don’t think there’s much wood left nearby,” he called to Merry, “so we won’t expect you back anytime soon.”

Pippin gaped at Frodo indignantly as his older cousin entered the tent. “Not expect them back anytime soon?” he complained.

“Merry’s going to talk to Sam again, so stop your whining, Peregrin Took. There are more important things than your stomach,” Frodo said tersely and began rummaging through the packs. There was a little bit of bread left, a block of cheese, some fruit and berries they had been picking along the way, the onion Merry had picked yesterday. “Maybe we could go look for some more eggs.”

“Maybe,” Pippin grudgingly agreed, then perked up. “Maybe you could go look and I’ll keep an eye on camp.”

“Very well,” Frodo agreed, “but if I notice any food missing upon my return, I will tell Sam.”

Pippin gawked up at him, clearly horrified at the thought. “How did you know? Sam told you? But he promised! You would tell him? But I’m your cousin; we’re practically brothers,” he sputtered, betrayal evident in his voice.

“Of course he didn’t, and yes I would,” Frodo assured smoothly. “I know an advantage when I see one.”

“I’ll behave then,” Pippin mumbled, his shoulders slumped with disappointment, his stomach growling in protest and misery.

So far on this trip, he has been starved, lost, bitten, haunted by a whistling ghost and starved some more. His back was sore from sleeping on the ground, his shoulders were sore from carrying the pack, he was dirty and his clothes were filthy from all the walking, and running into that creek didn’t help matters.

Why hadn’t he just insisted they go to Overhill and visit Folco instead? He would be there with his aunt and uncle this time of year, and doing his best to learn a useful skill other than breaking everything in sight. If Pippin had begged enough and pouted a bit, Merry would have caved. Pippin sighed and started helping Frodo split up the food. “I should have pouted,” he muttered to himself.

Frodo could only smirk at this and he stood up again, hiding his sigh with his upward movement. He really was too soft sometimes.

“Where are you going?” Pippin asked.

“To look for eggs,” Frodo said. “Come on, we’ll look for more food along the way and you can eat whatever you find.”

Pippin jumped up at this and was out the tent before Frodo could even blink. “Hurry up!” Pippin called impatiently by the edge of their campsite and waited until Frodo caught up with him before continuing forward.  

Merry and Sam made their way through the woods. Neither of them spoke.

Sam was simply waiting for the inevitable. It had been obvious to him upon awaking that Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry had been speaking urgently with each other. When Mr. Frodo suggested they go look for the wood while he and Master Pippin, of all hobbits, sorted out the food, Sam had guessed easily enough what his master and Mr. Merry had been speaking about.

Sam knew his master wanted him and Mr. Merry to reconcile, but nothing had changed. He had been thinking hard since his conversations with Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo yesterday, and the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be friends with Mr. Merry again. Even if he did, he just didn’t see any way that it could be possible. As he had told Mr. Frodo, it was one thing for him to be friends with his master. That at least could be accepted if not understood. He spent so much time at Bag End after all, and no one really thought twice if the Bagginses of the Hill decided to once again defy convention.

Plus, they did have something in common. His Gaffer and Mr. Bilbo had seen immediately that encouraging him and Mr. Frodo to spend time together was good for them both. Sam was able to benefit from Frodo’s knowledge of how painful and confusing losing a parent was, especially at such a young age. Frodo likewise benefited from helping Sam when he needed it and simply enjoying his sunny disposition the rest of the time.

Sam tried to find such an exception for Mr. Merry and he simply could not. With no common ground between them, there was no practical reason for them to be friends. Besides which, he knew how Mr. Merry could get with his friends, even with Mr. Frodo at times. While Sam didn’t doubt that Mr. Merry would take all care of Mr. Frodo if need be, he also didn’t doubt his master’s ability to handle his cousin when he got a bit mischievous. Mr. Frodo could hold his own, but Sam could not.

Master Pippin was easy to figure. The lad was completely open and he was forever playful. He told you exactly what was on his mind, and he never had an agenda beyond having fun, playing about and eating. Mr. Merry however has always been a bit of a mystery. There was always something going on behind his calculating eyes and Sam would be considered smart if he could ever guess what it was. Only he could never guess. Mr. Merry was forever surprising him, whether he meant to or not, and Sam did not much like surprises.

So it was with a heavy heart that Sam led the way to the juniper bushes. He kept a discreet eye on Mr. Merry as they walked. Mr. Merry had been unusually quiet and contemplative all morning, and Sam wondered at the change. Whatever his master told Mr. Merry, it seemed to have the Brandybuck stumped.

Merry walked next to Sam, unaware of the gardener’s subtle regard. He was still reflecting deeply on everything Frodo had told him, just as he had been all through tea. He wished he had more time to think, but Frodo clearly felt it was time to act. He only hoped that he didn’t say the wrong thing. He knew now what he needed to say; he was going to have to be painfully honest with himself and he knew the only way to do that was to speak before he could talk himself out of it. That Frodo was expecting him to speak with Sam helped somewhat. He didn’t want to return to camp and tell Frodo he had chickened out.

They reached the juniper bushes shortly and made quick work of picking more of the succulent berries. Or at least, Sam did. Merry’s arms were still sore and the wasp bites were burning worse than the night before. Each movement of his arms pulled the skin painfully. It didn’t help that his was trembling with nervousness or that his hands were sweating profusely. Merry took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, to little avail.

“Mr. Merry? Are you all right, sir?” Sam asked at last, noticing Merry’s winces and the paleness of his face. Maybe Mr. Merry’s silence had more to do with sickness associated to the wasp bites than to anything else. “Are you feeling ill from those stings, sir? Queasy, dizzy, short of breath?”

Merry shrugged. “I feel fine. I’m just wondering why I had to be stung so many times,” he said, more to fill the silence and give him a bit more time to think. “Not that I wanted anyone else to get stung, but why did they like me so much?”

“Yellow,” Sam answered. He plucked a few last berries and dropped them into the pouch he had brought, then pulled the drawstring closed.

“Yellow?” Merry asked.

“Your breeches,” Sam explained. “See, sir, flowers are the colors they are so as to attract the bees and birds and such to them, and most of the flowers in here are yellow or have yellow in them.”

“Of course,” Merry said. “So the next time I’m being chased by a swarm of wasps or bees or whatever, I should just chuck my breeches.”

“Or just wear a plainer color of breeches,” Sam suggested more practically. He started to head back to camp and Merry knew it was now or never.

“Sam wait,” he said before he could lose his nerve. “We need to talk, if you don’t mind.”

Sam stopped and faced Merry cautiously. So this was it? Sam shuffled his feet awkwardly and crossed his arms in front of him.

“Sam,” Merry said again and wiped his palms dry on his breeches. He cleared his throat uncertainly. “I really don’t know where to start. There’s so much to say.”

“You don’t need to be saying aught, Mr. Merry,” Sam said, not really wishing to have this conversation again. “Let’s just get back to camp, if you don’t mind.”

“But I do need to say this,” Merry insisted solemnly. “I need to say it now or I never will. All I ask of you is that you listen. You don’t need to do anything else; you don’t even need to say anything. Will you listen? Please?”

Sam hesitated but eventually gave in to Merry’s beseeching expression. He sat upon the ground and Merry followed suit.

