“Mr. Frodo, sir, your cousins are here.”

Frodo jumped in his seat; he must have drifted off in mid-translation. He turned around to face Sam.

“What was that?”

“Your cousins, sir.  They’re he-“

Sam was cut off (and forced to jump quickly aside to avoid getting hurt) as two curly headed young hobbits burst into the study.

“Frodo!!  Frodo!! Happy Yule!  I can’t believe Mum let me stay!  I can’t wait to show you what I got you!”

Frodo laughed and hugged his cousins, even as they continued to shout greetings at him.

“Hello, lads.  How are you on this fine day?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.  Sure enough, this prompted another blast of incomprehensible chatter from Merry and Pippin.  Sam quietly excused himself and went to get Mr. Merry and Master Pippin’s bags, his ears still ringing.

“Pippin, you must have grown a quarter inch!” Frodo exclaimed.  He held his younger cousin at arms’ length.  “Although I must say, you are still the puniest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

“But not for lack of sustenance,” Merry commented dryly.  Both were rewarded with smart punches to the upper arm by a grinning Pippin.

“Well, it’s true,” said Merry, and punched Pippin back.

Frodo knew a scuffle brewing when he saw it.  “Come on, lads, let me show you to your rooms.”  

“I get my own room?”  Pippin’s high voice was filled with excitement.  “You mean I don’t have to share with Merry anymore?”  The last bit was spoken just as Merry said, “You mean he doesn’t have to share with me anymore?”

Frodo rolled his eyes and laughed.  “Yes, that is what I mean, although we all know Pippin will be sharing a bed with you before he’s even had time to warm his own.”

Pippin’s protestations were cut short as Frodo stopped in front of a door not far from his own chamber.

“This will be Pippin’s room, although, I suppose you could switch if you wish,” he said with sly look in his eye, and swung the door open.

It looked as though a box of paints had exploded.  Everything was done in bold colors, but no shade seemed to repeat itself.  Every cloth in the room was in bright, bold colours with the busy patterns.  The furniture all had scenes depicting oliphaunts, dwarves, elves, and all the other creatures that came from children’s faery tales.  Pippin stopped for a moment, while Merry and Frodo winced behind him at the garish room.

“I-I LOVE it!” Exclaimed Pippin.  He began to rush around, pulling open the doors of the chest, then slamming them shut, jumping on the golden bed with the bright blue and crimson quilt, and rushing over to the desk and pulling open the drawers (each with a different picture of Gandalf writing)  to peer at the vivid purple stationary.

“Frodo, I can’t even look in this room without hurting my eyes,” Merry whispered, looking the bright orange and green striped curtains.  “What in Middle Earth convinced you to do this to one of your best guest bedrooms?”

Frodo answered in his regular voice.  “I changed this room because I expect you to visit quite often, Pippin, now that you have permission to stay for long visits.  If you don’t make good use of it, then I’ll have to go back to brown.”

“Nonononnononononononononononono!!!” Pippin exclaimed.  “I’ll move in if I have to!  Don’t ever change it!  In fact, do you think you could show Mum how to decorate a Smial?  Because she seems to think that blue and emerald are plenty of colors.”

“I Can’t imagine why,” Merry muttered sarcastically.

“Oooh!  Look!”  Pippin exclaimed as he turned the doorknob (shaped to look like the bust of Gloin) of his wardrobe.  “My things got put away!  How’d they do that?”  Pippin began to search around the wardrobe, looking for his waistcoats’ secret.

Frodo and Merry both held back snorts of laughter with difficulty. 

“Pippin,” Frodo said.  Pippin looked up from where he was looking at his favourite pair of cerise breeches on the braided rug.  “Um, I don’t think your things put themselves away.  Sam’s probably just been in here.”

“Oh.”  Pippin stood back up, completely nonplussed.  “Well, this is very nice, Frodo.  Thank you.  I can’t wait to see Merry’s room!”

Merry paled at the thought, but Sam’s quiet presence caused him to turn around.

