The hobbits nurse Boromir back to health, in their own special way.

“The Shire at this time had hardly any ‘government’. Families for the most part managed their own affairs.” ~ FOTR, The Prologue, “Of the Ordering of the Shire”

“But the government of a ‘family’, as of the real unit: the ‘household’, was not a monarchy (except by accident). It was a ‘dyarchy’, in which master and mistress had equal status, if different functions. Either was held to be the proper representative of the other in the case of absence (including death).” ~ Letter #214

Chapter 6 – The Best Medicine

Sam began the next morning early, as he did all mornings. The elves had offered to see to all of the hobbits’ needs during their stay, but Sam insisted that it was his duty to care for his master and he simply could not fathom being waited on himself. So he slipped from bed and tiptoed across the room to his master’s bed. All that could be seen of Frodo was a tuft of hair poking out from the top of the bed sheets, and from his slow and even breathing Sam knew that Frodo was still deep in sleep, tucked in snug and warm as he should be.

Sam refilled the pitcher on the bedside table with fresh water and moved the wicker screen along the balcony, positioning it so it would shade his master when the sun rose. He leafed through the wardrobe and selected clothes for Frodo to wear, spreading them out at the foot of the long bed, then retrieved a fresh towel from the linen chest and set it by the pitcher. He made sure the ewer was clean and that there was fresh soap for his master’s use. The room now prepared for Frodo’s eventual awakening, Sam washed and dressed himself in his own room next door, then slipped into the massive hallway.

The Last Homely House was grey in the predawn light, despite candlelit sconces glowing on the walls beside every doorway and arch. Shadows loomed overhead and lurked in the corners, and even Sam’s near-silent footfalls echoed loudly in his ears as he shuffled down the passageways. The sheer size of this magnificent home had overwhelmed the hobbits when they first arrived, travel-worn and hungry, worried for Frodo and still in shock from their last encounter with the Black Riders. Then there were the Elves, luminous and graceful, both otherworldly and yet more deeply rooted to the earth than even the most at-home hobbit in his hobbit-hole. Sam had not known what to do with himself when he was first pried from Frodo’s side but he had learned much since that time.

He trotted around the bends, down the stairs and through the passages with ease, looking around with keen interest for there was always something new to discover if one looked close enough. He reached the end of one passage and entered the main kitchen, the only room in the house that was already alive with activity. The elves there were long familiar with all the hobbits by now and they knew to expect Sam in the early mornings before the others woke. The little gardener shared many of his Shire recipes with them, as well as learned some of their own. They smiled broadly when he walked in and greeted him good morning. Sam returned the greeting and climbed onto the stepping stool they had made available for him.

“And what will your Frodo be having for first breakfast this morning?” they asked.

“Actually, I thought I’d cook a wee feast for us and Boromir,” Sam said. “Lord Elrond says he’s got to keep off his feet, at least for today, so we decided we’d keep him company so’s he won’t get lonesome. That is, if he don’t mind us being around. What do you reckon a Man would like to eat?”

“It has been our experience that a Man will eat anything placed before him,” answered the elves.

“That don’t help me much, begging your pardons,” Sam said. “I was wanting to make him something he’ll enjoy especially.”

“I noticed that he did favor the sausage cakes we had his first morning here,” said one elf, who usually served the food. “He is also quite fond of berries and nuts.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully as first breakfast quickly formulated in his mind. “Very well then. I haven’t made hot cakes since we’ve been here, and those would go quite well with some of that berry sauce you make, if you wouldn’t mind showing me how to make it that is. That, and those sausage cakes. They tasted almost like small one-bite muffins, stuffed with peppered sausage, cream sauce and onions. The cream sauce was mostly just cheese mixed with milk, but you spiced it with something I couldn’t quite put my finger to. A small fruit salad and a bowl of nuts will round it out nicely, don’t you think?”

“We’re hungry already,” the elves agreed, “and we would love to learn of these hot cakes of which you speak.”

“You mean Mr. Bilbo ain’t taught you about those yet?” asked Sam, and they were soon preparing enough of the meal to feed the entire house.

