Author notes:
This is for Ivy, who inspired me to this fic by baking caraway-cake with me yesterday - yes, you can forget certain ingredients! If you want the recipe of the cake you may ask me and I will send it to you by e-mail.

Special thanks to shirebound for beta reading!

~*~*~

Caraway-cake and Ale

"Two sausages from the lamb, two big onions, cheese, eggs…" Frodo read out.

Pippin dashed from one corner of the pantry to the other to gather all that was needed on a tray. He was visiting his older cousin at Bag End, and since the weather was nasty and they had not had anything to eat since second breakfast, they had decided to cook caraway-cake for an early tea. Caraway-cake was a rather heavy and slightly spicy dish that tasted best in the company of a friend - a cousin seldom visited would also do - and a glass of red wine. His mother strongly disagreed with the latter, but Frodo might make an exception. Huffing and puffing, Pippin lifted the heavy tray and stumbled after his cousin.

"Right." Frodo eyed the ingredients and contently turned up his sleeves. "You cut the onions."

"I hate cutting onions," Pippin moaned, also turning up his sleeves. "Can't I take care of the sausages while you and the onions--"

"You cut the onions," Frodo repeated resolutely, giving his cousin a sideways glance. Picking up a knife, he turned with deliberation towards the sausages.

"But--"

"Pippin," said Frodo sternly nodding at the vegetables on the tray, "onions."

Pippin stared at his cousin for a very long moment, wondering what would convince him of his dire need to cut the sausages. Unfortunately, he could not think of any sentence that would not lead to an annoyed "Pippin!" from Frodo. With a heavy sigh, he began peeling the first onion.

Time passed.

Pippin snivelled noisily. "Why are you torturing me?" he asked, looking at his cousin teary-eyed. Frodo did not answer, but shot him a glance that made Pippin cast down his eyes guiltily, remembering the events of the night before.

~*~*~

Frodo chuckled into his mug as he crossed the common room of The Green Dragon. Gaffer Gamgee had waved him to his table two mugs of ale ago to discuss the very important matter of potato beetles - a topic that, in the old gardener's eyes, could not wait until the morning. His son, Samwise, had told him about the insect attack in Bag End's garden, and since he had a hand with taters, he could not help having a word with the Master of Bag End himself.

Slumping into a chair, Frodo furrowed his brow. Something was missing. A loud giggle from a table in the far corner reminded him of what it was: Pippin! The young Took sat at the table of Peony Bolger and her friends. Peony Bolger! Of all lasses in the Shire, his cousin had chosen to flirt with the one most desired. As it seemed, Pippin could not take his eyes from the beautiful but much older lass. Unfortunately, it was not the girl's face that got most of Pippin's attention.

"Tooks," Frodo muttered to himself as he walked to their table and planted himself next to Pippin. He lay a jovial arm around the lad's shoulder. "Hullo, cousin!"

Two of Peony's friends, Frodo recognised Ivy and Lily, stuck their heads together, whispering and giggling. Peony gave him a shy smile.

"Frodo!" Pippin shouted as he wondered which face he should focus on. He then decided that there was no point in choosing one of the many cousins to talk to, and instead returned his attention to the three girls. "That's my cousin!" he announced, smirking. "A cousin to my father's side--" he prattled, his hands twitching, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "-- many times removed," he finally concluded, grinning broadly at the Master of Bag End.

Frodo wrinkled his nose at the smell of ale that greeted him while the young Took went on in his explanations. His jovial mood crumpled. Giving the young ladies a sweet, apologetic smile, he put his hand over Pippin's mouth and pulled his gibbering cousin out of the inn.

A warm summer breeze greeted them. Pippin looked at Frodo woozily, the stars mirrored in his glassy eyes. He smirked.

Gazing sternly into his cousin's face, Frodo swallowed his growing discontent. Carefully he let go of Pippin's arm. The young hobbit swayed, stumbled, and almost fell over. Frodo caught him just in time. He heaved a sigh. "How many mugs did you have?"

Frodo had given his cousin permission for only one, but Pippin looked far worse than that. Had he not told him to behave? Eglantine Took would not even have welcomed this one drink. Should she find out that her son had been positively drunk during his time in Hobbiton, she might well rip off Frodo's head - and Pippin's as well, for that matter.

Pippin pondered the question, his face a mask of concentration. Finally he raised his hand and started to count his fingers. Having reached the number he desired, he giggled. "Four," he proclaimed proudly, nodding vigorously. He blinked at the changing features of the faces before him, then decided stars were a lot nicer to look at. They did not spin as much.

Eventually he got bored and returned to focusing on the annoyed faces that were his cousin's. "Can we go back inside?" he inquired. "Peony and I are having this wonderful conversation, you know."

"Peony, my dear Pip," Frodo said as calmly as possible, shaking his head, and pulling his cousin further down the road, "is far beyond your reach."

"Actually," Pippin chipped in, while trying to wriggle out of his cousin's firm grip, "we were quite close." He broke into a fit of giggles as Frodo turned an appalled face towards him.

~*~*~

Pippin looked greedily at the pan where Frodo was roasting the onions and the sausages. A tasty smell filled the kitchen, and Pippin's belly that had scarcely been fed today grumbled noisily.

"Something's missing," Frodo observed, looking thoughtfully from the pan to his cousin who was stirring eggs, milk and cream for the sauce. Pippin returned his gaze and broke into a fit of giggles - the same sound that had accompanied him home last night. Frodo shook his head, still a bit annoyed at the young hobbit's unreasonableness.

"Cheese," Pippin told him matter-of-factly, and pointed over his shoulder to a bowl of said ingredient. A broad grin, that seemed unwilling to leave, brightened his face. He wondered briefly if this was another aftermath of the ale he had had last night. The ale certainly had been good, and so were the girls he was sharing a table with. Bad thing though, that he did not remember what they had been talking about - he might miss an important invitation - and that Frodo was unwilling to tell him. Frodo rather told other things - a homily, for instance.

While Pippin had been stirring the sauce, Frodo had filled the pastry with the contents of his pan. At a questioning glance of his cousin's, Pippin brought him the sauce and poured it over the now almost finished caraway-cake. That done, Frodo put their food into the oven and they went to cleaning the kitchen - a task Pippin welcomed as a chance to ask questions about certain ladies he had talked to. But Frodo, as always, said he better off not knowing what happened.

"Something's missing," Frodo suddenly observed thoughtfully while scrubbing the pan. Pippin furrowed his brow and their eyes met. "Caraway!"

Pippin gave his cousin a bewildered glance as Frodo dashed to the cupboard, fetched the spice and sprinkled the cake. "You forgot the most important ingredient?!"

Frodo shrugged innocently and they both broke into a fit of laughter.