Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and settings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinemas, and their licensees. These works were produced with admiration and respect, as fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, not for sale or profit. This story and all my others may be found on my website, http://budgielover.com.  My thanks to my dear Marigold for the beta.

Toffees, Troubles and Tooks

All in all, Frodo reflected, his visit to Brandy Hall had gone very well. He folded the fine silk waistcoat he had worn to Merry’s birthday party and laid it carefully in his pack, ignoring the buttercream stain where his little cousin had hugged him with a slice of cake still in his hand. Well, Frodo mused, he would always have that small greasy stain to remember this special trip to Buckland.

"Almost ready there, lad?" drifted Bilbo’s voice from the adjoining room. "We don’t want to miss seeing Pal and Eggie off. The lasses would take on so if they missed saying goodbye to you."

Frodo grimaced at the ill-concealed glee in his uncle’s voice. At twenty-four, Frodo was quite an object of romantic interest to his three blossoming Took cousins. Pearl, seven years younger, had taken to batting her eyelashes at him and the younger lasses followed him about like puppies. It seemed he could hardly turn around without stumbling over Pervinca or Pimpernel, or one of the numerous Brandybuck cousins staring at him with stars in their eyes.

This amused Bilbo greatly. His nephew’s striking good looks and astonishing eyes had made Frodo the toast of all the female relations and friends, and more than one lass—or even seven or eight—had added those good looks in with Frodo’s inheritance and calculated quite an agreeable future for herself as Mistress of Bag End. Not yet even close to being of age, Frodo was less amused. After being repeatedly cornered and mercilessly flirted at, he had taken to hiding in various forgotten nooks of the sprawling smial. And to add insult to injury, he suspected that ten-year old Merry was turning quite a tidy profit by selling the eager young ladies news of his cousin’s whereabouts.

Well, it was done with today. Almost all of the birthday guests were leaving for home, he and Bilbo among them. Frodo was more than ready to return to the quiet, comfortable rooms of Bag End, and was looking forward to enjoying a meal or a book in peace, without a love-struck lass appearing from the woodwork to simper at him. "Ready, Bilbo," he called back, joining the old hobbit at the door. "Poor Merry—I wish we didn’t have to leave all on the same day."

"It’s going to be difficult for the lad," Bilbo agreed. "Though I think Merry would be quite content to see the back of the rest of us, as long as you and little Peregrin were here for him."

Frodo shook his head as they walked down the long hall of the smial. "It’s lonely for Merry, not having any brothers or sisters. Pippin and I fill that need—" Something small and soft impacted his leg and Frodo looked down. By that time, it had wrapped tiny arms around his calf and was sitting on his foot, sharp face upturned and grinning. "Fwodo! Fwodo!" It crowed.

"Hullo, Pippin," Frodo replied gravely. He gave his foot a little shake but the child just clung the tighter.

"He only sits on people he likes, you know." Both hobbits looked up to see Merry smiling fondly at them. The young master of Buckland tried to collect the baby but Pippin resisted, tangling his tiny hands in Frodo’s foothair. "Fwodo!"

Frodo winced. "Well, Pippin-lad, are you ready to go home?" Pippin nodded and Frodo smiled in spite of the sting of pulled hair. "That’s a good baby."

"He is not a baby," Merry declared proudly, "he’s almost a faunt. He’s two years old and can walk, a little, and eat eggs and porridge and mashed peas. I’m going to teach him all sorts of things."

Pippin gazed up at them joyfully, his arms clasped tight just below his cousin’s knee and his little bottom firmly planted on Frodo’s foot. Frodo waggled his foot suggestively. Pippin tightened his hold and laid his head against Frodo’s leg.

"You seem to have acquired a passenger," Bilbo remarked with a grin, not offering to alleviate the situation.

"Toffee?" Pippin asked hopefully, looking up at Bilbo.

"Isn’t it time for his nap, Merry?" Frodo appealed.