By the time Sam and the elves carried the food to Boromir’s room, Merry and Pippin were already there, keeping the man company. The elves placed the food on the table near the center of the room and left after exchanging greetings with the hobbits.

Elrond was there also, administering to his patient, unwrapping the poultice from Boromir’s head. Sam was relieved to see that the swelling was already gone and only a small knot at the point of contact remained. Boromir smiled pleasantly at him around the long sleeves of Elrond’s robes.

“Morning sirs,” Sam greeted humbly before occupying himself with the food. He arranged the trays and bowls just so and fiddled with the serving utensils until Pippin joined him.

The younger hobbit eyed the food greedily. “Morning Sam!” he chirped. “Surely that can’t all be for Boromir.”

“For such a large person, he eats surprisingly little,” agreed Merry from Elrond’s side, where he was sniffing at the poultice mixture he was holding for Elrond. He grinned down at the man and continued cheekily, “It’s a wonder he doesn’t shrivel away and disappear. Well, since he’ll be lying about all day, at least we’ll be able to feed him properly. Food is the best medicine after all.”

Sam nodded in agreement and continued to fuss with the placement of the bowls and plates. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elrond place another poultice to Boromir’s wound and wrap his head loosely. Merry sniffed at the mixture again and assessed its contents. Pippin meanwhile was much more interested in smelling the food.

“How does he seem to you?” Sam asked of Boromir, speaking so quietly only elven ears could hear him from across the room.

“He’s excellent,” Pippin answered, not bothering to keep his voice low. “He slurs every other word and has no clue who he is, but other than that I’d say he’s feeling quite peachy.”

“What?” Sam exclaimed, his heart jumping into his throat even as Pippin and Merry dissolved into helpless giggles. “You’re both incorrigible,” he accused.

“Oh Sam, you should have seen the look on your face,” Pippin laughed.

Merry dipped a spoon into the poultice and tasted a small amount of the mixture before addressing Sam. “Have no fear, my friend. Our fearless leader is the portrait of health, aside from the gaping hole you knocked into his skull. He was just commending you on your good aim when Elrond arrived.”

“Indeed he was,” Pippin said. “What was it you said exactly, Boromir? ‘Tham throws tho thwell.’ He even teared up, but that could have been from the pain.”

Sam chuckled ruefully despite himself. “You pair of rascals,” he muttered, feeling much relieved. He cautioned a wary glance at Boromir, who was listening to this exchange with much amusement. “You’re really not upset sir?”

“Of course not. You were only doing what I told you to do, Sam,” Boromir pointed out, speaking with perfect clarity. “If anything, it was a valuable lesson for me. The next time I see a hobbit stooping for so much as a feather, I'll know to take cover.”

Merry put the bowl back on the medicinal tray with a decisive nod. “Fenugreek, feverfew and slippery elm,” he announced. “That would be for the pain and inflammation. There’s also mustard seed. That’s used for swelling. There’s something else also, but I can’t place it. It must be an herb that only grows here.”

“Do you know much of healing, Meriadoc?” Elrond asked with interest. During Frodo’s convalescence Merry had been too worried to show any interest in the healing arts that Elrond had used to rid his cousin of the Morgul blade. Boromir’s injury was not so dire and the hobbits were able to be their usual cheerful selves while the man recovered. Merry had come to help Elrond the moment he stepped into the room and he observed everything Elrond did with close scrutiny.

Boromir too was surprised at this revelation. He knew the hobbits well enough by now to know they could taste and identify the ingredients in any dish with little trouble. Naturally, they would be able to do the same with herbals, but he would not have guessed they would know of the herbs’ uses. “Are you a healer Merry?” he asked.

“I’m not formally trained but I know something of the art,” Merry answered. “I courted a healer for a time and she taught me much of the more common herbs that she used. I could guess more or less how to make some of the basic remedies but I would only risk doing so if there was no one more knowledgeable around. All I’m really good for is reciting what the herbs are used for. Take feverfew for example. It’s a very versatile herb and can be used for many things. I know it’s good for relieving muscles spasms and tension. It increases fluidity in the lungs. It works wonderfully for the appetite and relieves nausea and vomiting. It helps with arthritis, colitis, fever, pain, inflammation and female problems. However, I’ve never prepared it for anything except as a tea for pain. Right Sam?”

