Babysitting Pippin

Pippin is 18, Merry 25, Sam nearly 28, Frodo 39 (about 11 ½, 16, 18, 25 in human years)

1 Astron, 1408 SR
 

“Are you certain about this, Sam?” Frodo asked uncertainly as he stood in the entrance hall with Merry and the gardener. “I appreciate that you’re willing to do this, but it’s really not necessary.”

“I know Master Merry’s been wanting to do this, sir,” Sam said and helped Frodo into his overcoat. “Their visit’s nearly over and this’ll be the last chance afore they leave in the morn. You two go on and have your fun. I’ll be all right.”

“Come on, Frodo,” Merry said, impatient to leave. He opened the door wider and drummed his fingers along the jamb.

As much as Merry loved spending time with his young cousin Pippin, he was getting older now and couldn’t always spend every second with the rambunctious teen. To make it worse, Pippin had been nearly irrepressible the last two weeks, hardly giving him or Frodo a moment’s rest. No wonder Eglantine and Paladin were always willing to ship the lad off to unsuspecting relatives. Not that he and Frodo were unsuspecting. Overly fond and a bit forgetful is how he would describe them when it came to Pippin.

“We’ll go, Merry,” Frodo promised, then turned back to his gardener. “I told Pippin he has to mind you, Sam. You’re in charge tonight, so don’t let him try to charm his way out of anything.”

“Now why ever would Pippin do something like that? He’s such a well-behaved and mindful child,” Merry interjected before Sam could speak. He took Frodo by the arm and steered him out the door. “Good luck, Sam,” he called over his shoulder as he and Frodo made their way down the garden path. He didn’t let Frodo’s arm go until they were well down the Hill, then he ran ahead enthusiastically. This was to be his first night sipping ale with his beloved older cousin. Frodo was finally taking him to The Green Dragon, and he was impatient to get started.  

Sam closed the front door and walked back down the tunnel to the parlor. The room had seen better days. The last two weeks had been merciless to the usual order of the room, and Sam looked down now at the main cause of all the disarray.

Pippin sat slumped on the settee, pouting and moping. He toed the rug, playing with the tassels absently, and huffed a long, deep, miserable sigh. He looked up at Sam and sighed again. “I don’t see why I couldn’t go. I’m old enough,” he complained.

“I know, Master Pippin, but I reckon as Mr. Frodo don’t feel right taking you without your parents’ say so,” Sam said sympathetically. “I take it you’re hungry. Come help me with the cooking and then we can maybe clean up in here a bit. That’ll be a right nice treat for Mr. Frodo when he gets back, don’t you think, sir?”

“I suppose,” Pippin said, still playing with the rug and giving no indication of wanting to get up, not even if it was for food.

He wasn’t used to being left behind when he came to visit Bag End. True, Merry often tried to leave him behind to spend time with the older lads whenever they visited Great Smials, and they were always surrounded by Merry’s friends when they were at Brandy Hall, but Pippin was used to having Merry and Frodo all to himself when they were in Hobbiton. Now that Merry had reached the age where he was allowed to have ale and a pipe, he wanted more and more to spend time with the older lads. Pippin had hoped it would be different here, but as soon as they arrived, Merry had started asking Frodo when they might be able to spend a night at The Green Dragon. Frodo had finally relented, but he had refused to let Pippin go along.

Sam knelt in front of the forlorn teen. “You know, my older brothers weren’t around when I turned 25. I took my first ale with my Gaffer and it was a grand thing, but it wasn’t near as good as my second ale as I took with my best friends, Tom and Robin. Naught will ever quite match that night. Nor the next morning, when I woke up hung over and wearing a frock, with no memory at all of how I got in it.” Pippin quirked an eyebrow at that and looked at Sam quizzically. Sam grinned mischievously and winked, then stood up. “So I reckon as long you’re here in the morning, you won’t be missing much.”

