At the end of the week Merry and Pip returned to Bag End. Rose and the children were still with her parents and Merry decided Pippin had spent enough time with the baby and could now enjoy a proper celebration of the latest Took's arrival with a convivial evening at Bag End. They rode up the hill and sneaked into the garden, hoping to suprise the unsuspecting hobbits.

       "Sssh! I can hear them. They think they can creep up on us, cheeky rascals!" Frodo was wrestling with the trellis, which had fallen away from the wall in the previous night's storm. He was being supervised by the cat, a large, indolent ginger tabby who was watching from the roof. "They make enough noise for an army of orcs and think we haven't noticed. Mind the mud, you two!" he called, before they appeared round the side of the smial.

       "How did you know it was us?" queried Pippin, exasperated. "I've never managed to creep up on you, blast it!" He stretched up and tickled the cat's ear. "Hello, Rufus, my lad. Keeping these two up to the mark?"

       "I have exceptionally good hearing, even for a hobbit, but you weren't exactly being quiet."

       "See, I told you you were talking too loudly," said Merry triumphantly, embracing Frodo.

       "Me?" said Pip in indignant tones. "You were the one laughing like a donkey!"

       "I do not laugh like a donkey! You were moaning about being hungry, as usual!"

       "Shut up, you two," said Frodo, laughing. "You sounded like a horde of orcs on the march, and Pip's stomach was rumbling fit to wake the dead."

       "You don't have Gollum's talent for sneaking, that's for sure," agreed Sam, wiping his hands on his trousers before hugging the visitors.

       Pippin eyed Frodo. "You're looking very well. We thought we might find the garden gone to rack and ruin and the two of you unconscious among the ale casks, but I see you and Sam are still finding time for gardening!"

       "Unconscious?" Frodo repeated, casting a sideways glance at the master gardener, who had returned to coaxing a clematis up a stake. "What a cheek!"

       "There's always time for gardening," Sam murmured.

       "Two visits in a week! To what do we owe this pleasure?" Frodo stood back to inspect the trelllis, and beckoned to Sam to give his verdict.

       "We just wanted to come and see you. Do we need a reason?" Pippin tried to sound aggrieved.

       "I suppose the contents of my wine cellar were no influence at all? Honestly, you two are so transparent I can see right through your weskits!" Frodo was chuckling. He tucked his arm through Sam's. "Well? Did I mend the trellis to your high standards?"

       "Pretty nigh perfect, m'dear. What a talented hobbit you are, to be sure." Sam smiled fondly. "We'd best go inside now. Don't want you overdoing things, and we'd better feed these hungry travellers."

       "Fusspot!" said Frodo lightly. "I told you, I'm not overdoing things. Still, we should feed these two, or Pip's rumbling tum will shake the trellis loose again." He lifted a purring Rufus into his arms. "Yes, I thought you'd come down when you heard the word 'feed'!"

       Dinner was soon prepared and eaten even faster - liver, bacon, onions, new potatoes, and runner beans, followed by plum pie with cream. When all plates and dishes were empty, and even Pippin had declared himself satisfied, they cleared the table, washed up and then retired to the parlour with several bottles of fine Southfarthing Red. Pipes were lit and the four made themselves comfortable. The cat sat on the back of the couch and washed himself contentedly. Frodo settled next to Sam.

       "Aaah! You look so happy, Fro," said Pip. He was delighted to see his cousin so happy and well.

       "It is nice to see you with a touch of sun - your nose is quite pink," said Merry. He swirled the wine round and round in the glass before sipping. "Very good! Mmm!" He swigged down half a glass, and Pippin did the same, much to Frodo's horror.

       "You're not supposed to gulp it down like cough mixture! That's a fine wine, and a very good vintage. If I'd known you were going to drink it like that I'd have opened the ordinary stuff."

       "We do appreciate it," said Pippin. "That's why we're so keen to drink it! Stop fussing, Fro, you need to relax more. You're such a proper hobbit!"

       Merry laughed. "You're always moaning about us glugging your fine wine." He made a great show of sipping very daintily. "There! Is that better?"

       "It will do, I suppose. Can't hope for miracles, can I?" He raised his glass. "Come on then, let's wet the baby's head. To little Faramir! May he have a long and happy life!"

                                                                              ************

       After three hours steady drinking they were all very drunk. Rufus had completed his ablutions, had a snooze and departed for a night's hunting. Pippin was giggling at anything and everything, and Merry had abandoned trying to remain upright in a chair and was lying on the floor, propped against the wall. Sam had joined him and Frodo was struggling to open another bottle. They toasted everyone they could think of, both in Middle-earth and in Valinor. They also sang assorted drinking songs from various lands and cultures, which led to an intense discussion.