“That’s right sir, and a very fine tea you can make,” Sam affirmed.

“Females have their own problems?” Boromir asked.

Merry shrugged and joined Pippin and Sam at the food table. “Apparently so.”

“Not all lasses do but some can have all sorts of problems,” Pippin piped in knowledgably, “usually having to do with their cycle. Pervinca certainly has her share of them, and all of hers last all month long.”

“Goldie always has a time of it,” Sam said. “There were times she hardly wanted to get out of bed. When May was still at home, she could get away with that, but after May married she had no choice about it. Miss Camellia was always having to come over to see to her.”

“That’s… possibly more than I wanted to know,” Merry said. Pippin just rolled his eyes at him and reached for a sausage cake. Sam smacked his hand away.

“Had I known you had a passion for the healing arts, Meriadoc, I would have invited you to meet with the apothecary before now,” Elrond said as he prepared to leave, a rare smile on his lips, a result of the hobbits’ banter. “Whenever you have time to spare, feel free to come to the herbarium. There is much in there you may find useful.”

“Thank you, Elrond. I will,” Merry accepted happily.

Elrond excused himself from the room with a bow of his head. “I leave you to tend to your captain,” he said to the hobbits.

“We’ll take good care of him,” Merry promised.

“Yes, we’ve already cleared the room of all small projectile objects in case Sam starts getting itchy,” Pippin jested. “And when his amnesia clears up, we’ll come and fetch you straight away.”

“I have amnesia?” Boromir asked, hiding a teasing grin behind his beard.

“By the stars! He’s forgotten that he’s forgotten! It’s worse than we feared,” Merry exclaimed dramatically and ducked just in time to miss being boxed on the ear by Sam.

Elrond closed the door behind him and the hobbits turned their attention to the food. “Just let me put aside a plate for Mr. Frodo,” Sam said.

“Posh! If Frodo can’t be awake to get his own food, let him miss out,” Pippin said. He heaped a plate with sausage cakes and hot cakes, slathering the hot cakes with the berry sauce and sprinkling the nuts on top. He picked up a fruit bowl and carried them to Boromir. “Here you are! This will make you feel much better.”

“Thank you Pippin,” Boromir said. For once he felt hungry enough that the amount of food set before him did not look too daunting. “Where is Frodo?” he asked, waiting for the others before he ate.

“If I know my cousin, he’s asleep,” answered Merry. “Since there’s no training this morning, he’ll be taking advantage of it by sleeping in as long as he can, or did you forget the reason why he enjoys second breakfast so much?”

“Ah! Of course. I did forget. It must be the amnesia,” the man said with a wink.

The hobbits laughed, impressed by the stern man’s easy jesting, and Sam relaxed even more. He finished Frodo’s plate and set it close to the hearth to keep it warm. He prepared his own plate as Merry and Pippin pulled chairs close to Boromir’s bed and sat down, eager to dig into their meal. When Sam joined them, all talk ceased as they ate. Other than the various exclamations over the marvelous food, the room was silent.

When Frodo joined them two hours later, their meal was long finished, and Merry and Pippin were dramatizing the events that unfolded after Sam threw the pinecone. Frodo walked in to find Merry sprawled spread-eagle on the floor, his tongue lolling to one side, as Pippin dashed about him, doing a very convincing if somewhat exaggerated imitation of Sam’s fretful reaction. To Frodo’s relief, both Boromir and Sam were laughing nearly to the point of tears, a very welcome sight. Frodo had heard Sam tossing and turning last night before sleep took them both. He should have known that his cousins would find some way of making the situation more comfortable for his friend.

Sam brought Frodo his plate and they watched as Merry and Pippin concluded their reenactment with fanfare.

“I see you’ve practiced your acting skills since that play I wrote,” Frodo said when the performers took their bows after much applause. “Though I must say that Sam didn’t really start fretting until the elves arrived.”