“You’re joking,” Pippin said uncertainly, a hint of a laugh in his voice. He was already picturing what Merry might look like come morning. “Frodo wouldn’t let it get that far,” he pointed out.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Mr. Frodo enjoys his mischief from time to time, and besides that, it’s tradition. So, how about dinner then?” Sam asked and made his way to the kitchen.

Pippin jumped up and followed him. “What kind of frock?” he asked excitedly, eager for more details on this unusual custom.  

Dinner was cooking in no time. Sam was as efficient in the kitchen as he was in the garden, and he had soup brewing and bread warming in the oven within a half hour. Pippin helped him chop the vegetables for the soup, watching in fascination as Sam deftly and expertly kneaded the dough, preparing it for baking. He wasn’t often allowed in the kitchen at home and so he had seen this process completed only a few times before.

“How do you know when it’s ready?” Pippin asked when Sam finally seemed satisfied with the dough and put it aside to set.

“It’s smooth all over, see?” Sam said. “No lumps, everything’s mixed well. You can’t see any more flour or yeast or rye. It’s just dough.” He placed the dirty dishes in the washbasin, then quickly chopped the rest of the vegetables and added the shredded beef, which Frodo had prepared earlier in the day, to the pot. He covered the stew with a lid and nodded. After that was done, he retrieved a bread pan from the cupboard, floured it generously, then placed the dough inside the pan and put it in the oven.

With the soup and bread out of the way, Sam turned his attention to the potato casserole. The dish was a favorite of Pippin’s and the teen was eager to learn how to make it. Grated potatoes, sour cream, chives, onions, garlic, condensed cream mixed well, with a layer of cheese and crushed chips on top. Sam gently instructed Pippin on what to do and soon that was baking next to the bread, and Pippin’s mouth was watering in anticipation. He stood on his stool next to the stove and peered into the pot as Sam lifted the lid and stirred the contents. He was eager to see if the stew was bubbling yet and was pleased to see that it was.

“What do we do now?” Pippin asked as Sam started cleaning up.

“We wash these dishes up that we used, then we go into the parlor and clean that up,” Sam said. “By the time we’re done with that, dinner should be ready.”

“Do we have to clean?” Pippin asked. “Can’t we do something fun? I bet you never get to do fun things.”

“Why would you bet that?” Sam asked.

“Because you’re always working.”

“True enough, when I’m here leastways. It’s my job to work while I’m here,” Sam replied. “Besides, I like working. It makes me feel useful. Here, take this towel and dry the dishes as I hand them to you. You know where they all go?”

“I do, but I’d rather play,” Pippin said. He beamed up at Sam and said conspiratorially, “We can go to the mathom room and explore. There are all sorts of interesting things in there, I bet some even Frodo doesn’t know about.”

“You like to bet, do you, Master Pippin?” Sam asked with a return smile. The lad had a sweet and charming smile that never failed to get him what he wanted. Until tonight. Sam had been told to take charge and not let the lad talk him out of anything. He easily ignored the toothy grin and said, “I bet I can wash these here dishes faster’n you can dry them. I’ll be resting my feet up on that stool of yours while you’re still working away.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be in the parlor, cleaning,” Pippin shot back instantly.

“Now why would I be cleaning up your mess by myself?” Sam asked. “I might be willing to help you though, so long as you don’t let the dishes slip and break while you dry them.”

“I won’t break them,” Pippin said, his pride insulted. Why did everyone always think he was clumsy?

Pippin hopped down from his stool and moved it so he could stand at the counter and dry the dishes as Sam washed them. To his dismay, he did have difficulty keeping up with Sam and the gardener was true to his word. When he finished with the washing, he sat at the table, his feet propped up on a chair, and watched as Pippin finished drying the dishes. Then he helped the youngster put everything away and they moved into the parlor.

