A/N: This chapter contains references to "With Their Heads Full of Dreams" as well as fanon events previously mentioned in more detail in "Mid-Year Walking Trip" and "In Darkness Buried Deep". It should not be necessary to have read those stories to understand this one. :)

For Dreamflower, who wanted an explanation of hobbit mealtimes.
 
 

“…especially after dinner, which they have twice a day if they can get it…” ~ The Hobbit, An Unexpected Party

“And laugh they did, and eat and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day (when they could get them).” ~ FOTR, The Prologue

Chapter 2: Tea with Hobbits

Sam carried a laden tray into the courtyard garden and set it down on the round stone table. Merry and Pippin peered at the tray, which was filled to the edges and piled high with water-biscuits, meat slices and cheese squares. As fine as the food of the elves was, the hobbits had to admit this was more like it.

Pippin licked his lips and reached for a cheese square. Sam cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at the tween, stopping his hand in mid-air. Pippin pouted. Sam raised the other eyebrow.

Heaving a much put-upon sigh, Pippin sat back down and waited for the others to arrive, hoping that would be soon. Beside him, Merry chuckled. “I will never tire of seeing that,” he said.

“Stuff it, Merry,” Pippin muttered.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Merry gloated and reached for the cheese square that Pippin was eyeing. Sam reached over and smacked his hand away. Merry pulled it back, looking wounded and betrayed. “Ouch! Hey now!”

Pippin threw his head back and laughed heartily, filling the courtyard with his mirth. “Good one, Sam! If I had known that worked on him too, I wouldn’t have worried the other night.”

“Stuff it, Pippin,” Merry grumbled.

“It’s only until Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo get here, and they were right behind me,” Sam said, not looking the least bit apologetic.

He sat across from the cousins as Bilbo and Frodo stepped into the garden, Frodo carrying a tray of tea things. Behind them trailed Glóin and Gimli. Glóin also carried a tray, this one covered with thick slices of what appeared to be cake. Frodo and Glóin sat their trays on the table next to the first one and Sam stood again to hand out the plates and teacups.

“I’ve brought company lads,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Have you met my good friend, Glóin? He was one of the dwarves who traveled with me on my adventure, don’t you know? And this is his son, Gimli. Glóin, Gimli, these are two my youngest cousins, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. They are my first and second cousin, twice removed either way, and Merry is actually my first cousin twice removed, twice over.” Merry beamed with pride; he was the only one there to be directly related to Bilbo, as well as Frodo, three times. Bilbo continued, “And you both met Sam at the Council.”

“Ah, yes, the Council,” Merry intoned, turning serious, “to which he wasn’t invited.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?” Sam said, pouring out the tea now.

“No,” Merry and Pippin said together. Sam poured them just a little less tea than everyone else.

Glóin, being long familiar with the ways of hobbits, thanks to his friendship with Bilbo, had advised his son to keep quiet should any of the following topics come up: genealogy, hobbit history and folklore, food, and just about anything that he did not quite understand. Food would be an unavoidable topic, seeing as this was tea and the dwarves had brought with them rum cake, which the hobbits had never eaten before. But the other topics were to be avoided, or detracted from, at all costs. Hobbits tended to be long-winded and encouraging one of them to speak about something of which they were passionate and expecting to have a short conversation was tantamount to sticking one’s head in a dragon’s mouth and hoping not to get bit. So they stood back, only bowing at the introductions, and said nothing else until Bilbo motioned for them to sit.

“Have a seat, lads, have a seat,” Bilbo said, sitting next to Frodo and Sam.

The dwarves sat on the third bench and Glóin nodded gravely. “Thank you kindly for inviting us, Bilbo,” he said, turning to the younger hobbits, who were eyeing the food hopefully while sneaking questioning and hopeful glimpses at Sam. “You young lads might not know this, but dwarves have taken up the custom of tea since our introduction to Bilbo. We usually have cakes or other forms of pastries.” He indicated the tray he had brought. “That there is our very finest rum cake, prepared by myself and my son. We made sure to make enough for ten dwarves, which should feed five hobbits.” He winked and at his bidding, Merry and Pippin no longer had to hold back.

They reached for the food, eagerly taking firsts of everything, including the rum cake. The others followed their lead, but Sam and Frodo hesitated on the cake. Frodo took a piece to be polite but Sam eyed it warily.

“Is it spicy?” he asked. His first and, up until today, last experience with Dwarven fare was not something he would easily forget, nor necessarily want to repeat. While delectable and delightful in every way one could wish for, the food had been too spicy for his tastes and had given him strange, if fascinating, dreams. At his side, Frodo paused, waiting for an answer, while across from them, Merry and Pippin were already licking their fingers and eyeing the cake for seconds.

“Spicy?” Pippin said. “It’s not spicy.”