“You tell it your way, I’ll tell it mine,” Pippin said and flopped down in his chair. “That was exhausting. I’m hungry. There’s enough first breakfast left to serve as a small second breakfast, don’t you think Mer?”

“Good idea, Pip. Besides, it would be rude to make Frodo eat alone,” Merry agreed.

Together Sam and Merry divvied the last of the food into small servings for second breakfast. Boromir only accepted a few items on his plate, being still full from first breakfast. He nibbled at the food as he had learned to do, and the hobbits were satisfied to see he was at least eating something. After such an injury as his, it was important that he keep up his strength.

The halflings were more chatty during this meal than they had been the previous one, as Boromir had also learned to expect. They were content to eat at their leisure and answer Frodo’s questions about their activities up to his arrival. Pippin happily filled his cousin in on how they had come about to reenacting the Incident, as he jokingly called it, and that led him to recalling the last ‘incident’ worthy of the designation: a fire that Merry started by accident.

“Now that is something to feel guilty about!” Merry quipped. “And I did feel guilty, for months and months afterward. Well, years and years, since Sam hardly spoke to me at all after that.”

“Should I have?” Sam asked, smirking. “I nearly took the blame for that.”

“True, true,” Merry conceded. “I did rather get you into trouble with all of that, but that wasn’t my point. My point was that my guilt then was far worse than your guilt now.”

“How can you say such?” Sam asked, mildly insulted despite the laugh waiting to erupt from his chest. “I nearly killed Boromir.”

“With a pinecone,” Pippin said, “that could hardly fell a squirrel. Who knew that you just happened to hit him in some sort of soft spot? Do hobbits have soft spots?” he asked Merry, reaching up to feel at his head randomly.

“I don’t think so,” Merry answered.

“All creatures have a soft spot,” Boromir said. He wasn’t about to explain that the 'soft spot' Sam’s pinecone had landed on was just a mere inch shy of a kill point. Considering how Sam had reacted the previous night, he thought it best not to mention it at all if he could. Still, he could not stand by – well, lay by – and let the hobbits think that the heads of Men were somehow more fragile than the heads of Hobbits.

Pippin was about to ask the man to explain his last comment when Frodo spoke up, looking pointedly at Boromir. “Besides, Merry’s fire wasn’t the last infamous Incident, Peregrin Took.” He turned his attention to his youngest cousin and grinned impishly. “I know you couldn’t have forgotten the night you, Ferdi and Everard mooned the Aunts.”

“I was drunk!” Pippin defended.

“Ferdi and Everard were drunk and you allowed them to give you ale, even though you knew perfectly well you were too young to have any,” Merry corrected.

“Yes, well… you streaked in front of all the Brandybucks,” Pippin accused.

“You streaked in front of all the Shire,” Merry returned.

“You told me to!”

“And you listened!”

“I was six!”

“I couldn’t be the last streak-runner in Shire history, Pippin,” Merry explained, overly-patient. “Besides, I was just passing on the tradition. Was it any fault of mine that you never had a younger cousin who you could pull the prank on? I hardly think so.”

“Just because Frodo told you that Berilac streaked at the Summer Feast just to give you something you could compete with him over, that is no excuse for you talking me into streaking at the Free Fair,” Pippin rebuked.

“Oh come on. It was funny. You had a good time of it.”

“It wasn’t funny. I was accosted by a pigeon while I was running and that’s why Pervinca still calls me that. Stop laughing!”

“You were not attacked by a pigeon, Pip,” Frodo said gently, trying desperately not to laugh. “Vinca just made that story up. It never happened.”

“It didn’t? Are you sure?”

Merry nodded, the only confirmation he could give. If he opened his mouth, he would lose all control and laugh hysterically. Pippin scowled at him, which only made Merry’s shoulders shake harder, tears now gathering in his eyes.