Pippin was even harder to motivate when it came to cleaning the parlor. Sam assessed the room critically and determined that most of it just needed straightening up and a bit of dusting and polishing. The rest of the mess would go away as soon as Pippin packed his suitcase the next morning. However, trying to convince Pippin of this was the most daunting part of the job. The teen could only see one large mess, a culmination of several smaller messes running into each other to form a tangled clutter. He sat on the stuffed chair and looked about the room doubtfully.

“Now, Master Pippin, naught’s ever got done sitting and wishing,” Sam said. “How about you get your things and take them to your room? It’ll make packing easier come morning. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Pippin sighed deeply and pushed himself off the chair. He puttered about the room picking up his things, an odd assortment of clothing, toys and knickknacks, while Sam effortlessly dusted the furniture and stacked books. The gardener was fluffing the settee cushions when Pippin dragged his feet down the tunnel to his guest room, his arms overloaded with his belongings, leaving a trail of dropped items behind him. He dumped his things on the bed and went back to retrieve what had fallen, then he fiddled with the toys he had brought in. He didn’t want to be working or cleaning. Frodo never made him do these things until the last day of his visits, and that wasn’t until tomorrow.

Tiptoeing soundlessly, Pippin left the guest room and snuck into the mathom room. He could easily spend hours in there without getting bored, rummaging through the various odds and ends stored within. He went to the back of the room and sat behind a couple of small end tables that always hid him well. He pulled open a box that he hadn’t looked in before and started pulling things out: a compact, a whistle, a watch, some tin cuff links, several bookmarkers, and a kaleidoscope. Pippin held the kaleidoscope to his left eye and twirled the end back and forth, marveling at the dance of colors and shapes it produced. Maybe if he hinted enough to Frodo about it, Frodo would give it to him at his next birthday.  

Some time later, Sam’s voice called through the smial that dinner was ready. Sam had let Pippin be while he finished cleaning the parlor. The job went faster when he didn’t have to stop to goad Pippin into doing his part, and as long as all of Pippin’s things were in his guest room, then there really was nothing else the lad needed to do for tonight. Still, Sam had been quite busy cleaning the parlor and only just managed to finish the job before dinner was ready.

Pippin came running into the kitchen and quickly helped Sam set the table. He poured cold tea for drinking as Sam served them and they sat down to a leisurely meal. Silence reigned as they worked on their first servings, quieting their empty stomachs. After Sam served them seconds, the silence gave way to idle conversation and soon Pippin was filling the air with his animated chatter about all the things he and Merry had done during their visit here. Sam listened politely, interjecting comments or questions when Pippin stopped to breathe or eat.

“Then we went up to Cousin Griffo’s and Cousin Daisy’s – well, isn’t that something, I have a cousin Daisy and you have a sister Daisy – to visit Folco and we started playing in the hayloft. They weren’t very pleased to see us up there. Me and Folco that is, since Merry didn’t go up. He’s afraid of heights, but he won’t admit it. But I know he is, because he never climbs trees and is always worried I’ll fall and hurt something, and he knows I’m not clumsy. So we were swinging from this rope to some old piles of hay on the ground and Cousin Daisy got quite upset about it all. I think she must be afraid of heights too and Cousin Griffo said that we’re lucky the rope didn’t break.”

Pippin paused to take a much-needed breath and tore off a large bite of jelly-smeared bread. While he was chewing, Sam interjected with, “You’ll not need to be worriting about the rope breaking, not with my cousin Hal there. His is the best rope this side of the Rushock.”

Pippin nodded and hurried his chewing. He swallowed hastily and said, “That’s just what Hal said, only not as nicely as all that.”

“Hal talked back to Mr. Griffo?” Sam asked, aghast at the idea.

“He did, but Griffo doesn’t mind it,” Pippin said. “He likes it actually, because unlike when Daisy back talks him, Griffo can tell Hal to be quiet and mind his own business. Not that it helped in this case. Hal just came right back with, ‘Roping is my business,’ and Griffo lost that argument in the end. But Folco and I still had to get out of the hayloft. Have you ever seen a blue caterpillar?”