       "Dwarf drinking songs 're all very well, but you have to find words to rhyme with 'gold' all the time," Pip complained. "Cold, bold, old, told........."

       "Gold's not so bad. Much worse if y'  have to find a rhyme for mithril," said Merry. "I can't think of a rhyme for that when 'm sober, let alone when I've had a few."

       "The Elves don't seem to have any good drinking songs, do they?" Sam said.

       "Too poncy. They don't go in for goo' robust singing." Pip giggled. "Can't imagine Elrond and Celeborn pissed out of their minds, dancin' on tables, can you?" This image produced shrieks of laughter all round.

       "Gondor and Rohan have some good ones, but I still think we have the best." Merry frowned and tried to remember a few, but felt too muddled. Somewhere at the back of his mind part of his brain was waving a flag and telling him he would regret all this in the morning, but he resolutely ignored it.

       "Most good drinking songs 're about sex," declared Pip. "Tha's why the Elves don't have many - they don't have sex very often. Legolas says they're at it like rabbits for a couple of hundred years and then get bored and more or less give it up! Can you imagine gettin' bored and givin' it up?"

       Merry drained his glass. "Imagine havin' sex reg'larly for two or three hundred years, lucky beasts!"

       There were murmurs of agreement at this.

       "Don't think Arwen's given it up - she and Aragorn are all over each other," observed Sam.

       "She's mortal now though, so p'raps that makes a difference," suggested Pippin.

       "Bloody stupid cork!" Frodo swore and glowered at the bottle, which was no nearer to being opened than it had been ten minutes before.

       "I think the fact that you're soused is affecting your abil.....abli.......ability to open that bottle," Pip suggested.

       " 'm not soused, 'n' it's the stupid bottle, 'n' the stupid cork, 'n' the stupid corkscrew that's the problem," Frodo muttered, and stumbled into the kitchen to find another one.

       "Reckon I might need to brew one of Mr Strider's cures come the morning," said Sam as his master returned, brandishing a new corkscrew.

       Frodo pulled a face. "Please, not tha' awful one after the Coronation banquet!"

       "That was pretty impressive, even for you," chuckled Pippin. "You turned bright green 'n' spewed it half way across the room 'n' up the wall! If there'd been a projectile vomitin' contest you'd ha' won first prize!"

       "No' my faul'," Frodo grumbled. " 'm no good with bad tasting stuff. 's all Strider's faul', givin' me tha' when I already fel' ill."

       Then they decided to compare scars. Frodo revealed the one on his left shoulder, and the bite wounds from Shelob on the back of his neck, to an admiring chorus of ooohs and aaahs.

       "This is a good one." Pip rolled up his sleeve to reveal a small line near his elbow.

       "You didn't get tha' in the war," Frodo declared indignantly. "You fell over when you were chasin' .......wassername?........Ivy...... Boffin..... round the Party Tree." He swayed and steadied himself on the table.

       "Wha' 'bout this one?" Merry pointed to a long scar round his knee with a wavering finger.

       "Hah!" Frodo was unimpressed. "You fell out of a tree, Mer. You'd been at Sarry's ale casks 'n' you climbed a beech tree 'n' fell out. Then, on the way back to the Hall.........................," he started giggling uncontrollably, ".............you..........fell ....in the............compos' heap!"

       Merry chortled. "I seem to remember draggin' you in it with me." He howled and Pip joined in, screaming with laughter at Frodo's expression.

       "Esme clouted us both. My first clip round the ear for ........ages....that was. She said I was a bad in......in............fluence...on you, which 's unfair 'cos you were the one in....influencing me!" He finally managed to remove the cork from another bottle of Pincup Blush and waved it triumphantly, to cheers from the others. The glasses were filled again.

       "I seem to remember you fallin' off the wall round the pigsty once and landin' in somethin' a lot less delightful than your lav'nder bath oil." Merry was smirking at Frodo. "You were drunk cos' it was your birthday."

       "Was not drunk. I slipped." Frodo tried to maintain his dignity in the face of such slander.

       Pip tried again. "Does this count?" He pointed to a faint jagged scar on his temple.

       "No, it doesn'. You didn' get tha' in a battle either. You got tha' in the pantry at Great Smials when you goosed Myrtle Proudfoot 'n' she crowned you with a milk jug!" Frodo scoffed.

       Pip looked dreamily enchanted. " 's the parlourmaid's outfit. Can't resist th' apron and frilly little cap with th' ribbons. Does somethin' for me."