“Let’s see,” Merry began slowly as he fidgeted nervously with the leaves upon the ground and the small tufts of grass growing here and there. “I could start at the beginning, or I could start at the obvious place, or I could start with the truth. The truth is the hardest, but if there’s one thing my parents have managed to teach me it’s that the hardest path is usually the right one. So I’ll start with the truth.”

He hesitated here. What he was about to say he had never said to anyone before. He had never acknowledged this long-ago feeling, buried so deeply he had all but forgotten it until this morning, when Frodo’s careful words unearthed it so painfully. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to steady his nerves, then looked Sam straight in the eyes. Sam waited patiently, guarded but curious.

Merry breathed deeply and let the air out slowly, attempting one last time to steady his hammering heart. All he could do now was barrel ahead, so he did. “I was jealous of you,” he forced the words out.

Sam clearly didn’t believe this. His expression instantly turned sour, the doubt evident in his eyes. “Please, Mr. Merry, don’t make fun.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t,” Merry insisted hurriedly, desperate to make Sam understand once and for all. “I was jealous of you. It was different when Frodo would come back from his visits and tell me everything he had done and everyone he had spent time with, because he was home again when he would tell me. I could hear his voice and see the joy in his eyes. I could curl up in his lap and he would spend the whole afternoon with me alone. Back then, you were just a name and nothing more, just one of the many names he would mention while telling his stories, and you meant nothing to me.

“Then Frodo moved to Bag End. I tried to understand that it was what he needed. I told myself constantly that it was the only way he could be happy, that Buckland held too many painful reminders of his parents. But it felt like he abandoned me. I knew it wasn’t true, but I couldn’t stop the feeling. I kept wondering if I had just done something different, been better or funnier, just been more of whatever it was that he needed, then he would have stayed. I knew it was silly to feel that way. I knew his decision to leave had nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t help it.

“So when I started getting his letters, it was with a bitter heart that I listened to my mother read them. Then I would take the letters back to my room and stare at them, trying to read them for myself. He sounded so happy, even in his writing; you could see it. It leapt off the page with every curve and every line he wrote. I noticed that he mentioned you more than anyone else, next to Bilbo of course. His letters were full of things you had done, things you had said, things you had planted in the garden, things you had learned. You were no longer just a name. You were my replacement.”

Here Merry paused and drew another steadying breath. The silence that hung between them was heavy and suffocating in the sweltering heat, and the birds singing in the trees sounded miles away, muted and hollow.

Sam opened his mouth to raise a protest at this last statement, but Merry shook his head. He would lose his resolve if he was interrupted now. There were so many memories crowding his mind, he found it difficult to remember what he was going to say next. He was grateful for Sam’s silence, for it helped him to concentrate and find his place.

“You were my replacement,” Merry repeated at length, “and he didn’t need me anymore. It was a horrible feeling, to doubt my place in his life, to know that he wouldn’t be coming back. And he didn’t come back. That whole first year, he never left Bag End. I see now that he was afraid to leave. He thought that if he left it for even a day, he would wake up to find it all a dream, and he couldn’t bear that thought. The fear of it stole his breath away, like missing him stole mine. I know now that Bilbo was the reason he left, that being adopted, belonging to someone again, meant more to him than anything. I know now that he latched onto you because he saw himself in you, how he used to be. He couldn’t bear to see another child without a mother and you healed him in a way no one else could because of it.

“I know that now, but during that first year without him, I just felt as though I meant nothing to him. That was the first Harvest without him, the first Yule, the first spring thaw, the first sowing of the fields. He didn’t even come to my birthday. My parents arranged for us to visit him instead, and I know they were baffled at my lack of enthusiasm, but I didn’t want to come all this way just to be ignored, to watch him spend all his time with everyone other than me.

“Of course, that isn’t what happened. He was so eager to see us that he waited down by the bridge to meet the carriage and he hugged me nearly all the way up the Hill. I was so relieved to find that he missed me as much as I missed him. He always said he missed me in his letters but with everything else he would say, I didn’t see how. Yet knowing that he did truly miss me wasn’t quite enough to eradicate the feelings that had been building up over the last several months. So when I met you, all I could see at first was the lad who got to spend all day, every day, with my Frodo, and I hated you for it.

“I’m sure you sensed it. How could you not? But you were kind to me anyway and within just a couple of hours, you had won me over completely. I was still jealous of you when we left, but it was no longer hostile, because try as I might, I found it impossible to hate you. You were just so nice. Even so, you would still get to see him everyday, while I had to contend myself with waiting for his letters, and I envied you for it. His letters were easier to read after that though, and I found I was just as eager for news of you as I was of him because you were now my friend also.

“And then you weren’t.

“The only explanation I can give for the fire is that some tiny little seed of that initial doubt and jealousy still lived inside me somewhere, waiting for a chance to take root. Frodo was too busy to spend much time with me. You were too busy, what with your father quizzing you on the gardens from sun up to sun down. And I was far too stupid. It only took me five minutes to sabotage our friendship, and thirteen years to figure out why. I’ve wasted so much time.”

Merry paused again, and the silence now was expectant and understanding. Sam’s face was blank of any expression, but he was watching Merry closely, listening to him intently. He waited patiently for Merry to continue.

“So why the sudden change? Everyone keeps asking that, and I suppose they have cause to do so. Why do I want to be friends again, all of a sudden?” Merry went on. “It’s true that I never wanted to stop being friends. It’s true also that I didn’t know how to fix what I had done all those years ago. I still don’t know how really. And everything else I’ve told you already is true also. But the real truth is that Frodo disappeared last year.

“When we came to visit him, and he hadn’t returned home from his walking trip to Southfarthing yet, you were so worried. We all were. He had never been late to return home before and it had been raining. We spent that whole week trying to find some clue of what happened to him, and it was as though all those years of distance between us melted away. I had become so accustomed to the distance, I had forgotten how much I missed being your friend. I suddenly realized how silly it was that the three people in all the Shire who love Frodo the most couldn’t speak plainly to each other. We should be able to, don’t you see? For there will come a day when Frodo will try to leave us and how could we hope to prevent it if we’re too afraid to even look at each other?

“I know this all comes too late. I know the damage is irreparable and there is no reason why you should ever trust me again, but I want to apologize one last time for being such a poor friend to you and ask if there is any way you can forgive me. I’ll understand if you say no. I’ll understand if you need time, whether it takes you five minutes or another thirteen years. I will do my best to be patient. But know this: I will be your friend. No matter what you decide, I will respect your wishes, even if it’s that you wish me to leave you alone. You don’t need to answer me now. Take as much time as you need to think on it.”

“I don’t need to think on it, Mr. Merry,” Sam said, his expression still blank, and Merry felt his heart drop. “Just answer me one question, sir, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Merry said weakly, wondering what else Sam might want him to confess. He didn’t think he could handle any more revelations just now, and he honestly couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Sam played with the drawstring on his pouch and peeked up at Merry. “What exactly did you pour on the wood to make it light up so?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eyes and a grin tugged on the corners of his mouth.

Merry saw this and sighed with relief. “Fortified wine,” he answered and could only shrug at Sam’s shocked expression. “I thought it would work the same as the ale. Of course, I’ve since learned that they water down the ale before pouring it on the wood.”