“Can’t say as I have,” Sam answered after a moment’s pause, thrown off by the sudden change in topic.

“Oh. Neither have I. Do you think there are blue caterpillars?”

“I suppose there could be,” Sam mused. “Just acause I ain’t never seen one, doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

Pippin mulled this over as he finished his second serving and started filling in the corners with a third. Sam sat in quiet contemplation of his own, going over in his mind everything that needed to be done.

Mr. Frodo wouldn’t allow him to clean the entire smial, but he could go about and gather the laundry that needed to be taken down to his sisters. Then he’d better see that Master Pippin got in the bath. Mr. Frodo seemed to think it important that the lad had a proper bath every night, though Sam couldn’t see a speck of dirt on him. After the bath, they could work on the puzzle that Master Pippin and Master Merry had started in the sitting room the other day. With luck, that would occupy the teen until his bedtime.

“Why is water blue?” Pippin asked suddenly. His spoon and fork were resting in his empty bowl and he was scooping up the last of the potato casserole with his final bite of bread.

“Hm?” Sam asked. He hadn’t quite heard the question.

Pippin quickly ate the last of his meal, then said, “I asked Merry once a long time ago when I was little and he said it was because of little creature things you can’t see but they’re in the water all the same and they make the water blue, but I told Everard this once and he laughed at that and said it wasn’t true and he’s older than Merry, so he should know.”

Sam considered this. He sat back in his chair and scratched his head. “Well, I can’t say as I’ve thought on it much, and I don’t know about no creature things, but water reflects things, don’t it? You look in and see yourself and the trees and such. And the sky is blue, and it reflects that too, so I reckon that’s why the water’s blue.”

Pippin nodded. That made much more sense. But then… “Why is the sky blue?”

“That’d have to do with the sun, to my way of thinking. It changes colors depending where the sun is as you know,” Sam answered, practical as always.

“So how come the sun can make the sky change colors?” Pippin asked.

“I don’t rightly know, Master Pippin, but it’s a sight to behold,” Sam said. “I love me a sunrise.”

“I like the rain,” Pippin stated simply.

Sam smiled at this and stood up. He gathered the dishes and took them to the washbasin. “Rain’s always a wonderful thing. It makes everything all the greener and more lovely,” the gardener agreed. “Now we got to be washing these dishes, sir.”

“Again? We just washed dishes. What about afters?” Pippin said, getting up to help despite his protest. He was feeling more agreeable now that he was fed, but he did want to know when he would be getting dessert.

“There are no afters,” Sam said. “I didn’t have time to make any and there’re none left in the pantries, seeing as someone ate them all.”

“Who?”

Sam just raised his eyebrows and looked at Pippin pointedly.

“Oh, right,” Pippin said, remembering all the delicious treats he’s eaten since he arrived. “But, no afters? None at all?”

“No afters,” Sam repeated and handed Pippin the dishtowel. “You’ll dry again?”

“I will,” Pippin agreed, disappointed that he wouldn’t be enjoying any sweets tonight. Maybe he should have helped Sam clean after all. That would have given the gardener time to make something.

He waited for his first dish - a bowl - to be set before him. “Why isn’t grass different colors, like the flowers are?” he asked as he picked up the bowl and started to dry it. If Merry had been wrong about the water, then he had probably been wrong about this as well.

Sam’s simple answer surprised the young Took. “Grass is different colors. All shades of green that you can think of, bright or dark, some even with a hint of blue or yellow. It all depends on the type of grass and sometimes the soil.”

“Soil?”

“Aye, sir. It’s the same with certain flowers. Some are red, others are orange or yellow, depending on their nature, but some plants can be different colors depending on the soil as they’re planted in. Take those hydrangea, for starters. Its blooms can be blue or violet, depending on how rich or dull the soil is. But it likes neutral soil best, and when planted in that, it’s a mixture of both colors,” Sam explained.