       "It did do somethin' for you," said Merry pointedly. "Earne' you a crack on th' head."

       "Should still count," said Pip sullenly. " 's a battle scar."

       Frodo started giggling again. "Wouldn' do anythin' for you, Pip. Tha' frilly cap wouldn' suit you at all!"

       Merry laughed so hard at this that the others were treated to the sight of wine running out of his nose, which rendered them all completely helpless for several minutes.

       Sam pointed to the numerous scars on his legs. "Those're from the journey - Mount Doom, mostly. 'Cept tha' one, which's where I stood on a rake, 'n' those little ones where the cat got me yesterday."

       "Ooooh!" said Pip. "Thought p'raps you were attacked by a rogue tater!" He went into more giggles and the others joined in.

       "Nope! Not rogue taters. Thought everyone knew they go for yer throat! Rogue gooseberries though............" Sam indicated a long scar down his forearm. "Got that trying to pick goosegogs when I was a nipper."

       "Di'n't know Rufus'd scratched you," said Frodo, inspecting Sam's leg. " 's a goo' cat us'ally."

       "Was only playin'. Pounced on me in the petun'as..............." Sam paused as Pippin screamed with laughter.

       "Pounced on in th' petun'as!! Sounds painful!" He snorted and rolled about until the others were laughing just as hard. "Don't think I've ever been pounced on in th' petun'as!" He cackled again. "You ever been scratched in the petun'as, Mer?"

       "Nas'y place to get scratched if y' ask me."

       "Look - this's a good one!" Pip rolled up his trouser leg. "Flattened by a troll. Huge troll........big ugly so-and-so. He fell on me, but I go' 'im!"

       "Call tha' a scar?" Frodo sniffed. "This's a scar, young Took!" He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and flipped it up at the back, turning so they could see the whip wheal which ran the length of his back, curving off down one side over his ribs. "Ugly bugger who gave me that won't be doin' it again. My brave Sam cut his hand off, 'n' then he fell............down the..... trapdoor 'n' broke his neck! So brave, my Sam.............." He giggled. "Looks ver' impressive waving...... a...... sword, does Sam............ "

       "No, none of us have a scar as goo' as tha'." Pippin squinted at it blearily.

       "No' to mention this one." He held out his hand with the missing finger. "Hahah! I win!" He staggered and glared down. "Silly floor!"

       "Wha.....wass silly 'bout it?" asked Merry, grinning lopsidedly up at his cousin.

       "Keeps movin' about," Frodo said irritably.

       "Come and sit down here then, and it won't." Merry patted the rug next to him and Frodo folded gracefully.

       " 'S better, but not quite right. Still wobblin'." He thumped the floor with the flat of his hand. "Stop it!"

       "I think 'm home........I need to go drun'." Pippin giggled hysterically as he realised what he had said, and the others joined in, doubling up and howling until they were gasping and out of breath. Pip slid out of the chair and joined Merry, deeming that they would all end up horizontal sooner or later. He curled up with his head on Merry's chest, and Frodo rested his head on Sam's shoulder.

       "Mmmm. Even though Mordor was cold 'n' hard you were warm t' snuggle up to, my Sam." Sam wrapped a protective arm round the slight frame. "Mus' have looked hid'ous in Mordor - no' to mention comp............ completely de....demented."

       "You never looked hid'ous! Never! I used ta lie awake 'n' watch you sleepin'."

       "You're always doin' tha'. Watchin' me sleep must be ver' borin'."

       "No, 's not."

       "I think..........," Frodo said thoughtfully, "........tha' if I have any more wine I shall be co......copi...copis....... very sick." He put his glass down.

       "Me too," mumbled Pip drowsily. The others waited but he appeared to have drifted off.

       "Shall I fetch a basin?" Sam asked Frodo anxiously, not sure if he himself were capable of standing after so much wine.

       "N..n....no.....'m alright." He burrowed in, soothed by the outdoorsy smell Sam always carried with him.

       Sam glanced over to where Pip was snoring with his face pressed into a sleeping Merry's neck, his arm draped across his cousin's fancy waistcoat. He smiled as he looked down at his master, who was now sound asleep, his long lashes sweeping his cheeks and his face glowing softly in the darkness. The last candle guttered out, and Sam slipped into sleep, wondering what they would feel like in the morning.