“Ah. Well, seeing as you didn’t know that afore hand, I suppose I can forgive you this one time,” Sam said, unable to give voice to any of the other thoughts crowding his head just then.

He had never thought in all his life that anyone could ever be jealous of him, for any reason, least of all one of the gentry. He didn’t doubt Mr. Merry’s sincerity though, and as long as he had an excuse to give his Gaffer, there would be no protests raised. For Merry had unknowingly answered his most troubling question and why Sam didn’t see it before was beyond him. They did have something in common, and that was their love for Frodo, and their desire to see that he was always safe and content.

Merry felt a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders and he breathed deeply and easily for the first time since sitting down. “Thank you, Sam,” he said, serious again. “I know it will take time for you trust me again as you once did. There’s no rush, and if it will help at all, I promise you now: no more jokes, no more pranks. On you anyway. I can’t promise I won’t do anything to Frodo if an opportunity should present itself,” he finished with a grin, and while Sam cocked his eyebrow at this, the gardener also smiled playfully.

“You just best leave me out of that,” Sam said, then stood up. “No rush then. Come on now, Mr. Merry. Let’s get back to camp afore Master Pippin forgets himself and eats the rest of the food.”

Merry stood and brushed the dirt off his pants. As much as he had enjoyed the last couple of days, and as glad as he was to have this time to start patching things up with Sam, he couldn’t wait to get back to Bag End. He was dirty, sore, in pain, tired and ready for a good, long, hot bath. And speaking of Pippin and food… “Sam, tell me something.”

“Yes, Mr. Merry?”

Merry nearly asked, but he bit the question back. Pippin was right; Sam didn’t have to tell him how he kept Pippin’s appetite in check, and asking him now would be no way to begin rebuilding their friendship. Only he had to say something now. “How long do you think these wasp stings will continue to, well, sting?”

Sam grinned and stooped down to pick up some branches. “If you’re lucky, sir, only a week.”

“A week? Well, here’s hoping to luck then,” Merry said and picked up a few branches of his own.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 12

Merry and Sam returned to camp just as Frodo and Pippin returned from their own venture. Pippin was happily munching on various berries and edible roots they had found. He was also dragging behind him the walking sticks he and Merry had inadvertently left behind the night before. Frodo followed close behind, carefully cradling eight robin eggs in his shirt.

“Look what we found,” Pippin announced as he and Frodo unburdened themselves of their loads. Pippin then disappeared into the tent while Merry prepared a small fire and Sam made another poultice with the berries and dirt.

“I hope these eggs are edible,” Frodo said after he arranged the walking sticks and sat down next to the fire pit. “If they aren’t, we’ll have to return them to their nests and beg their mothers for forgiveness.”

Sam looked them over and nodded his approval before handing them back. Pippin came back then with his arms loaded with the breakfast food. He put the food down carefully and took the eggs from Frodo. Merry appointed himself the job of dicing up the onion and the last of the other vegetables and Pippin cracked the eggs into a bowl and started stirring them.

“And you two found everything I take it?” Frodo asked Merry and Sam. Pippin looked up from his stirring and waited for the answer.

“We did,” Merry assured. “Thank you, both of you.”

“You’re more than welcome Merry-dear,” Pippin said generously and went back to whipping the eggs. “Now let’s hurry up and cook this food. I’m hungry.”

“You are? I would never have guessed,” Merry teased fondly.  

Breakfast was soon eaten, and once Merry and Pippin’s wasp stings were seen to, they all made quick work of breaking camp. They buried the fire pit last and checked the immediate area to ensure they left nothing behind. By nine o’clock, they were on the road, bearing their loads with ease despite the already-increasing heat of the day.

They had decided to continue traveling in the direction they had been going. Merry and Pippin wished to see the rest of the trail, and Frodo saw no reason to deny them, as it really didn’t matter which way they went from this point. They were looking at a thirty-mile hike either way, and at least going west, they would be closer to Needlehole and help should Merry or Pippin suddenly take ill.

They soon came upon the hedge Merry and Pippin had found the day before, and they discovered that it extended due north for two miles before following the long, sharp northern curve of the path. This topmost part of the path was fairly close to the edge of the woods, and they could see the fields of the Northfarthing stretching outward invitingly beyond the last line of trees. The breeze here was swift and refreshing, cool and much welcomed after the previous three days spent wishing for its presence. The hobbits rejoiced in it and found it difficult to follow the path as it dipped south again, back into the stifling heart of the forest.

Yet follow it they did, and they found the path here to be uneven and rough. They kept their footing easily enough, and the path was wide enough that they could walk two abreast, Frodo and Merry in front, and Sam and Pippin behind. Pippin kicked absently at the many leaves and twigs that littered the ground, and every now and then he attempted to jump up and bat at a low-hanging branch.

After a mile of marching south, they came at last to the end of the hedge. Merry paused to look up at it critically and the others stopped to join him. The hedge was wild and uneven in its growth, thicker here, thinner there, but it was still taller than all the other bushes they had seen thus far. It reached a height of eight feet at least, and they could see now that it was a double hedge – two rows of perfectly spaced hawthorn, interweaving through the countless years to form one impenetrable barrier.

“Someone planted that,” Sam said.

“I wonder why,” Merry mused.

Frodo shrugged. “I am uncertain why anyone would plant such a wall here. Do you have any ideas, Sam?”

Sam shook his head and examined the hedge closer. Whoever had planted this wall, no one had tended it for many long years, long enough that the reason for it being here had been forgotten by all. If he had to venture a guess… “Mayhap it was built to block the wind on cold nights.”

“They could have picked something nicer to plant then,” Pippin pointed out. “And why would anyone need a wall here? Did folk back then camp here more than they do now? Did folk used to live here?”

Frodo laughed and started the march again. “I don’t know, Pip, but when we get back to Bag End, you can dig through all of Bilbo’s old books and see if any of them mention the hedge if you want.”

Pippin scrunched his nose up at this. Study? When he didn’t have to? “That’s all right, I’ll just make up my own story.”

“This should be good,” Merry said, but Pippin apparently didn’t feel like making the story up just then and the easy silence between them returned.

They paused only once that morning, so Sam could administer more of the poultice. He also checked Pippin’s hand again and was pleased that the cut was a more natural color now. When Pippin wasn’t able to get at it, he managed to refrain from scratching it and therefore aggravating it. It was now scabbed over as it should be, and he saw no sign of infection, but Sam thought the healer should take a look at it anyway once they returned to Bag End.

The sun was nearing its high point and the heat reached its unforgiving peak. The travelers kept to the shade as best they could, which was easy enough to do. The trees here were a mixture of elm, maple and fig, and they provided much cover from the sun. An occasional gust of wind made its way down to them and they drank deeply from their water skins. Various birds could be heard singing all about them: robins, finches, larks, blue jays, magpies and sparrow hawks. Sam knew a few of the birdcalls and imitated them perfectly to the delight of his companions, even managing to bring some of the birds down from the trees to answer his calls.

There was no need for a fire for the luncheon meal, and really no need for them to stop other than the need for rest. Merry and Pippin happily shrugged off their packs and rested against a tree, eating their food in slow, appreciative bites. Frodo relaxed also, pleased with the progress they had made so far. They had already traveled a good nine miles and if they kept up at this pace, they would be home by suppertime.