“Why is that?” Pippin asked, intrigued. He wished it were daytime now so he could run out to the garden and look at these flowers with this new knowledge, wherever the plant may be. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a violet-blue flower. Then again, he had never heard of this kind of flower before either. “What’s hydrangea? Where is it?”

“I don’t know why that is sir, it just is,” Sam answered the first question. He rinsed out the bread pan and placed it front of Pippin. “And the hydrangea grows near the back of the garden, where there’s more shade. It don’t fancy a lot of sun, see, but there’s just enough sun in the back gardens so as it won’t rot. They’re not in bloom yet, but you’ll know them as their roots are covered with burlap.”

“Why are they covered?” Pippin asked and hastily returned to drying the dishes that were now piling up in front of him. He needed to learn how to talk and work at the same time like Sam did.

“Hydrangea can be a picky plant to grow,” Sam explained. “Its roots have to be kept moist, but not too moist, and it can’t be watered too much, so rain is a problem come springtime. The burlap helps make sure as it only gets watered when I want it to. ‘Course, the trouble there is you have to be careful when moving the burlap aside, especially when it’s to weed the beds, as the roots don’t like to be disturbed much. Most plants can tolerate their roots being bothered a bit, but not a hydrangea. It’ll fail and then all that work’d be for naught.”

“That sounds like a lot of trouble,” Pippin observed.

Sam smiled. “Aye, it is, but Mr. Frodo loves them. He near dragged me down to the nursery when he first spied them growing in Goodheart’s gardens, and he was right disappointed when Flora didn’t have any. I wound up having to go to Goodheart himself and ask him if he had any extra seeds harvested. It was just my luck that he did. I was afraid I wouldn’t get them growing at first, but now they’re going on their second year, coming along quite nicely too, and they’ll be blooming again soon.”

Pippin nodded and worked on his pile of dishes. “Do you think there are pink caterpillars?”

Sam chuckled and reached down deep in the basin for the casserole dish. “Aye, Master Pippin, I’m sure there are.”  

“Come along, Merry,” Frodo said, standing up from the table at the center of The Green Dragon’s common room. “We need to get home before Pippin can run over Sam too much.”

This was met by many protests, both from Merry and the other patrons. For a Sterday, the inn was crowded and the regular customers were lively. Merry had managed to wrangle two ales from Frodo and he had hoped to get another. He wasn’t ready to leave yet and he was pleased to have the support of the other patrons.

“Now, Mr. Baggins, let the lad drink,” said one old gaffer at the next table. “It’s not every day a lad turns 25.”

“No, it isn’t,” Frodo agreed, “but Merry’s closer to 26 than he is 25, and this isn’t the first ale he’s ever had. There’s nothing momentous about the occasion.”

Again, friendly protests were raised; Merry’s loudest of all. “Let the lad drink” and “One more ale never hurt a body” could be heard all around the inn. The bar maiden came over, two tall mugs filled to the top, the foam overflowing enticingly. She teasingly waved the mugs in front of Merry’s face and feigned setting them down upon the table.

“Please, Frodo,” Merry begged. “Just one more.”

Frodo sighed and nodded for the bar maiden to set down the mugs. “Very well, but this is the last one,” he said sternly and was rewarded with a roomful of loud cheers. Merry picked up his tankard and started in on his third ale, never suspecting a thing.  

Bag End was quiet. Too quiet. The silence did not at first alarm him, as Pippin was supposed to be bathing, but it suddenly dawned on Sam that the Took was being far too silent even for that.

Sam had seen Pippin to his bath, then had gone about the smial gathering the laundry from the hampers and bins. Then he went into the pantries and started a list for Frodo of the things he would need to restock once his cousins left; the list was quite long before he stopped. After that, Sam had gone into the sitting room to wait for Pippin and had become engrossed in the puzzle pieces scattered about the floor. Now he was perking his ears to the bathing room down the tunnel, and he couldn’t hear anything.