                                                                               ************

       Sam awoke first, to a dull thudding in his head and a foul taste in his mouth. Frodo had slipped off him during the night and lay curled beside him, and the other two were in a tangled heap nearby. He drew away carefully so as not to wake his master, and struggled unsteadily to his feet. What had he been thinking? He should have stuck to ale. Once he had gained an upright position he tottered slowly to the kitchen, filled the kettle, lit the stove, went to the privvy and then sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands while he waited.

       A noise outside the door forced him to his feet. An indignant Rufus stood on the step, demanding that Sam admire the night's catch - a rat, now minus its head and one leg. The sight did not improve Sam's nausea one bit and he groaned.

       "Take that somewhere else, you!" The golden eyes blinked reproachfully as Rufus picked up his unwanted gift and marched down the garden, his tail stiffly indicating his displeasure. Sam watched uncomfortably, feeling guilty as well as sick.

       Once the kettle had boiled, Sam made a large pot of ginger tea, and poured himself a cup which he sweetened with honey. He sipped slowly, feeling it settle uneasily at first but gradually he felt less queasy although his head was still muzzy and aching. He splashed cold water on his face and drank more ginger tea. When he thought he could cope he returned to the parlour to see if anyone else was stirring.

       Merry groaned and tried to hide under the rug. Pippin whimpered pathetically and clutched his head, and Frodo hissed in pain and draped both arms over his face.

       "Please don't open the curtains," he whispered, while trying not to open his mouth. "My eyes will just slide out, and my head will explode."

       "I may need to puke in a minute," Pip announced, to more groans of outrage from the rest.

       "Please try not to, Pip," said Merry. "You'll set us all off. If you must, go and do it somewhere else."

       Frodo narrowed his eyes. "Puke anywhere near me and I'll kick your arse all the way to the Three Farthing Stone and back,"

       "Typical - never any sympathy!" Pip moved carefully towards the door. "Dunno about everyone else, but I need to pee. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, I've probably died," he added melodramatically, and departed for the privvy.

       Sam knelt beside Frodo. "How're you feeling, m'dear?"

       "Apart from needing to pee? I think something died in my mouth and there's a troll with a kettle drum in my head."

       "My mouth feel like an orc's underwear," Merry said, grimacing. Frodo shuddered and covered his mouth.

       "Don't! Urrgh! That's............horrible." He struggled with his rebellious stomach for a few minutes. "You've never even seen orc underwear. We had to wear it. Don't want to think about that right now."

       "I've made some ginger tea and I'll mix up that cure of Strider's if you like. It's alright," Sam said hastily, seeing Frodo's expression. "Not the one that made you redecorate the bedroom wall in Minas Tirith! There's a good one, I promise. Oh me poor Frodo, you do look green round the gills!" He slid his arm round his master's shoulders and helped him into a sitting position very slowly so as not to jolt his stomach. "There now, can you stand? Let's sit you on the couch and have a look at you."

       With Sam's help, Frodo made it to the couch and lowered himself gingerly into the cushions. His eyes were very red, his face ashen and his hair was all over the place.

       "I'm getting too old for sleeping on floors too," he murmured.

       Merry agreed. "I haven't been as drunk as that for years. Ow, my back!" He stretched and something popped somewhere in his shoulder.

       Frodo managed to focus on the table. "I don't believe we drank seven bottles of wine!" He swallowed, feeling distinctly queasy, and looked at Sam. "You don't look all that well yourself, Sam. Still so busy looking after me that you forget to take care of yourself."

       "I'm alright. Don't you worry about your Sam...."

       "But I do. You have just as much right to be cared for. Why couldn't I have got up and brought you some ginger tea?"

       "Taking care is what I do, especially taking care of you. I wouldn't be me if I didn't. Now stop all that silly fretting, 'cos you'll only make yourself feel worse." He chafed Frodo's hands. "I admit I've a bit of a headache, but I've had worse."

       Merry joined Frodo on the couch. "We all need a Samwise. You're very lucky to have him, Fro."

       "I know. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Sam."

       "What about a little lie-down? We'll all have some tea and then lie down for a while and sleep it off."

       Frodo smiled. "That sounds perfect." He winced. "In the dark, please."

       Pippin returned and they all sat in the kitchen swilling down as much tea as they could deal with. Sam made up the spare bed for the visitors and then led Frodo to his room. Frodo removed his trousers and weskit and crawled into bed. Sam went to his own room and closed the curtains before sinking gratefully onto the bed, enjoying the faint scent of Rosie's lavender water on the pillow next to his.

       Outside in the garden Rufus munched his way through the plateful of best beef Sam had put out for him, and pondered the strangeness of the world and the peculiarities of his family, his night's booty forgotten in the undergrowth.

                                                       ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~