As soon as they were finished eating, Frodo beckoned them to their feet. They walked in silence for a time, but then Merry sighed dramatically and said aloofly, “I have a story.”

“Oh?” Frodo asked, and Pippin perked up enthusiastically.

“Yes indeed. It took me awhile, but I finally remembered an embarrassing story about you Frodo,” Merry continued and grinned impishly. “About you and a certain Posy Goold, at my twelfth birthday party. That would have made you… twenty-six?”

Even from behind him, Sam could see the flush working its way up Frodo’s neck to his face. “Twenty-five. And how would you know about any of that?” Frodo asked.

“Folk talk, Frodo,” Merry replied unrepentantly.

“What happened?” Pippin asked excitedly. He never heard embarrassing stories about Frodo and this one sounded good.

“Well, there was a certain amount of begging, and a certain amount of pleading, and great deal of kissing, but necessarily in that order. And if that wasn’t enough…” and here Merry paused and winked devilishly at Frodo. “No. No, I don’t think I should say anything about it. It wouldn’t be proper to speak of a lass when she isn’t here to defend herself.”

Frodo snorted at this. “She’s hardly the one that needed defending, as I recall. I’ll never forgive Esmeralda for setting me up with her.”

“Come on, Merry,” Pippin begged. “What happened? Tell me.”

Merry shook his head, to disguise his shaking shoulders. He repressed his laughter with difficulty. “No, now that I think of it, there’s really nothing to tell. I think I’ll just keep it to myself.”

“That’s not fair,” Pippin said, catching on now what Merry was up to. Merry wasn’t going to get information out of him that way, and especially not with Sam right there. Only now he needed something else to talk about to keep his mind off this tantalizing mystery. His searched quickly for another topic, and there was only one thing he could think of. “So Sam, what do you think your sisters are doing right now? It’s midday, so that means they’ll be preparing dinner and afters. Maybe baking cupcakes, or apple tarts, or cinnamon rolls. I love those. Or at least, I think I would, if I were ever allowed to have one. Do you think it’s right, Sam, for a hobbit to reach my age and never have had a cinnamon roll?”

“That’s the most improper thing I ever heard,” Sam said sympathetically.

“That’s what I keep telling Mum, but she won’t listen to me.”

“Well, I don’t know about cinnamon rolls, but Daisy does make a good batch of cream-filled pastry balls. They’re more or less the same,” Sam said. “And Carmen – that’s Hamson’s wife – she bakes a cheesecake that near melts in your mouth, and no mistake.”

“Indeed. I would have hoarded the one she baked for the Fair’s baking contest,” Frodo said.

Sam chuckled. “Had you tried, sir, you’d have found yourself buried in hobbits all eager to do the same.”

“Did any of your sisters ever make chocolate truffles?” Pippin asked. “I love chocolate, you know.” He looked up at Sam hopefully.

Sam shook his head regrettably. “Nay, I’m afraid not sir, but they’re easy enough to make.”

“Pippin,” Merry finally admonished, “why are you tormenting yourself like this? You know you can’t have any of those things.”

“Tell me about Posy Goold then,” Pippin demanded.

“No, it’s a secret,” Merry replied coolly.

“How about we speak of something else,” Frodo suggested, easily interrupting the argument before it could begin. “I’ve been thinking of taking another hiking trip after Harvest. I thought we would all go up to the Brockenborings and the Hills of Scary and explore around there. What do you say?”

Frodo didn’t know what amused him most: the immediate, panicked silence that followed his announcement, or hearing his cousins fumbling for excuses why they couldn’t go. They would love to go of course, only Merry had his studies, and Eglantine’s birthday was during that time and Pippin couldn’t possibly miss that. Frodo already knew Sam’s excuses of course and he just shook his head at his friends.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “After the fuss you all made about coming with me on this trip, I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to go on another.”

“Oh, it’s not that,” Pippin said. “It’s just, after Harvest? Wouldn’t it be better to go before the end of the harvests, after your birthday? Then we could just travel from Bag End to Buckland, since we’ll be spending the time there for Harvest anyhow.”

“There’s only a week between my birthday and the end of the harvests, which wouldn’t give us much time. It would be better to go after the celebrations. That way, Sam would be able to come as well. And as for Buckland, I was actually thinking of inviting you to stay in Hobbiton this year,” Frodo explained, which was met only by more silence.

Finally Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, I don’t reckon I’ll be able to go after Harvest either. Gaffer’s joints get to aching him round that time and Marigold couldn’t handle him on her own, not with all as she’s got to be doing.”

Frodo could only laugh. “Well isn’t this a turn of events. Now I’m begging all of you to come along and you’re looking for excuses not to,” Frodo teased and his friends at least had the good sense to look abashed.

They soon came to a sharp, ninety-degree turn where the path suddenly began running due east, back into the very heart of the forest. Frodo and Sam automatically began to follow it, but Merry paused, causing Pippin to stall between them. Merry knew where they were from the maps, and he looked up beyond the vacant glade that rested beyond the edge of the path. Sure enough, not even a quarter of a mile away, on the other side of the glade, he could see where the path curved back out and continued south again.

“Wouldn’t it be faster just to cut across?” Merry asked, getting Frodo’s attention. Frodo and Sam stopped and came back to join Merry and Pippin in assessing the situation.

“I don’t remember this,” Frodo said simply and frowned at the glade. He didn’t know why, but something about it left him uneasy. “I think we should follow the path.”

“But we can save half a mile easily,” Merry said. “The path just goes in and comes back out to here anyway.”

“Short cuts make long delays,” Pippin quoted.

“Your father isn’t always right, you know,” Merry replied.

“I know, but try telling him that,” Pippin said and waited for Frodo to come to a decision.

Frodo just shook his head. Bilbo had always said to stay on the paths, no matter what, and he remembered Sam saying that Robin and the Shirriffs had stuck to the paths as well when they came through last year. Yet cutting across would save them a bit of time, and the sooner they were home the better. Still, something about the glade was off-putting and Frodo hesitated to enter it.

Sam stood next to his master and examined the land critically. He too noticed that there was something odd about this glade and it took only a few seconds for his gardener’s eye to figure out what. “There’s naught growing here,” he commented. He stood restlessly on the edge of the path and did not step over the boundary.

“It’s a glade,” Merry reasoned. “Nothing’s supposed to grow here. It’s just like the one where we camped the first night.”

Sam shook his head warily. “It ain’t at that. Glades’ve got grass at least. There’s no grass here. Not even weeds, or leaves or twigs from the trees. There’s nothing.”

The cousins realized with a start that Sam was indeed correct. The glade was completely devoid of twigs, leaves, even rocks. No grass, flowers, thistles or thorn bushes grew anywhere within it. There was only dirt, smooth and flat, without a dip or a bump.

The hobbits didn’t know what to make of this puzzle. Finally, Merry bent down and picked up the largest rock he could find. He tested its weight, figured it to be about five pounds, and threw it into the clearing. They waited for several long minutes during which the rock sat serenely on the ground. Then, within the space of a blink, the rock was gone. The four companions gasped.

“The hobbit-devouring bog,” Pippin whispered, entranced. He remembered the whistling he had heard over the last few nights and suddenly knew Sam’s tale to be true. “Nodi must have been walking at night and didn’t notice the path change direction. He walked right into it and didn’t know it.”