“We heard about what happened the last time,” Glóin said with a spark in his eye, recalling the tale. When Nar and his sons had returned to the Lonely Mountain with Bilbo after the old hobbit’s eleventy-first birthday, that was among the first stories Nar had told them. “The receipt does call for some spices, but we left them out. It should be safe for young hobbits to eat.”

Sam took a piece then but held back tasting it until Frodo dared a little nibble. At Frodo’s nod, Sam cautioned a bite from his own slice and found the taste both sweet and tart. The cake was soft, melting in his mouth before he could even chew, the sweetness of it lingering in the back of his throat. “It’s very good,” he said. “Why is it called rum cake?”

“Because it’s full of rum,” Gimli answered. “It’s a strong brew on its own, but it burns off in the baking.”

“Brew?” Merry said. “Like cooking sherry?”

“No, much stronger than that,” said Bilbo, who had tasted the hard drink a few times before. “It’s not a drink you lads should try alone, or in large quantities.”

“If all of the rum burns off, then how can the cake be full of it?” Pippin asked, munching on his other food while he eyed the cake greedily.

Gimli and Glóin laughed sharply and winked at each other. “This is a poke cake,” Gimli explained. “After it finishes baking, you poke little holes in it and then pour more rum over it. It absorbs into the cake very quickly.”

“You’ll have to give the receipt to Sam so he can make it when we return home,” Pippin said.

“We don’t have rum in the Shire, Pip,” Merry reminded.

“They can give Sam the receipt for that too, and his Gaffer can brew it,” Pippin said, nodding. He had it all figured out.

“I think you should go easy on the cake, Pippin,” Frodo cautioned with a pointed look at Merry, wondering just how much rum the dwarves actually poured into the cake.

Merry nodded. He would keep an eye on Pippin and make sure he didn’t eat too much of the cake, if only for the reason that he wanted some more for himself.

After that, they got down to the all-important business of eating, and no one spoke again until Boromir happened upon them while on his afternoon walk. He strolled down the garden path and smiled warmly at the diners. “Why is it that every time I see you, you’re eating?” he said to Merry and Pippin, whom he had begun to run into at random times throughout the day since the night of their first meeting.

“That’s easy,” Merry said. “Every time you see us, we’re hungry.”

“And every time you see us, it’s mealtime,” Pippin continued.

“How is that?” Boromir asked, not noticing as the dwarves hid winces and groans of dread. “You must eat four or five times a day then.”

“Six, to be exact,” Merry said and waved to the last, fourth bench. “Sit and join us. We’re having tea.”

Boromir sat, looking at the table and the now half-filled trays of cake, water-biscuits, cheese and meat. “This looks like more than just tea,” he said as Sam stood and poured him a cup of the drink.

“Sugar or honey?” Sam asked.

“Neither, thank you,” Boromir said, accepting the cup, which had been made to hobbit size and was two times too small for his hand. Sam handed him a plate before sitting down but the man did not attempt to fill it, putting it aside. He would eat later at dinner. “Do you really eat six times a day?” he asked incredulously, looking the hobbits over one by one. Sam was the heftiest hobbit there, but even he didn’t look like he could eat that often; most of his weight appeared to be muscle. Then again, he had heard that the hobbits had lost much of their girth on their journey to Rivendell.

“Indeed we do,” Pippin said enthusiastically, all thoughts of the rum cake temporarily cast from his mind. “There’s first breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, tea, dinner, or supper as some call it, and second supper. Oh, and afters of course, mustn’t forget that. It’s the most important one, you know.”

“That’s eight meals,” Boromir pointed out.

“No it’s not,” Sam said. “Afters is really a part of dinner or second supper.”

“But not both?” Boromir asked, thinking that still brought the count to seven meals.

“No,” Frodo answered. “If you are only having dinner, then you have afters with that. If you have both dinner and second supper, then you only have afters with second supper. I believe the Big Folk call afters ‘dessert’.”

“So, some hobbits don’t eat both meals?” Boromir asked. This must be why these hobbits said they only eat six times a day. They must not eat this second supper. “They’re optional then?”

It was all Glóin could do not to smack himself on the forehead, and then reach over and smack the man equally. Gimli, however, had to admit to himself that he was morbidly curious about what his father had warned him against, and he did something then that his father would never let him hear the end of. “Perhaps a full explanation of your dining customs is in order,” Gimli said, making a point not to meet his father’s heated glare.

Immediately, the hobbits’ faces lit up with joy and both Merry and Pippin jumped up, eager to share their knowledge. Merry was faster than Pippin however, and so Pippin had to sit back down, settling on filling in anything Merry might forget. Merry stuffed his hands into his breeches pockets and wet his lips eagerly before starting.