“Just you wait, Meriadoc Brandybuck. I’ll get you back for everything you’ve ever put me through,” Pippin vowed with righteous fervor. “You might not care if all the Brandybucks saw your bits and bobs but I know you better than you realize and I know just how to get you back, and I guarantee that you won’t come away from it unscathed like you manage to do everything else. Stop laughing!”

But Merry couldn’t stop. He was bent over with suppressed laughter, his face red and tears streaming down his face. He was clutching his side and slapping his knee, and Frodo and Sam weren’t helping matters. They were both laughing also, though Sam at least had the courtesy to hide his laugh behind his hand. Pippin crossed his arms and glared at his friends.

“It’s just not fair,” Pippin muttered. “You always get the better of any prank, even that dress prank that Frodo pulled on you. Because of that, you had to get even with him and that’s the only reason you even spoke to Willow in the first place.”

“Willow? Is she the healer of whom you spoke earlier? Are you married now?” Boromir asked, latching onto this last piece of information in an attempt to steer the conversation back to something he could understand. As entertaining and surprisingly informative as this last exchange had been, the hobbits had been speaking too quickly for him to interject any questions. Still, he noted that Frodo had succeeded in effectively changing the conversation from the pinecone incident.

“Married?” Merry squeaked through his tears. He sat up, wiped his face and forced his laughter to calm into hiccups. Finally, he regained control of himself and shook his head. “I should think not. I love Frodo fiercely and would do anything for him, but I don’t think I could have left a wife behind in the Shire. Rather I would have ditched the Conspiracy and done anything I could think of to keep him from leaving and having to carry this burden. At most, I would have accompanied him to Bree, since he was supposed to meet up with Gandalf. I would have been in a fine pickle when Gandalf never arrived. I suppose in the end, nothing much would have changed, except I'd have that much more to worry about.”

Boromir considered this. It was a strange thought, but an understandable one. Many soldiers became reluctant to leave home after they married, but left home they did if that was what their Steward demanded of them. “So none of you are married then?”

“No sir,” Sam answered. “None of us are so much as courting, not officially no how.”

“I thought Merry was courting a lady named Willow.”

“He was, but he isn’t anymore, not for the last couple of years,” Pippin clarified.

“Is it common for healers to wed in your culture, for it is not in my own,” Boromir asked.

“Most healers don’t court, but occasionally one will,” Merry said. “I enjoyed my time with Willow, such as it was, and I’ll always love her in my way, but it simply couldn’t have worked. The same for Estella, only I never courted her at all.”

“You could have,” Pippin said.

“Yes, but the timing wasn't right,” Merry said with a brief flicker towards Frodo; the Conspiracy was just beginning to form when Estella declared her feelings for him. “Gordi was about to propose. I couldn't do that to him. And what do you mean, Sam, that none of us are courting? What about your Rosie?”

“We ain’t courting sir,” Sam answered simply.

“Maybe not ‘officially’ as you put it but everyone knows, as they have for years, that the two of you are going to marry some day,” Merry said. “It’s as plain as a sunrise that neither of you will have anyone else.”

“She might have someone else by now,” Sam said, growing suddenly sad. “They probably all think we’re dead, going into the Old Forest like we did.”

“They wouldn’t think that,” Pippin said lightly, but it was clear that all the hobbits were afraid that this was very much what everyone did think of their fate. They sat solemn, each lost in his own thoughts, and Boromir could almost feel the chill settle over the room as their cheer faded. He looked between them with alarm. He had seen them in many moods and temperaments in the few short weeks he had known them, but he never thought to see them bereaved.

“Tell me of your Shire,” Boromir said, hoping to distract the little ones from their dark thoughts. “It sounds like a lovely homeland, full of green lawns and farms and flowering gardens. What else can you tell me about it? Who is your Steward?”

“Steward?” Pippin asked.

“Your ruler?”

“The Shire has no ruler,” Merry answered, “not like you mean it. We have The Rules, passed to us from the old king of Norbury and we keep them of our free will because that’s the sensible thing to do. We do have officials though, such as they are.