“Why at night?” Frodo asked, at the same time Merry said, “They should have planted that hedge here.”

Still intrigued, Merry ventured forward cautiously, tapping the ground well before him with his walking stick. “Be careful,” Frodo warned, and Merry nodded. For ten feet or so, he found the ground to be perfectly solid. Then he took another small step and prodded the ground again. This time, his stick met slushy sand and sank through the ground. He pushed the stick back and forth through the soupy substance, then pulled the stick back out and carefully returned to his friends. Once safely back on the path, they examined his walking stick, now covered in watery dirt.

“It’s true then,” Sam said, equally as amazed as the others. Then he shuddered and started determinedly down the path. The others followed without another word, but they all kept wary eyes on the ominous clearing, their walking sticks well ahead of them. They did not breathe easily again until they reached the other side of the bog and were leaving it behind.

“We’ll have to tell everyone the stories are true,” Pippin stated. He didn’t want any other unsuspecting souls wandering into the bog. “It’s a good thing Merry sent those wasps after us then.”

“How’s that?” Frodo and Merry asked at the same time, and Sam looked at him questioningly.

“Because, if we had gone hiking last night, we might have decided to camp in that glade,” Pippin explained. “Sam wouldn’t have been able to notice anything odd about it in the dark.”

They absorbed this in shocked silence, stunned by how correct Pippin was. If they had come upon that glade at night, they wouldn’t have thought twice about camping there. They would have set up camp immediately, or at least attempted to. By the time they would have noticed anything amiss, it very well may have been too late. They shuddered at the thought.

“If that isn’t a first,” Frodo finally said lightly. “One of your mishaps seems to have actually prevented an even worse one.”

“You may thank me later, my dear Frodo,” Merry teased back. “I’ll expect to bathe first of course, and I wouldn’t mind a mug of ale served to me as I soak my weary bones. I’ll also expect an ample and completely satisfying dinner to be waiting for me by the time I finish.”

“You’ll have to pull another miracle out of the air for that to happen,” Frodo said. “The only thing I’m doing when we get back is fetching the healer for you two. Then we’ll go through the pantries and scrape something together for dinner.”

“You’ll eat with us won’t you, Sam?” Pippin asked cheerily.

“I’ve things to see to once I get home, sir,” Sam said regrettably. “I might be late to work in the morning as well, Mr. Frodo, if you don’t mind.”

“No of course not. You take care of whatever you need to, Sam, and come to work when you’re able,” Frodo said.

“But then what will you eat?” Pippin asked with concern.

Sam smiled and winked at the young hobbit. “I’ll grab something out of the larder while I’m checking the stores. Don’t you worry about me, Master Pippin. But how much longer will you and Mr. Merry be staying?”

“Until Sterday,” Pippin answered.

“Sterday?” Frodo asked. “You mean I have another four days to put up with you all?”

“We could stay longer if you like,” Merry offered with a grin.

“Only if you come hiking with me again,” Frodo countered.

“Oh Frodo, you know we will,” Merry said. “We’ll work something out.”

With that promise between them, they continued forward in tranquil silence. Three miles south of the bog, a second smaller path cut across the one they were currently traveling upon. Frodo steered them onto this new path and as he had promised Sam at the beginning of their trip, it brought them out of Bindbole Wood a mile from where they had entered.

They stood at the edge of the forest, blinking at the fields and the nearby slopes of Overhill. The grass was crisp and lush, sprinkled with dandelions, daffodils, daisies and posies. The deep blue sky above was cloudless, the sun shining brilliantly, the wind blowing in gentle, warm gusts. The land stretched out serenely before them, in such sharp contrast to the forest, they felt as though they were stepping out of another world, returning home after an unexpected adventure.

They took a moment to breathe in the open air and appreciate the view before them. Then they stepped off the path and left the forest behind them.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 13

Within an hour of leaving the forest, they reached the outer fields that marked the boundary between the north and west farthings, and there they rested again to eat the last of their food. Sam gave Merry and Pippin a final treatment of the berry poultice and examined Pippin’s hand one more time as Pippin watched the butterflies fluttering about the field.

Once they were adequately rested, they forced themselves up and marched on. They found a path through a barley field that Sam said would save them a few miles and then cut across a strawberry patch. Beyond that was another open field of lavender and golden wallflower and on the far end of this was a lane running along the outskirts of an apple orchard. Pippin suggested cutting through the orchard as well, and one whisper of his rumbling stomach suggested the reason why. Sam however had to decline the idea.

“These are Cartwright’s lands,” he explained. “Cut through these and you’ll wind up going west away from the Hill. But this here lane’ll take us to the road, and we can take that to Overhill. We’ve another ten miles to Bag End.”

“Ten miles!” Pippin exclaimed. “But I’m tired.”

“Pippin,” Merry started to admonish but Frodo cut him off.

“It’s all right, we’re all a little tired,” Frodo said. “We’ll rest again when we get to Overhill.”

“But we’ve nothing to eat,” Pippin said. He knew he was whining and being childish, but he couldn’t help it. He just wanted to sit down and never have to move again, unless it was to eat of course.

“If you don’t mind, sirs, we can stop by Mr. Boffin’s once we reach Overhill,” Sam suggested. “My cousin Hal’s there and he can see us fed.”

“Will Griffo be there?” Merry and Pippin asked immediately, both equally concerned.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe so, sirs. He was going hunting after the Fair last I heard.”

“Yes, he was going to take his son and Folco along, and Cousin Rosa is visiting with Ponto and Porto in Hobbiton,” Frodo added, curious about his cousins’ sudden concern about the presence of old Griffo Boffin. He quickly decided he didn’t want to know and led the way to the road and on toward Overhill. If Halfast Gamgee didn’t object to feeding them on such short notice, it would solve the problem of fixing something once they arrived home.

The sun was beginning to wan when they reached Overhill and the hour was approaching dinnertime by the rumblings of their stomachs. The temperature dropped suddenly when they reached the foot of the hills and a sudden gust of wind swept through the valley, cooling the weary travelers and bringing refreshment with its welcoming chill. This helped them march the last half-mile to Griffo’s smial, but once there, Sam did not lead them to the grand, blue front door. Instead, he took them around the back of the property to the barn. He bid the others to stand back and then knocked upon the side door.

A minute passed before the door swung open and a common hobbit in worn homespun appeared. His hair was honey brown and he was not much older than Sam by appearance. His simple face split into a grin when he saw Sam. “Sammy!” he exclaimed and pulled Sam in for a hug. “What a surprise! What in the Shire brings you here?”

“Hullo Hal. Sorry for dropping in with no warning, but, well, we’re hungry if you don’t mind,” Sam said apologetically. “We’re coming back from camping and we’re out of food.”

“We?” Hal asked and stepped out of the barn. When he spotted the company Sam had brought with him, his countenance changed immediately to one of formality. He straightened up his ruffled shirt and smoothed down his matted hair with a quick pass through of his fingers. Then he bowed slightly. “Evening to you, Mr. Baggins, Mr. Brandybuck, Master Took. How are you this fine day?”

“We’re quite well, thank you, Master Halfast,” Frodo responded. “We are deeply sorry for the intrusion. If it puts you out too much, we’ll move on.”