Sam stood up and checked the bathing room. Empty. The tub was drained, and wet, soppy towels were scattered about the floor. He picked up the towels, wrung them out over the tub, and added these to the laundry before checking the guest room. Also empty. He checked the mathom room, obliging himself to walking all the way to the back of the room and around the various pieces of furniture crammed inside. No Pippin.

Sam returned to the tunnel, now worried. “Master Pippin?” he called, hearing nothing. He walked further into the tunnel, to the middle of the smial. Where could he be? “Master Pippin?” he called again, louder now, his voice reaching all corners of the smial.

His keen hearing picked up a soft snicker near the front of the smial and Sam headed in that direction. He checked the pantries, all empty. He walked through the parlor. Empty. He opened the door to the study.

“BOO!”

Pippin jumped out from the shadows, scaring Sam half to death. Sam took a moment to recover, then frowned at Pippin bemusedly. “You should warn somebody afore you decide to go playing such games, Master Pippin,” Sam said firmly. “That’s not a kind thing to do, begging your pardon.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been surprised,” Pippin said, sobering immediately. He wasn’t used to hearing such stern tones from the gentle gardener. He bit his bottom lip worriedly, uncertain what to do next.

“It’s not much of a surprise if you’re the only one enjoying it,” Sam said.

“I’m sorry,” Pippin said and hung his head.

Sam took pity on the young lad. He clapped him gently on the shoulder and urged the lad out of the room. “Come now, Master Pippin, I thought we’d work on that puzzle you and Master Merry got started earlier. Mayhap we could get it looking like something before the night is done.”

Pippin nodded and followed Sam to the sitting room. They sat on the floor and set to work. They worked in silence at first, but then Pippin started reminiscing about his sisters. Sam then shared some of his own experiences growing up with his own sisters: Daisy, the surrogate mother; May, the stoic organizer; Marigold, his confidante.

Pippin had no such titles for his own sisters, though he realized that they too filled their own specific roles. Pearl was very much like a second mother to him. Pimpernel and Pervinca were constantly teasing him mercilessly, but they were also extremely protective of him when need called for it, and Pervinca often took the role of arch nemesis as well. She could come up with pranks that would put Pippin to shame.

Pippin was silent for a moment, seeming to consider something, then he looked up at Sam, his cheeks flushed scarlet. “Have your sisters ever… have they tried to… did they ever make you model dresses and such for them?” he finally asked, his voice nearly a whisper in his embarrassment. He had only told Merry so far about this habit of his sisters. It was not something he liked other lads knowing about, but since Sam had told him about the frock, he felt he could trust him with this secret.

Sam grinned devilishly. “Aye, they’ve tried, but my friend Finch, he’s the youngest of five and the only lad besides, he gave me advice on how to avoid all that.”

“How?” Pippin asked eagerly.

“You mean to tell me that you, of all hobbits, haven’t figured this out?” Sam asked with feigned shock. He set a puzzle piece into place and fished for a new piece before continuing. “You get a toad or a lizard, see, or some other such creature as lasses don’t generally take too kindly to, and you keep that in your pocket whenever you know your sisters are working on their sewing or hemming or such. Then, when they come after you and drag you into their room, you just reach into your pocket, let the toad or lizard out and toss it at the nearest sister. They’ll be more than distracted, and you’ll get away.”

“My sisters would throttle me if I did that,” Pippin said, with the experience to back it up.

“Aye, my sisters nearly throttled me too once they got ahold of me, but they also never asked me to model for them again,” Sam said, and frowned. This puzzle piece wasn’t fitting anything. He abandoned it for another one.

“I don’t know if that would work for me anyhow. My sisters are quite used to toads and such by now,” Pippin said, but the advice at least got him thinking.