“It’s a widely known fact, though many hobbits will tell you its nothing more than folklore, that hobbits did not always have six mealtimes,” Merry began, and the others nodded along with this. “In our wandering days, of which we know little about it is true, it is widely rumored that we only ate, as unbelievable as this might sound, a sparse three times daily. It was not until the Fallohide brothers, Marcho and Blanco, requested from the High King of Fornost for the right to settle west of the Brandywine, thus founding the Shire, that things began to improve.

“Almost immediately, a fourth meal was added, so that hobbits could now enjoy, when they wanted them – which was almost always – breakfast, elevenses, luncheon and dinner. Elevenses was created to be eaten at the eleventh hour of the morning, hence it’s name, and is not so much a meal as it is a snack, to tide hobbits over the long gap between breakfast at seven and luncheon at one. The positive results were noticeable within days. Hobbits were happier and had more energy to till their gardens and build their smials and were generally more even-tempered, and everyone agreed that elevenses was a fine idea.

“After a few more years went by, however, it became clear that there was yet another gap to be filled, that being the one between luncheon and dinner at six o’clock. Five hours is quite a merciless amount of time for hobbits to go without food, especially when they are toiling all day, so Blanco, a most ingenious and resourceful hobbit, decided that another snack meal would not go amiss. Thus, tea was created.”

Boromir lifted an eyebrow at this and glanced again at the trays, heaped with food. This was a snack?

Merry continued. “Things went on in this manner for many hundreds of years and hobbits all but thrived, and couldn’t be any happier with things as they were, not wishing for them to change in the slightest. Now, it must be said that hobbits are generally resistant to change and so do everything they can to avoid it, even when they know that sometimes change is for the best. But there is one thing that hobbits will never protest a change to, and that’s when it creates more opportunities to eat.”

“This is my favorite part,” Pippin interjected.

“I don’t know. I rather like the part about tea,” Sam said. He didn’t always have opportunity to enjoy second breakfast or elevenses, but he always had tea in the shade of the back gardens of Bag End, and often times, Frodo would join him. He had a fleeting thought to what would come of this tradition once the Quest was over and they returned to settle in Crickhollow, but he let the thought fall instantly from his mind, not quite able to worry about things here in Rivendell as he might have elsewhere.

“Well, I know Frodo likes this part,” Pippin said with a wink.

“Indeed he does,” Bilbo agreed. “I’ve often thought that if not for the—”

“Shh!” Merry instructed hastily. “You’re going to ruin it.”

“Sorry,” the others apologized while Frodo attempted to look innocent.

“Now, as I was saying,” Merry said, “three hundred years ago, when Isumbras the Third took over the Thainship from his father, Isengrim the Second, who was ailing in his later years and could not keep up the responsibilities of being both the Took and the Thain, he took it upon himself to solve a problem that had long plagued him throughout his life.

“You see, Isumbras the Third was not only a hobbit of immense knowledge and ingenuity, but he was also an incredibly late sleeper. No matter what anyone did to wake him on time, he simply could not open his eyes until far after the breakfast hour. As such, he was always having to eat alone and he usually ate leftovers that were kept warm for him in an oven, and so it never tasted to him quite as good as it should have. So he decided—”

“Here it comes!” Pippin squealed, his voice shaky with excitement.

Merry spared him a cautious glance before continuing, “He decided to create a second breakfast, to be served two hours after the first, so that he would always be on time for it.”

“Very well told, Merry,” Frodo said. Being a rather late riser himself, by habit more than need, he had always appreciated the concept of second breakfast just a little more than other hobbits.

“Thank you Frodo,” Merry said and continued with his tale. “As you can imagine, there were plenty of other hobbits who also rose from bed late and they too were suffering the same hardships as the Thain. They rejoiced his decision and the custom spread faster than gossip. A second breakfast meant not only more food to eat, but more hobbits needed to cook it and those seeking work, for whatever reasons, now had it. Those that did rise on time for first breakfast found that they simply could no longer enjoy life to its fullest without a second, and it became a permanent and integral part of our days.”

Merry bowed and the hobbits clapped. Gimli picked his jaw up off the floor and Glóin looked at the sun, wondering how long hobbit custom demanded they had to stay before they could leave without being rude or causing offence. Surely, they had to wait at least until the food was gone, and when Glóin looked back down, he was pleased to see that the other four hobbits had continued to eat while Merry had been talking. There were only a handful of water-biscuits and four slices of rum cake left. Pippin was eagerly licking more crumbs of cake from his fingers. Pippin caught Glóin watching and tipped him a wink before reaching for another piece of cake.

“You forgot the part about second supper, Mr. Merry,” Sam said.

“There’s more?” Boromir asked, having forgotten his initial confusion about dinner and second supper in light of everything he had just heard.