“Nonsense. Let it not be said of me as I ever turned away the Master of the Hill, and you being Mistress Boffin’s cousin asides, but you can hardly be eating in the barn like a common work hand. It wouldn’t be proper,” Hal said hastily and turned to Sam with a bewildered and reproachful expression. “You should of rung on the bell, Sam. What’s got in your head, or out of it as I should say, bringing them down here?”

“I didn’t think anyone else would be there,” Sam said and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. If this didn’t get back to his Gaffer, it would be a miracle.

“Well, come on in then and help yourself to whatever there is,” Hal said to Sam as he stepped out of the barn. “I’ll take the masters up to the hole. Come along, Mr. Baggins, Missus Ivy can see you and your kin fed proper.”

“But,” Pippin started to protest. He looked uncertainly at Sam, who shook his head and entered the barn without a word. Pippin turned to his cousins, who were not very happy about this turn of events either, but they quietly followed Hal to the house all the same. Pippin let the protest die on his lips before following after, knowing that anything he said would be met with a reminder of what was proper and what wasn’t.

A young comely lass with russet curls was just walking out the front door, having finishing her daily cleaning duties, when Hal called out to her. “We’ve hungry mouths here, Ivy,” he said. “Best get them fed or Mr. Boffin’ll have our hides.”

“Of course,” Ivy said with a small curtsy, expertly hiding her surprise. “Will you be staying overnight as well, sirs?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Frodo answered. He and his cousins set their packs on the porch and followed the young lass into the smial.

Hal left then to return to the barn. He came back to find Sam sitting on the floor by the crate that served as Hal’s table, a plate full of food in front of him. Hal sat across from him and resumed his own meal of roasted pork, baked potato, corn and fresh bread. He poured Sam a cup of ale from his flask and handed it over with a nod of his head in the direction of the smial.

“So, camping were you? With those two?” Hal said, meaning Merry and Pippin. “You know the last time they was here a visiting Master Folco, they near broke that vase of Mistress Boffin’s. An heirloom it is, passed down to her from the mothers of her family from way back. She was right upset about the whole thing. They’re actually not supposed to be here without the mistress being home.”

“I’m sorry, Hal. I didn’t know,” Sam said.

Hal shrugged it off and waved the concern away. “Wasn’t their fault really. Ivy’s little lad let one of the hens inside the hole and Mr. Merry and Master Pippin were chasing after it trying to get it back out. Then Mr. Folco tried to help, and you know he’s a heart of gold but he would trip over his own feet sitting down that one would. They took the blame for it all. Right kind of them it was. Ivy’d just started this job and she couldn’t afford to be losing it. So, as far as we’re concerned, you were never here tonight,” Hal finished with a wink.

“Thank you, Hal,” Sam said appreciatively. “Won’t Mr. Boffin notice food missing from his pantry though?”

“Nay, he didn’t even notice the hen in the smial ‘til his wife started in on Master Folco and them. So where were you camping?” Hal asked, and Sam commenced to highlight the trip through Bindbole Wood.  

Ivy served the cousins quickly and efficiently. However she managed to make such a feast on such short notice was beyond any of them, but they greatly enjoyed the meal. A hearty beef stew, buttermilk bread, mashed potatoes with gravy, carrots and peas soon filled the table in the formal dining room where she had escorted them. A tart and sweet raspberry tea completed the meal.

Talk was scarce. They were too tired, too hungry, and they all had the distinct feeling that they really shouldn’t be there. Frodo couldn’t argue against Hal’s logic for bringing them to the smial. As far as the roper was concerned, it was only the proper thing to do, even if Griffo wasn’t there to entertain them, but they all would have preferred to eat in the barn with Sam. That no doubt is what Sam had in mind when he brought them here, knowing they wouldn’t mind the common setting, but Hal clearly would not have heard anything of the sort. To him, it was nearly as unthinkable as letting Sam come with them inside the smial to eat, and Sam too would have protested that.

Still, they had not expected to be separated from each other so suddenly. It was an abrupt and unexpected reminder of the propriety they had so easily forgotten on their trip. Sam had quickly enough readjusted, as he had never fully allowed himself to forget it, but the others still felt that Sam should be there with them. For all their talk that propriety didn’t matter between friends, they suddenly and undeniably saw why Sam continually insisted that it did.

“They can’t really stop us from going out to the barn, can they?” Pippin suggested hopefully as they helped themselves to seconds.

“You’d put Sam in a fix doing that,” Merry pointed out and that was the end of the discussion.

They tucked in and ate their food, which tasted as delicious as it smelled, and the hobbits fed themselves until every last morsel and drop was gone. Ivy served them well, and she saw that the empty bowls and plates were cleared away promptly. When the meal was finished, she curtsied again and fidgeted nervously. “I’m sorry, sirs, but there’s maught prepared for afters,” she said. “I could make you a custard with some strawberries easily enough if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Frodo assured, ignoring his cousins’ frowns. “We’ve asked enough of you for one night and you’ve been a most gracious hostess.”

“Thank you, sirs.” She escorted them to the door and they insisted on seeing themselves back to the barn.

The sun was just finished setting, the sky above darkening into dusk as the last strands of pink and gold on the horizon faded into night. The stars were bright and sparkling, and the half-moon bathed the land with gentle light. They retrieved their packs from the porch and shouldered them as they made their way back to the barn.

They heard Sam’s rich, throaty laughter before they even reached the side door. “Remind ole Ham of that next time he starts giving you talk about what’s proper,” Hal said with a laugh of his own, which caused Sam to further dissolve into giggles.

The cousins looked at each other bewilderedly. They seemed to have just missed a very amusing story about Gaffer Gamgee, one that wasn’t likely to be repeated in their company. Frodo waited until the laughing died down, then knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, Hal answered, with no sign of the jest he had been telling. He formally bowed and quickly offered to take their packs.

“Hal said he’d drive us down to Hobbiton,” Sam explained, just as serious, as he stepped outside behind his cousin and pointed to the pony trap waiting on the lane.

“Thank you, Master Halfast, that’s quite generous of you,” Frodo said. Any hesitation he had about accepting the offer dissolved when he noticed his cousins’ grateful smiles. They had done more than their share of walking for one day, but Frodo still had to ask. “Are you certain it’s not any trouble?”

“None at all, Mr. Baggins. I was going to ride the pony after sunset anyhow. She needs her legs stretched a bit, she does. She’s spent too many days sitting about in the shade of late,” Hal said and again asked for their packs. Sam took Frodo’s, and Hal effortlessly slung the other two packs onto his back and carried them to the cart. They placed the packs at the back of the cart next to Sam’s and Hal saw the cousins settled. “Come Sammy, ride up front with me.”

Sam did as he was told, and before long, the pony trap was rolling gently forward. This wasn’t exactly the end to their trip they had planned on, but they couldn’t deny it would be wonderful to arrive home already fed and rested.

The cart ride to Hobbiton was peaceful and as smooth as one could hope for. Hal knew where the smoothest parts of the road were and steered the pony gently and expertly. Frodo and Merry enjoyed a pipe as they dangled their feet out the back of the cart, and Pippin gratefully lay down and observed the night sky, making up his own name for the stars.

“That’s Bombur,” Pippin said, pointing to a larger star. “And that’s Erling, and that’s Eorl, and that’s Sapphire.”

“Why Sapphire?” Merry interrupted, for there was a Sapphire Banks at Great Smials and he wanted to know if there was a connection.