“There’s the Mayor, who we elect every seven years at the Free Fair on Mid-Year’s Day. The chief duty of the Mayor is to preside over banquets and feasts and other such important events. He’s also in charge of the post-messengers, an especially large responsibility for there are more post-messengers than there are any other occupation in the Shire, aside from farmers. The mayor is also responsible for the shirriffs, of which there are only twelve. The shirriffs go about the Shire, keeping the peace in theory but they usually just round up stray animals. Along with the shirriffs are the Bounders, who go about ‘beating the bounds’ and keeping the Outside world where it belongs. There’s at least fifty bounders at any given time, plus several other hobbits who can volunteer when needed to reinforce a certain expanse of the Bounds, should there be suspicious activity. The volunteers usually forget who they are, so little they are called upon.

“Then there’s the Thain, Pippin’s father, who is in charge of the Shire-muster and the Hobbitry-in-Arms, of which we have none except in times of strife, the last such time being over 100 years ago during the Fell Winter when wolves invaded the Shire. The Thain is also the master of the Shire-moot, a gathering of family heads that is called in time of emergency. The last such moot was so long ago that it’s hardly worth remembering. Uncle Pally’s real job is being The Took, heading the Took family, which is the largest in the Shire, and keeping order in and around Tookland, which includes the Green Hill Country and covers most of the southern part of the Westfarthing. He’s also a farmer and has several farms in Whitwell that he’s responsible for overseeing.

“Then there’s the Master of Buckland, my father. He’s in charge of all the affairs of Buckland and most of the Eastfarthing and the Marish, as well as the Brandybuck family. Since Buckland is bordered by the river on one side and the High Hay on the other, we have our own bounders that Father can instruct directly without having to wait for the Mayor for anything.

“That said, most disputes, when they arise, are settled within the family, or families if more than one is involved.”

“And if the families can’t resolve the dispute?” Boromir asked. He was awed by this glimpse of Shire life. For all that he had learned about hobbits, he still found it difficult to imagine an entire culture whose main interests were spent on eating, farming and letter-writing rather than battle and war. Such a peaceful place the Shire must be.

“It very rarely happens that parents cannot control their children on such serious matters,” Frodo said. “Should the parents be ineffective at resolving the matter, and the aunts, uncles and grandparents can’t help, then the family heads will get involved. It is usually the Mistress who settles such things, since her husband would likely be away on other business. On the rare occasion that her ruling is in doubt, the Master will reaffirm it when he returns. Should the Master be dead, then there can be no doubt as to the Mistress’s ruling and her word is the final law. Likewise if the Mistress is dead and the Master rules. The Master and Mistress of a family have more power than the Thain or the Master or even the Mayor when it comes to familial matters. If your family head says you have to be home by seven every night and avoid the inns lest you shame your family’s honor by running amok, then you get home by seven and avoid the inns.”

“All disputes are resolved so easily?” Boromir asked.

“Usually. Most arguments are family related, but there is the occasion where the dispute is outside the family,” said Sam. “If it’s children from different families having the dispute, then the parents of each family get together and make the children apologize to each other and they’ll decide together on a punishment suitable for each child. If the parents can’t agree, then the family heads decide it, and since the family heads are usually tougher about such things, the parents almost always come up with a solution. Same goes for older hobbits, only after a hobbit comes of age, it becomes the duty of the family head to settle disputes that can’t be resolved privately.

“If the dispute is over land rights or such, then it goes to the owner of the land to settle. In many cases, the owner is the same hobbit and it can be resolved very quickly. If a second owner is involved, then they just have to figure out the best way to settle matters so that everyone is happy. It is only in these matters that the Thain, the Master or the Mayor have to get involved and that very rarely happens, unless it involves their own family or land of course,” Sam finished explaining.

“Just like that?” Boromir asked, greatly impressed. Hobbits must have quite an orderly society.

“Not always,” Frodo said. “I have my lovely cousins, the Sackville-Bagginses, to attest to that. It’s a long feud that began when Bilbo returned from his adventure with the dragon, and I doubt very much it will ever be settled.”

“Weren’t they the ones to whom you sold your home?” Boromir asked, remembering the name from Frodo's account of his leaving the Shire at the Council.