“Well, you could always have your mother tell them they can’t do it anymore,” Sam pointed out. “I tried asking my Gaffer to tell them so, but he just chuckled and said the lasses weren’t harming me none, but that’s fathers for you. Mothers, now, they’re kinder about such things, or so I’ve heard.”

“That might work,” Pippin said, shocked at the simple solution. As long as it didn’t involve sweets, he could talk his mother into anything.

The topic of sisters, and the silly things they do, kept them occupied long into the night and before Sam realized, it was past Pippin’s bedtime. It was Pippin’s constant yawning that caused the gardener to glance at the clock on the mantle and jump up.

“You need to be getting to bed, Master Pippin,” Sam said.

“I want to wait up for Merry,” Pippin said, yawning widely, his words barely understandable.

“You’ll see Master Merry come morning, and I suggest you speak softly to him when you do,” Sam said.

Pippin yawned again, more widely than before, and gave up trying to act awake. He would be asleep where he sat in a few more minutes, so he stood up and allowed Sam to steer him to his room. Sam cringed when he saw the wreck the room was in but refrained himself from picking everything up. He saw Pippin into bed, then went to make himself a cup of tea and wait up for his master.  

“Sam!” a whisper hissed through the smial. “Sam! Where are you? Are you awake?”

Sam stirred from his perch on the stuffed chair and yawned. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to focus in the dark. “Mr. Frodo?” he mumbled, slightly incoherent, uncertain at first where he was.

“There you are,” Frodo said, struggling his way into the parlor, his feet shuffling heavily and unevenly. He spoke a little more loudly, though still not much above a whisper. “Help me get Merry to bed.”

“It worked then?” Sam asked, remembering now where he was and why. He stood up and stretched, then shook the slumber from his limbs.

“It did indeed,” Frodo said, pride evident in his hushed voice. Sam followed the sound of his master’s voice and found him and Merry in the entryway to the parlor. Merry was sound asleep, his head drooping onto Frodo’s shoulder.

“Bless me, Mr. Frodo, you didn’t walk all this way did you?” Sam asked as dim shapes took form against the dark. He took Merry’s left arm and flung it over his shoulder, helping Frodo carry the slumbering tween.

“No, Nolan Bushmore gave us a ride in his pony trap,” Frodo answered. They shuffled down the tunnel to the guest room, and Frodo’s soft laugh filled the tunnel. “Can you believe this is the second time I’ve got him into lasses’ clothing? Do you think I should try for a third?”

“Third time pays for all, but I’d wait a good many years afore you try it, Mr. Frodo,” Sam advised. “Master Pippin will be right pleased to see him come morning, I reckon; this is a right pretty frock.”

They reached Merry’s guest room and managed to get the slumbering Brandybuck into bed without too much trouble. They tiptoed out of the room, closing the door noiselessly behind them. Sam followed Frodo to the front door, grabbing the laundry bags as he went, and they went outside so they could speak to each other without having to whisper.

“So everything went as planned then, I take it?” Sam asked.

“It was absolutely flawless,” Frodo said smugly. “Some of my best work to date. I almost forgot how much fun this could be.”

“I’m glad you had fun, sir,” Sam said.

“Thank you, Sam. Did Pippin give you much trouble?”

“None at all, sir,” Sam answered truthfully and turned to leave. At the gate, he turned back and waved. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Sam,” Frodo called after him. “Sleep in tomorrow if you need to, and thanks again, lad. I’ll tell you everything in full when they leave.”  

Merry wanted to die. He didn’t know which was worse: waking up with a pounding headache, the candlelight blinding him, the blaring sounds surrounding him at all angles, and having to drink that horrid toxic that Frodo made for him; or the fact that he was halfway to Frogmorton before his head cleared up and he looked down to realize he was wearing nothing but a yellow frock covered in purple and pink lace and dotted with pink and white flowers. And his luggage was stored outside the carriage, next to the coach. If he survived this, he was going to strangle Frodo.
 
 
 

The End.
 

GF 6/11/05