"Yes, it is. You’ll have to bring him." Merry motioned Frodo towards the family quarters and started down the hall. Frodo ignored Bilbo’s snickers and clomped after Merry, swinging his leg to make the baby giggle. "Don’t get him excited," Merry called back over his shoulder. "It’s hard enough to get him to sleep in his travel basket." Frodo emitted a martyred sigh and followed.

* * *

"Now, Meriadoc. It’s been a wonderful visit, but we must go home. No more stalling." Eglantine held out her arms.

Given no alternative, Merry trudged forward, the baby’s basket cradled against his body. "I just got him down for his nap, Auntie," Merry informed Eglantine, "so try not to wake him." With a sigh, he gently tugged the blanket higher over the small form and handed the basket over. Just a few tufts of bronze baby-hair could be seen peeking past the edge of the blanket. When Eglantine started to tuck him in, Merry batted her hands away. "There’s no need to fuss with the blankets; I have them arranged perfectly."

Eglantine smiled down into the earnest young face. "You take excellent care of Pippin, Merry, you always have. I think he is your baby as much as he is ours."

Paladin took the basket from her, rocking it soothingly. "What has this boy been eating?" The Thain asked playfully. "Have you been feeding him rocks?"

"He needs fattening up a bit," Merry responded seriously. "He doesn’t like string beans or strained beets. He wants custards."

Paladin and Eglantine exchanged a wry glance over the child’s head. "Yes, well. We’ll remember that when he wakes up ready for his luncheon. In you get, lasses." This last was directed towards the Took daughters, who were exchanging hugs with all the friends and relations who had come to celebrate Merry’s birthday. The kisses given Frodo were much more enthusiastic than the kisses given him, Bilbo noted with amusement.

As the Took family cart and its waving occupants wheeled out on the road, Merry moved in front of Frodo and Frodo draped his arms around the small shoulders and pulled the child back against him. "I’m sorry, Merry-lad," Frodo said softly, "but you’ll see him again soon enough. Don’t be sad."

Merry shook his head and wiggled out of his cousin’s embrace. "It’s all right, Frodo. Pippin had to go home sometime, didn’t he? Sorry, but I’ve got to run."

Bilbo clapped his dumbfounded nephew on the shoulder. "I shouldn’t worry about Merry, Frodo-lad—he seems to be more resilient than you give him credit for. He’ll be fine. I’m off to the kitchens for a little something strengthening, then we’d best finish packing."

Frodo walked back to their rooms with an oddly heavy heart. As glad as he would be to see the round door of Bag End, the knowledge that he was leaving Merry grieved him. Intent on his own thoughts, he almost missed the barely audible sounds of fabric being rustled, accompanied by a muttered, "Stars and snakes! Where are they?"

Frodo traced the sounds to Bilbo’s room. There he found Merry sitting on his uncle’s bed, busily ransacking Bilbo’s pack. Clothes lay scattered on the floor and as Frodo watched, Merry opened a small satchel and peered into it, chortling with triumph as his hand closed around something inside.

"Meriadoc! What are you doing?"

The child spun around guiltily. "Frodo! I didn’t hear you!"

"I imagine not," the older hobbit remarked dryly, "with you throwing Bilbo’s things all over the room. What on earth are you searching for?"

Merry flushed guiltily. "I wanted some of the toffees he gave me earlier."

Frodo smiled. "Surely you haven’t eaten all of them yet, have you?"

"Maybe." Merry darted a look past his cousin, estimating the distance to the door. Knowing that calculating expression of old, Frodo tensed and regarded him narrowly.

"Why do you want the toffees, Merry—so badly, evidently, that you can’t do Bilbo the courtesy of asking him?"

Merry stared at him, the sweets clenched tight in his hand. Merry would not lie, Frodo knew, but he might deliberately withhold the truth. Frodo could not imagine such a lack of simple good manners from his lad. Unless … unless Merry truly needed those toffees. A horrible thought crossed his mind.

"Merry my lad … who are those sweets for?" Merry looked down at the toffees as if he was wondering how they suddenly appeared in his hand. When he looked up again, his expression was carefully blank. Merry slid off the bed and started to edge past his cousin towards the door. Frodo stepped in front of him. "Merry? Are they for Pippin?"