“They were,” Frodo confirmed. “It couldn’t be avoided.”

Sam, Pippin and Merry clearly did not agree with this but they held their tongues. Pippin actually laughed. “There are many things that cannot be avoided around the S-Bs. Loathing. Sneering. Contempt. That look on your face like you’re smelling something foul and can’t quite place where it’s coming from. But they eventually go away and take their sneering with them.”

“They sound like a most unpleasant folk,” Boromir said.

“You have no idea,” Merry said and the hobbits commenced to tell the man all about the S-Bs and the likes of Ted Sandyman. They then went on to recount many of the more notable squabbles and foils of hobbit-kind. This topic entertained them through luncheon, when Elrond returned to check on his patient. The elf lord noted that the man was much more relaxed, despite his energetic company. He left the hobbits to their work and the afternoon quieted to games that the hobbits either knew or made up on the spot.

“I spy something that starts with a ‘t’,” Pippin said after a game of chess ended with Merry losing to Boromir.

“Tapestry,” Merry said, not even guessing.

Pippin gawked at his cousin. “Merry!”

“What? Whenever it starts with a ‘t’ it’s always tapestry, unless we’re outside and then it’s a tree,” Merry said.

“Maybe I spied something different this time. You could have guessed something else first, or let someone else have a chance,” Pippin complained.

“How about a riddle game?” Frodo suggested, distracting his cousins before they could start bickering again. “Do Men tell very many riddles Boromir?”

“Some enjoy the game,” Boromir said. “I have never been very good at them myself.”

“It’s a passion among hobbits,” Sam informed, “second only to food. All hobbits love riddles. Not all hobbits are good at them, but they still enjoy trying to figure them out. There are standard riddles that everyone knows, but it’s more fun when you make them up.”

“You make up riddles?” Boromir said.

The hobbits nodded. “Why don’t you try one?” Frodo suggested.

“All right,” Boromir said and thought for a time. “Five or ten, high or low…”

“Fingers or toes!” Pippin shouted before the man could finish. Boromir nodded and his friends congratulated Pippin on his good guess. “Now my turn. What has a tail like a cat, a head like a cat and feet like a cat, but isn’t a cat?”

“A kitten,” answered Sam. “What’s the best way to avoid hitting your fingers when driving in a nail with a hammer?”

“Go slowly?” Boromir guessed.

“No, you hold the hammer with both hands,” Merry answered. “What five-letter word has six left after you take two letters away?”

“Sixty. It becomes six,” Frodo said. “What is it that everyone requires, everyone gives, everyone wants but very few accept?”

“Advice,” answered Boromir, thinking of his father.

“Correct!” the hobbits applauded. “Very good, Boromir,” Merry encouraged.

“So, it’s my turn again,” Boromir said. He thought desperately of a riddle he already knew and finally came up with one that he thought was quite clever. “What is the closest relation the son of your father’s brother’s sister-in-law could be to you?”

“Yourself,” all the hobbits answered in an instant. “Your father’s brother’s sister-in-law would be your mother,” Frodo elaborated.

“Or it could be your brother, if say, you’re a lass,” Sam continued.

“Very good. Who’s next?” Boromir asked, disappointed and impressed that his riddle had been guessed so quickly.

“I’ll go,” Frodo said. “Some cogs are tigs. All tigs are bons. Some bons are pabs. Some pabs are tigs. Therefore, cogs are definitely pabs. True or false?”

“False. Some cogs may be pabs, but not all of them,” Sam reasoned. “Can you explain how long cows should be milked?”

“Until they run out of milk?” Frodo guessed.

“Until they get tired of it?” Pippin guessed. Sam shook his head.

“Can you explain how long cows should be milked,” Merry repeated to himself. Then he laughed and said, “The same as a regular cow.”

“Or a short one,” Sam said. “Your turn Mr. Merry.”

“Here’s a good one,” Merry began. “Today is Highday and I have recently returned from a trip. If I returned four days before the day after the day before tomorrow, on what day did I return? Pippin, you’re not allowed to answer.”

“Why not!”