“Begging your pardon, sirs, but I’ve finished putting away Mr. Merry’s things, and I though I’d just be getting to your afternoon tea, unless you need anything.”

“Ah, Sam!  I’m so glad you’re here.”  Frodo turned to his cousins.  “Sam is the real decorator around here.  He did your room, Merry, and did a splendid job.  Sam, why don’t you show him, since you decorated it?”

“I better get the tea started soon, sir, otherwise it will be late….” Sam said. 

“Nonsense!  We can wait a few more minutes,” said Merry, kicking Pippin before he could protest.

“Well, all right, Mr. Merry,”  said Sam.  “I just remembered on what you liked when we was younger, mostly, so I went off that, sir.”

Sam turned and led them to the next room down.  If Frodo hadn’t known Sam better, he would have sworn the door had been opened with a flourish. 

The entire room was done in sensible hues of brown and blue, with nice, but practical, furniture.  Merry grinned and turned to Sam.

“Sam, it’s wonderful!  I love it!  And-how splendid!  Is that my old skipping rock collection?”

Sam nodded.  “Aye, sir.  I found it buried in one of Mr. Frodo’s mathom rooms, and thought I’d get it for you.  You do like it, then?”

“It’s wonderful!” Merry exclaimed, and turned around as if to hug Sam, but remembered himself just in time. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Sam hesitated, then muttered something about afternoon tea and left.  Frodo raised an eyebrow at Merry, but didn’t comment upon the strange actions between his cousin and gardener.

“Why don’t the two of you rest and freshen up for a bit before tea?” Frodo suggested.  “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Merry nodded and closed the door behind his cousins.  Then he leaned against it and rubbed his hands over his face.

He and Sam had been so close when they were younger.  Sam was only two years older than Merry, but had seemed more like twenty.  He always looked out for Merry when he visited, despite what his Gaffer had to say about ‘minding his place’.  Merry had a bad habit of getting in trouble with much bigger lads, but Sam had proven himself capable of taking on any of them.  Sam and Merry had been practically inseparable, spending their afternoons fishing and playing.  Even when Sam was working, he would entertain Merry by telling him the names of all the flowers and how he was tending them.

But it had all changed shortly after Sam had begun to work inside Bag End, as well as out.  Suddenly, he kept his eyes averted around Merry, and even Pippin, and always called him ‘Mr. Merry sir’ and the like.  Merry knew that it was what was considered proper for their stations, but he despised it. 

Take the afternoon tea, for example.  Normally, it was Merry’s favourite time of the day.  He loved the way the meal seemed to always carry him right to dinner with no problems, and how the whole affair was so casual and informal.  But at Bag End, Merry knew that Sam would be serving it.  Merry was not new to the idea of service; living in Brandy Hall made that impossible.  But whenever Sam went to refill his cup, he always had to stop himself from drawing his childhood friend into the conversation. 

I’m a gentlehobbit Merry reminded himself.  If Sam wants to stand on ceremony, then I won’t stop him.  I have no right to be angry, I should be glad that he gave me even those few years of friendship.

He knew this was true, but then why did he still feel so sad?

Sam waited until he turned a bend in the hallway before allowing himself to walk as fast as his legs could carry him.  When he finally reached the kitchen, he made himself calm down before he started preparing the masters’ tea.

Mr. Merry had given him a look like a kicked dog after he almost hugged him.  Sam felt so guilty about distancing himself from the friend he had once protected to dearly. 

I had no business ever thinking I could be friends with the future Master of the Hall he though to himself.  I did the right thing. 

He knew this was true.  If he presumed above his station, then it would reflect badly on his master, which he could never bear.  Sam never wanted anyone to doubt how much he respected Mr. Frodo.  But still that look on Merry’s face…..

Sam was jerked back into reality as he burned his hand on the kettle.  He ran to wash the burn in cold water, but it still blistered.  Well, it was his own fault for his wool-gathering.  He had a place, and he would get a lot worse than a smarting hand if he got ideas above it.  He resolved to leave Mr. Merry be, and went to get some food to put with the tea.