Pippin shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s blue,” he answered before continuing. “And see that cluster over there? That’s Biscuit Dough.”

This was met by laughs from Frodo and Merry, and up front in the coach, Hal and Sam smiled at each other, chuckling softly. Pippin continued with his list undaunted, naming the stars so randomly that Frodo was certain he named a few of them two or three times over.

A half-hour after setting out, they pulled to a stop at the Bag End gate. The sight of the round green door, even muted as it was by the darkness of night, had never looked more inviting. The hobbits clamored out of the cart, and Pippin was through the gate and up the path before the others could even retrieve their packs. Hal took up Pippin’s pack and followed the others into the smial.

Once the packs were set down in the sitting room, Hal took his leave with a nod and a bow. He offered to take Sam home, but the gardener respectfully declined. Sam saw his cousin back to the cart and waved him off, with promises to visit again soon. He waited until the pony trap disappeared around the bend of the Hill before returning to the smial.

He walked silently into the front parlor, where his master, Mr. Merry and Master Pippin had flung themselves haphazardly upon the settee and stuffed chair. Master Pippin was so tired, he was dozing lightly within seconds of curling up and resting his head on the chair’s arm, and Mr. Merry looked close to falling asleep himself, stretched out as he was on the settee. Mr. Frodo sat at the other end of the settee, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He breathed in deeply and sighed contentedly, happy to be home at last.

“Would you like me to get the baths prepared, sir?” Sam asked.

Frodo shook his head and forced himself to his feet. “That won’t be necessary, Sam. You’ve done more than enough over the last three days. Get yourself home and get some rest. I’ll see to things here.”

“I could stop by Miss Camellia’s and have her come up in an hour or so. That’ll give you time to wash up and settle in a bit,” Sam offered. The healer’s house was a bit out of his way, but it would make more sense for him to go than Mr. Frodo. Sam was going down the Hill anyway and he didn’t want his master going out when he was so exhausted.

Frodo accepted this offer and saw Sam to the door, where he reminded his gardener that he wasn’t expected to work until late the next day. When Sam was gone, Frodo made his way to the bathing rooms and started water warming for the baths. Once everything was prepared, he returned to the parlor and woke up Merry. They let Pippin sleep for the time being, and Merry took the front bathing room, promising to get another bath prepared for Pippin after he finished. Frodo made his way down the tunnel to his own bathing room and closed himself inside, more than ready to relax in the steaming water.

A half-hour later, Merry was washed, dried, dressed in clean clothes, groomed and refreshed. As he promised, he had started more water to heating after getting out of the bath and he now drained the tub and refilled it halfway. He didn’t want to give Pippin too much water to splash about in, though he figured he may as well hunt down a mop just in case.

He slipped out of the bathing room and deposited his soiled clothes in the laundry bin that sat in the back foyer. On the way back to the parlor, he stopped outside the second bathing room and listened intently. He heard no sound of movement within, so he lightly tapped on the door. This was a habit of his from when Frodo had still lived at Brandy Hall, and try as he might, he couldn’t break it. For some reason he could not explain, he had always had the oddest feeling that if he didn’t tap on the door, something dire would happen.

“I’m here, Merry,” came Frodo’s customary response, accompanied by a sudden slosh of water.

“Take your time,” Merry replied. “I’m just waking up Pippin.”

“Very well,” came the drowsy reply, followed by another, slower slosh of water.

Merry went into the guest room and grabbed Pippin’s change of clothes they had left here prior to their trip. He then went back to the parlor and tiptoed over to Pippin. He nudged his friend gently at first, then more persistently as Pippin refused to open his eyes. Merry shook Pippin’s shoulder and finally had to reach down and sit Pippin up before getting a groaning response.

“I’m tired,” Pippin protested and rubbed his eyes groggily.

“Time to get up, Pip,” Merry said. “The bath’s ready for you and do try to keep the splashing to a minimum.”

He helped Pippin to his feet and led his cousin to the bathing room. Once there, Pippin showed more energy as he headed for the tub, peeling off his clothes and tossing them all about the room. Merry placed fresh clothes on the bench and left Pippin to his bathing. He retrieved the mop from the closet in the kitchenette and stood it outside the bathing room door.

Merry roamed about the smial as he waited for his cousins to finish washing up. He eventually made his way into the library and started going through the various books there. He figured he would attempt to find something about that hedge in Bindbole if he could. He at least was still curious about it and the task would help pass the time. Frodo found him there a few minutes later and together, they scanned through as many of the dusty tomes as they could before the healer arrived.

Miss Camellia examined Merry first while Frodo went to retrieve Pippin out of the bath. She checked to make sure all the stingers were removed, as that was her main concern. Wasps generally do not leave their stingers behind, but Sam had mentioned that Frodo had found one. All the bites were clean though and the juniper berries had done their work well in reducing the swelling.

When Pippin came out, dressed but with his hair still dripping wet, Miss Camellia examined his sting bite and the scratch on his hand. Sam had suspected an allergic reaction to the cut, and Miss Camellia was pleased to see no evidence of infection. Sam had thought quickly about using the honey and keeping the wound covered. She made a cream for the cut and recommended that Pippin use it twice a day until the redness faded completely.

“You’re not going to give us anything for the wasp bites?” Merry asked as she stood up to leave.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Merry. I imagine you won’t even notice them in the morning,” Miss Camellia said. “They don’t generally hurt more than a day or so. I could leave some elderberry tea if you like, though.”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Camellia. I have some of my own,” Frodo said.

“But Sam said they would sting for a week,” Merry said, confused. He was even more confused when Pippin and Frodo laughed. He looked at them questioningly.

“He was teasing with you, Merry,” Pippin said.

“Teasing?” Merry asked. Sam had sounded so serious.

Frodo nodded. “I suspect that he was.”

“So this is what I have to look forward to then?” Merry asked and laughed himself. He could see that he would have to start learning the signs that meant Sam was joking. The gardener clearly was not as obvious with his jests as Pippin, or even Frodo.

They thanked Miss Camellia for her services and for coming out so late. Frodo saw her to the door, then called for Pippin to get back into the bathroom and mop the floor. Pippin willingly complied, and Merry and Frodo returned to the library to continue their research. Pippin joined them shortly, and while he didn’t help them, he did keep them entertained with as many songs as he could sing before drifting off to sleep again.

Merry was the next to succumb to sleep, and Frodo watched them both as they dozed, until his head started to droop as well. He, however, was not going to sleep on a chair when his bed was just across the tunnel. He found blankets and covered his cousins tightly, then kissed them on the tops of their curly heads. He blew out all but one of the candles and soundlessly made his way to his room. He climbed into his pleasantly soft bed and had just enough energy to snuff out the last candle before falling into deep slumber.  

Down the Hill in Number Three, Bagshot Row, Sam stood in his pantry with a quill and paper in hand. His list was getting longer by the minute and he wondered how he could ever hope to get everything done in the morning that needed doing.
 
 
 

To be concluded…

Epilogue

Merry and Pippin were lying atop the smial roof under the mighty oak, watching the clouds drift by and enjoying the warm summer breeze. The heat wave had broken the day after they returned from their trip and the last three days had been one beautifully perfect day after another. Now it was Highday, and they were lingering outside as long as they could, not wanting to go home just yet. They knew that as soon as luncheon was over, they would have be off for home, him to Whitwell and Merry to Buckland.