“Because, it’s confusing enough that you’d understand it instantly,” Merry explained and ignored Pippin when he scoffed at him.

The others sat silently as Pippin fidgeted with impatience. Finally Frodo said, “It was Trewsday. The day before tomorrow would be today, which is Highday. The day after that is Sterday, so four days before that is Trewsday. Now here’s mine: lying there in the yard so neat was something very good to eat. It had neither flesh nor bone, but in 21 days it walked alone. What is it?”

“Well, if you’re a very sloppy farmer, it’d be an egg,” Merry answered. “Speaking of eggs, would it be more correct to say ‘the yolk of eggs is white’ or ‘the yolk of eggs are white’?”

“Egg yolks are yellow,” Boromir stated.

“Yes, so the correct answer would be…” Merry prompted.

“Neither of them,” Boromir said.

“Very good!” Merry exclaimed. “You’re not so bad at this.”

“Be that as it may, I think it best not to push my luck. Are there other sorts of indoor games halflings enjoy playing?” Boromir asked.

So the hobbits taught the man many rainy-day games and Boromir taught the hobbits a couple in his turn. Before they knew it, a knock sounded on the door and Bilbo came in followed by Gandalf, Glóin and Gimli, and attendants carrying trays of afternoon tea. Bilbo, Gandalf and the dwarves kept Boromir company after tea so the younger hobbits could stretch their legs and get some fresh air, but they returned shortly before dinner and they all sat to dine with the man in his room.

After dinner, Gandalf and the dwarves excused themselves, and Bilbo remained to entertain the others with the newest poem he was working on. Frodo offered his advice, and Sam and Merry also added their own bits. When Bilbo started to nod off, Frodo and Sam saw him to his room. Elrond returned one last time and nodded with approval at his patient.

“You have done well today,” he announced. “You may get up tomorrow and resume your normal activities, with the promise that you will rest immediately should you become dizzy.”

“We’ll make sure he rests, Elrond,” Pippin promised. “We’re very good at doing that.”

“So I have seen,” Elrond replied smoothly. “You bring much joy and laughter wherever you go. That truly is the best medicine there is.”

“After food, of course,” Pippin said.

“After food,” Elrond agreed. “I trust Boromir has been fed well today.”

“I think I’ll be needing to let the seams out on my pants before too much longer,” Boromir jested.

“It is time that your captain rest for the night. Say your good-nights as you will and then leave him to his slumber,” Elrond instructed before leaving.

Boromir smiled gratefully at his friends, sad to see the day end. Tomorrow, they would have to return to their training sessions, and Boromir was surprised to find that he dreaded the idea of it. He would much rather sit and enjoy the hobbits’ simply company than teach them to fight. The only reason he would continue to do so now was that the thought of these happy creatures finding themselves defenseless and at the mercy of the enemy was unbearable.

“Thank you for your good company today, my friends,” Boromir started but the hobbits weren’t ready to go. Merry retrieved a book that they had found in the library after tea, and he and Pippin climbed into the chair at the man’s bedside. The chair was large enough to seat them both comfortably, and once they were settled Pippin opened the book to a marked page.

“Just lie back and close your eyes,” Merry instructed. “We’re going to read you to sleep.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Boromir stated, touched at the sentiment. He had not been read to sleep in over thirty years, and he couldn’t fathom why the hobbits would feel the need to do so. “I can find sleep on my own.”

“But you’re not feeling well,” Pippin said. “Just lie back and let our soft soothing voices ease you to sleep.”

“Soft soothing voices?” Merry said, smirking. “Maybe you shouldn’t speak then, Pip.”

Pippin ignored this comment and cleared his throat. Seeing that they were intent on doing this, Boromir gamely lay down, pulled the bed sheets up to his chin and closed his eyes. Merry began reading a familiar nursery story, with Pippin playing the voices of the different characters, and Boromir slowly drifted away to a peaceful slumber.

To be continued…

GF 10/22/06

PS - Hobbits might be good at making up riddles. I am not, as Boromir's first attempt proves. All other riddles were found on the internet at justriddlesandmore.