Merry looked like he was about to burst. He flushed, then paled. Then, as his big cousin had known he would, he raised his head proudly. "He’s my baby, Frodo—Aunt Eggie said so. They don’t feed him near enough at the Great Smials, and … he needs a lad around, to teach him things. Do you know his sisters dress him up in their dolls’ clothes? Pimpernel told me." Merry was incensed. "He’s my baby," Merry finished grimly, "and I’m keeping him."

"Merry, you can’t keep the baby!" Frodo knelt to look into the adamant blue eyes. Merry just glared, unrepentant and defiant. Frodo tried to pull the lad in for a hug but Merry remained rooted to the floor, his small body rigid. Frodo sighed. "I know you love him, Merry. And Pippin loves you. But he’s just a baby. He’s not even on solid food yet. What are you going to do when he gets hungry?"

Merry held up a fistful of the purloined sweets. "He likes these. And I’ll cut a fingertip out of a leather glove and pour in milk, like the farmers do when the ewes won’t nurse their lambs."

Frodo shook his head. "Where is he?" Merry sniffed and rubbed a shirtsleeve across his eyes. Frodo stroked his hair comfortingly, sliding a finger down to tickle behind a pointed ear. "Dear heart," the older hobbit said gently, his voice softening as he used the old endearment, "you must tell me where he is."

"In my room, in my laundry hamper."

"Merry, he’ll suffocate!"

Merry gave his cousin a disdainful look. "No, he won’t. I padded my hamper with a blanket and laid another over the top. I gave him his stuffed bear and he went right to sleep."

Frodo rose to his feet and laid a gentle hand on Merry’s shoulder. "Come on, lad. We’d best have him ready when his family returns." Merry shuffled his feet and sighed heavily, but Frodo was unmoved. Hands shoved in his pockets and growling under his breath, Merry hurried down the hallway after his cousin.

Merry’s room was quiet and still, shafts of sunlight streaming in the round window to illuminate a small, cozy place strewn with birds’ nests and interesting rocks and things dear to the heart of a hobbit-lad. Frodo noted the bed was neatly made; the servants must have just finished or the bed would have already been bounced upon. Merry opened the door to his wardrobe with a sigh of defeat. "He’s right – Frodo!!"

The hamper was gone.

* * *

"Daisy! Daisy!" Seeing the confusion on the laundrymaid’s face, Frodo fought to control his tone. He leaned nonchalantly against the side of one the massive, waist-high wooden tubs, trying to hide his wheezing. "Master Merry left something … uh—non-washable … in his laundry hamper. We need to find it immediately." Frodo’s voice broke on the last word and the lass looked at him worriedly.

"Yessir," she replied obediently, "We’re about ready ‘ta do the young master’s wash now." She turned around and scanned the steamy room. Water vapor formed a fog that obscured the ceiling, condensing to run in rivulets down every available surface and collect in puddles on the floor. The room smelled dank and though it was not, seemed dark and rather frightening.

"Ah," Frodo managed, "May we have it back, then?"

"O’ course, sir," she said, pointing. "Oops! Poppy just put it into the tub."

The maid was horrified to see the young master of Bag End shoot over to the tub as if wild dogs were at his heels. Frodo flung himself into the soapy water, arms thrashing, drenching himself to the waist. The serving maid who had dumped in the laundry jumped back with a shriek. Both servants stared in horror as he took a great gulp of air and ducked under the froth, feet kicking in the air. Why, he must be feeling about with his hands, Daisy thought in disbelief.

Merry, meanwhile, was not helping by clasping the edge of the tub with his hands and jumping up and down, trying to peer over the edge to see into the water. "Is he there?" the young master was shouting. "Is he there?"

Frodo resurfaced with a great splash, like one of the monster pike the fishermen occasionally hauled out of the Brandywine. Soap foamed in his hair and ran down his head onto his drenched shirt and waistcoat. He teetered on the rim for a moment, then slid down the outside to collapse at Merry’s feet, pulling the two blankets after him. Coughing, he rubbed soap out of his eyes. "Not – not there," he choked after a moment.