“Indeed there is, but it really isn’t a part of the last story,” Merry said. “You see, during times of celebration or holidays, hobbits often, but not always, will have a grand dinner, which takes place after the regular dinner, and which marks the end of the evening and celebration. However, since the traditional hour of second supper is eight in the evening, and most hobbits do not care to be cooking and cleaning so late, it’s become the custom to have one large dinner at the regular hour, which we call a feast. Enough food is prepared to last for both dinner and second supper, with the dishes being washed as they’re used, usually by trouble-making children. This is why it is always so important to be on your best behavior whenever such an event is about to take place.”

“And how many times have you had to wash dishes?” Frodo asked with a knowing smirk.

“Not as many times as you, I’m sure,” Merry said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Frodo said. “I got away with quite a lot in my day, and you and Pippin were always getting caught. I only had to wash dishes twice.” While it was true that he had been caught more times than that, most of those instances did not take place near enough a feast as to make the punishment feasible.

“And how much is a lot?” Bilbo asked.

Frodo only shook his head. “Trust me, Uncle, you don’t want to know.”

“Only twice?” Merry asked, sitting down and taking the last piece of rum cake. “When were those?”

“The time you broke your arm and the time I left you stranded at Milo’s house, so really, in a way, those were your fault,” Frodo said.

“How were those my fault?” Merry demanded.

“Because you followed me when I told you to stay at home, and because you’re clumsy and because you’re a whiner, or you used to be,” Frodo said.

“That’s beside the point,” Merry said. “And I never whined. And I wasn’t clumsy! The ground was wet. Anyone could slip on mud.”

“I didn’t,” Frodo pointed out.

“Sam did once!” Merry said, pointing at the startled gardener. “He broke his ankle.”

“I sprained my ankle and it was ice, not mud,” Sam said.

“Same thing.”

“How are ice and mud the same thing?” Frodo laughed.

“Because…” Merry stalled, searching for an answer. “Ice is on the ground and when it melts it makes mud.”

“What?!” Frodo exclaimed, as Pippin broke into uncontrollable giggles, and Bilbo and Sam laughed. “Now you’re starting to sound like Pippin.”

“Hey!” Pippin said.

“You never answered Mr. Frodo’s question, Mr. Merry,” Sam pointed out with a grin. “How many times have you had kitchen duty?” Sam had never had to wash dishes, though he had helped a few times.

“Well, I know Merry and I have had to wash dishes together at least eight times,” Pippin said. “I’ve had to wash dishes without him about five times, and I believe his solo count is three times.”

“Thanks a lot, Pip,” Merry muttered as Bilbo, Frodo and Sam continued to laugh. The others looked on, perplexed but amused by the conversation.

Merry grudgingly reached for the last water-biscuit and popped it into his mouth. A half-second later, Gimli and Glóin were on their feet. “It’s a pleasure having tea with you,” Glóin said with a bow. Gimli mimicked him and they left as soon as Bilbo rose to see them off.

Boromir remained behind with the others, who were beginning to sober from their conversation and were helping Sam clean. “Kitchen detail,” he said, more to himself than the hobbits. “Not a bad idea. I once had to polish every sword in the Tower armory by myself. That took days.”

“Are you a good swordsman, Mr. Boromir?” Sam asked.

“I should think so,” Boromir commented. “I’m the captain general of my regiment. If you wish it, Frodo, I could train you and Sam, to prepare you for the road ahead. It would not be advisable to set forth on so dangerous a road without some knowledge in swordplay.”

“Could you train us too?” Merry asked. “If we’re allowed to go, we’ll need to know as well.”

“Please?” Pippin asked.

“I suppose it would be wise to have some form of training,” Frodo said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind, Boromir?”

Boromir looked at the halflings, Merry and Pippin watching him with pleading eyes, and smiled. “It would be my pleasure. We’ll start in the morning at sun up.”

“Sun up?” Pippin asked. He turned to Merry and whispered, “But we’re still asleep at sun up.”

Boromir chuckled. “Very well then. How about after first breakfast?”

“That will work for us,” Merry said, “but not for Frodo.”

Frodo slapped Merry playfully on the shoulder. “After first breakfast, it is,” he said with a nod to Boromir. “Thank you for the offer.”

Boromir bowed and left the Little Ones to their cleaning up.  

Just after midnight, a frantic cry woke Merry from a deep slumber. He sat up and a moment later was racing into Pippin’s bedchamber. He dashed to the bedside as Pippin thrashed about in a dream and shook the younger hobbit awake.

“Pip! Pippin!” Green eyes blinked up at him and Pippin clung to him desperately. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Oh Merry, it was so awful,” Pippin said. “There was this chicken but it was really Isumbras the Third, and he had your arm in his beak and he was making you wash dishes with mud, and… and… and he took away second breakfast!”

“How much of that rum cake did you eat, Pippin?” Merry asked.

“Six slices.”

“Good night Pip,” Merry said and went back to his slumber.

To be continued…

GF 7/3/06