“Tell me about Posy Goold,” Pippin said again. He had been pestering Merry incessantly about this since their return and he was nowhere near close to giving up.

“Tell me why you listen to Sam,” Merry came back immediately.

“But I can’t tell you,” Pippin said, frustration obvious in his voice. Then his face lit up hopefully and he grinned at Merry mischievously. “But, if you just happened to find out on your own…”

“You wouldn’t actually be telling me,” Merry finished, grinning back.

“Sam should be here soon then,” Pippin added with a wink and went back to staring up at the clouds.  

“Hullo, Mr. Frodo,” Sam called a few minutes later as he came through the gate.

Frodo looked up from his book in surprise. He was sitting on the porch, enjoying the brisk summer day as his cousins played about the garden somewhere. He was only marginally concerned that he couldn’t hear them. He could only hope that they weren’t getting into mischief wherever they were, as he was enjoying the peaceful, quiet morning far too much to go hunt them down.

“Good morning, Sam,” Frodo said and noted the bag Sam held. “What’s that?”

“Oh, ‘tis the laundry, sir,” Sam replied casually.

“You didn’t need to bring it up on your day off,” Frodo said and stood to take the bag, but Sam held it away.

“But I did, sir, begging your pardon. ‘Tis Mr. Merry’s and Master Pippin’s things. They can’t be going home without them. Where are Mr. Merry and Master Pippin?” Sam asked, looking about.

“Oh, they’re about the gardens somewhere,” Frodo answered and made another attempt for the bag. Again, Sam effortlessly held it out of his reach.

“It’s not a bother, Mr. Frodo,” Sam insisted. “You sit back down and enjoy your book. I’ll take it inside.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye, sir,” Sam assured and stepped past Frodo and into the smial before his master could raise a protest.

“So that’s how you do it,” Frodo muttered to himself when the door closed behind his gardener. He laughed softly and sat back down. “Very clever indeed.”

Inside, Sam quickly made his way to the guest room and pulled Pippin’s pack from the wardrobe. He removed the laundry from the bag he had brought and placed the clean, folded clothes at the foot of the bed. He then pulled out several parcels and stowed them away at the bottom of the pack, beneath the camp gear. He placed the pack back in the wardrobe exactly as he had found it and straightened the wrinkles from the coverlet. Then he went to Merry’s room and deposited his clothes on the foot of that bed, and finally bunched the laundry bag under his arm and strolled out of the smial.

“Good day, Mr. Frodo.”

“Good day, Sam,” Frodo said and couldn’t hide his laugh.

Sam glanced back at him questioningly. “What’s so funny, sir?”

“Oh, nothing,” Frodo answered. “I’m just wondering why I never thought of it. Though I suppose it wouldn’t work for us. We’re his cousins after all; we’re practically brothers, and far be it for us to deprive him of anything.” He arched his eyebrow conspiratorially and nodded his head back into the smial. “How long exactly has this been going on?”

“A few years,” Sam answered, blushing brightly. “You’re not upset are you, Mr. Frodo?”

“Goodness no. Anything that keeps my pantries stocked while he’s here is fine by me. I’m just wondering how Eglantine or Paladin have never caught on, knowing how Pippin can get when he has too many…”

“He’s not allowed more than one a day. It’s part of the deal,” Sam answered, then lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper and leaned in so only Frodo could hear him. “And his parents do know, sir. They’re grateful for it actually, though Mistress Took weren’t too sure of it at first. But they say it keeps him from complaining so much when he doesn’t get his way. He thinks he’s getting away with something, see, and you know how Master Pippin loves that.”

“You think of everything don’t you, Sam?” Frodo said admiringly.

Sam shrugged. “I try to, sir.” Then he smiled, turned and strolled out the garden and back down the Hill, whistling all the while.  

Merry waited until Sam disappeared around the bend of the Hill before jumping up and running down the path to the back door. He slipped into the smial and went to the guest room he and Pippin shared.

He checked the laundry folded expertly on the bed and found nothing. He scratched his head and looked about the room, trying to solve this puzzle. If Sam had been bringing something secret for Pippin, clearly he wouldn’t leave it in plain sight. … Of course! He went over to the wardrobe and pulled out Pippin’s pack. He opened it up and rummaged through it until he spotted the tightly wrapped parcels. He pulled out the first one and carefully and gingerly opened it enough so he could see what was inside. He gasped at what he saw. ‘No, Sam would never!’

He pulled out every parcel and opened them one by one, his disbelief growing with each package. All this time, Pippin had been trying to give him hints with his conversations with Sam, and he had been too daft to realize it. How many such conversations had there been over the years, right there under his very nose? He shook his head and laughed at it all before quickly wrapping everything up again and putting the parcels back into the pack. He stowed the pack away and slipped out of the smial, running silently to the roof where Pippin was still lounging in the mid-morning sun under the oak tree.

Merry sat down next to his friend and stared at him, a fond smile on his face. “He’s bribing you?” he said at last. “He keeps you from eating everything in sight by giving you sweets? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it does,” Pippin said. “Why should I go through all the trouble of stealing food and getting caught and in trouble when he’s just going to give it to me anyway?”

“You steal food all the time,” Merry pointed out.

“At Brandy Hall and Great Smials, where it’s easy to get away with such things, but how often am I there? And there, I always have to share with someone, and it never lasts more than a day. I have no hope of sneaking sweets at home, I’d never get away with it. And here, well, there’s no need to, now is there? This way is much easier and I have a steady supply all to myself whenever I want it. It’s a fair trade I say.”

“But you could still sneak food when he isn’t around,” Merry pointed out.

“I did once at the beginning of this deal and Sam found out about it from Frodo,” Pippin said. “Frodo also told him when I was eating too much at table. Of course, he didn’t know what was going on and Sam was very sneaky about it all. Sam just made some comment about me eating Frodo out of smial and hole and Frodo lets out with the whole story. He wasn’t very pleased with me that first time and I got nothing even though I behaved the rest of my stay. But I always get something now. So, what did he bring me?”

“Well, there were cheesecake biscuits, chocolate truffles, caramel apples, cream-filled puff balls, a couple of chocolate-covered strawberries, apple tarts and two cinnamon rolls.”

“Mmmm,” Pippin said, tasting the sweets already. It was always a sore test to refrain himself from eating them all at once, but he was honest by Sam and always kept to his “one a day” rule. He didn’t want to get caught anymore than Sam did, and he had a sneaky suspicion that if he broke that rule, Sam would somehow find out; the gardener had ways of gathering information that left Pippin in awe. Besides, the rule did allow him to enjoy the treats much longer, and if he was careful, he could usually stretch the treats out until his next visit to Bag End.

Merry was still having difficulty believing all of this and his bemused expression showed it. “This is hardly proper. Why would Sam agree to do this?”

“Sam isn’t always proper, you know,” Pippin said and smiled innocently. He clearly was not going to say anything more about the subject. “Now, about Posy Goold.”

Merry sighed with resignation. He would have to think of another way to get the rest of the story out of Pippin, but for now, a deal was a deal. “Ah, yes, about Posy Goold,” Merry said and grinned back, just as innocently.
 
 
 

The End.
 
 
 

GF 2/28/05