Daisy wordlessly handed him a towel. "There weren’t nothing but two blankets in Master Merry’s hamper, sir," she said to Frodo. "Naught but blankets, sir."

Frodo tried to smile politely but it came out as a ghastly grin. Merry looked up at him anxiously, the end of one of the sopping blankets clutched in his hand. "Nothing but…" Frodo paused and gulped. "Thank you, Daisy. Terribly sorry for the mess, miss." He rose shakily to his feet and staggered against the side of the washing tub.

Daisy shook her head, brown eyes disapproving. "Odd, those Bagginses," she muttered. The junior serving lass giggled and Daisy glared at her. "Back to work, you," she told the lass sharply. "And no gossiping about your betters."

Outside, Frodo knelt in front of a trembling Merry. "Merry-lad," he said as reassuringly as possible, "where would Pippin go?"

Merry gulped. "Well, not far. He’s barely walking. And he’s no doubt dragging that silly bear." Merry closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm. "He hasn’t eaten since second breakfast. I’d say … I’d say he would follow his nose."

Horrified realization dawned in both sets of blue eyes as they became aware of enticing smells that they had noticed only subconsciously. Two heads turned slowly. Directly ahead of them loomed the most dangerous, worst possible place for a baby. Frodo went from merely pale to absolutely white. Sharp, shiny things hanging low on hooks. Fires and hot coals and pots left to boil on open flames. Endless dark cupboards filled with potential poisons and little bits of things to choke upon. The kitchens.

Frodo was on his hands and knees, halfway inside the main cooking hearth when he felt a hand descend on his shoulder. He stifled a yelp and hurriedly backed out, sending what ashes not yet plastered to his damp clothing flying. Bilbo coughed and released him, backing away while swatting at the ashes with one hand. Cradled in the other was a remarkably grimy Took, the stuffed bear dangling by one leg.

"Pippin!" At Frodo’s cry, Merry left off investigating the cabinets and ran to them. The kitchen staff had wisely withdrawn when the wild-eyed young masters had burst onto their premises, and now stood watching from a safe distance.

"Now lads, he’s all right!" Bilbo assured them. "I caught him before he could do himself harm. Though," he continued, fixing the young hobbits with a stern eye, "you will explain what he is doing here, when his mother and father think he is on his way with them to the Tookland."

Spying Merry, Pippin dropped his bear and held out his little arms. Merry reached up and took him from Bilbo. "Merwy!" Pippin crowed, delighted to see his cousin. "Tea, Merwy!" Pippin had not yet mastered "luncheon" or the name of any other meal, so all food to him was "Tea!"

Wordlessly, Frodo stooped and recovered the bear, handing it to the faunt. The stuffed toy was a pitiable sight after being dragged by one leg through a laundry, across a courtyard, and into a kitchen. Some of the rabbit fur had fallen out and one of its brown button eyes had come loose and was dangling forlornly by a thread. The bear, Frodo reflected tiredly, looked much like he felt.

"Tea!" Pippin demanded, hugging the toy and staring at his cousins as they dripped a combination of sudsy water and ashes onto the floor.

"I’ve some toffees here," Merry said vaguely, too confused and relieved to remember that Pippin’s vocabulary was limited. He turned out a pocket and an apple, several prized throwing-pebbles and a fishhook clattered to the stone floor.

"Toffee! Toffee!" Pippin bounced eagerly in Merry’s arms, distracting him further. "Toffee, Merwy! Now!"

"I… I…" Merry muttered, reaching into the other pocket. Pippin frowned at him, then turned to the "I" he knew. Pippin bit down on the dangling thread and the bear’s button-eye popped off. Before anyone could move, he swallowed it.

"Pippin!" Frodo snatched the baby from Merry’s grasp and turned him upside-down, holding him by his ankles while his other hand drew back in preparation of delivering a mighty swat to the inverted bottom. Startled and offended, Pippin took one mighty breath and let out a screech that showed his airway was in no manner obstructed. Frodo upended him and thrust him into Bilbo’s arms, taking advantage of the open mouth to insert a finger to force the baby to bring the button back up. Pippin promptly clamped down with all six of his sharp little teeth.

"Yeoouch!" Frodo howled, momentarily equaling the baby in volume. Pippin kicked Bilbo soundly in the stomach, doubling the old hobbit over. The breath knocked out of him, Bilbo dropped Pippin. Merry dashed forward to catch the baby just before he hit the floor. Pippin rewarded him with a solid whack to the jaw for his trouble.

From the safety of Merry’s arms, Pippin looked at his elderly cousin, red-faced and gasping, and his elder cousin, shaking his finger and gritting his teeth, and burst into gales of laughter.

* * *

"Mumma!"

"That youngster has a remarkable pair of lungs," Bilbo observed as Paladin wrenched the cart-ponies to a halt on the hill outside of Brandy Hall. Bilbo had timed it nicely; the four of them barely had time for a quick wash before the cart rumbled into view. "I think it best if we meet Pippin’s family out of sight of the Hall," Bilbo had said meditatively as Merry and Frodo scrubbed off drying soap and soot and struggled to bathe a protesting Pippin in a bucket. "Less commotion that way. And someone owes his Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine an apology."

Merry hung his head. "Yes, sir," he had whispered, and said not another word until they stood damp and dripping, surrounded by frantic Tooks.

* * *

"…so I put a loaf of bread in Pip’s travel basket, and some stones to give it weight, and cut off a few of his curls and glued them on the end of the bread," Merry concluded regretfully. "Really, with the blankets all pulled up and tucked around it, it looked like he was sleeping."

"It did indeed," Eglantine agreed. "You should have heard Pearl scream when she tried to wake him for his meal." Happily ensconced in his mother’s arms, Pippin gurgled as he messily finished a hearty luncheon of mashed apple and milk-soaked bread. Bilbo gave him a toffee (with one around to all) and the baby’s bright green-gold eyes roved from speaker to speaker while he gummed it, drooling over his sticky little fists.

"I suppose…" Merry said regretfully, "that I’m not quite big enough to take care of a baby." He reached over and stroked Pippin’s face, smiling as the child cooed in response.

"You know you may take care of him whenever you visit, Merry," Eglantine told him. "Or when we come to see you. And that is quite often, my dear." Merry nodded, wiping tears from his eyes as Eglantine climbed back into the cart. Pippin’s sisters joined her. Once there, she held the baby down so Merry could kiss Pippin goodbye.

Paladin remained on the ground a moment longer. "Frodo, thank you," he said sincerely. "This could have ended very badly." He clasped the tweenager’s arm, then drew the young hobbit in for a hug. "I know you will always take care of your cousins, lad." He smiled at Frodo then turned to face the beaming Bilbo. "Bilbo, this is a fine boy you have here."

Bilbo nodded. "Thank you, Pal. I always knew it." Frodo blushed, but his beautiful eyes glowed withpleasure.

"Shouldn’t we tell them about the button, Uncle Bilbo?" Merry asked softly as Paladin climbed up on the cart and gathered the reins.

"It doesn’t seem to have done the lad any harm," Bilbo whispered back. "It was a very small button and will no doubt pass through in a day or two. Babies are remarkably … liquid. I shouldn’t worry about it."

The sun was beginning its westward path as the three hobbits walked slowly back to Merry’s home. Bilbo had been watching them, noting the sad expressions on both dear faces. "You’re quiet, my boy," he remarked to Frodo, placing a hand on his arm as Merry veered off to the side to investigate a hollow tree.

Frodo nodded pensively. "I was so terrified when I couldn’t find Pippin in the water, Bilbo," he said softly. "I don’t see how parents do it."

"Ah, lad," the old hobbit returned gently, patting his nephew on the shoulder. "Think what you have to look forward to!" Frodo groaned and put a palm up over his forehead. Bilbo’s bright old eyes twinkled. "I think we’ll stay a bit longer," he announced, "and give the lasses another crack at exercising their feminine wiles on you."

"Bilbo!" Frodo cried, aghast.

"Hooray!" shouted Merry, and ran ahead to tell his parents.

The End