Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc . I have written this short story purely for my own enjoyment.

This story is a tie-in to ‘Concerning Sam.’ Reading that may help to understand this, but is not truly necessary.

Much Ado about Mushrooms

Chapter 2

The tent flap closed as the King exited and Farlibar was left facing not one mischief-maker, but two. He eyed them hungrily as he imagined ways to punish them for the fright they’d given him. And he had the King’s permission to do so! He grinned again as he saw the Master and the Thain watching him nervously. They moved closer together, as if seeking the comfort of each other’s proximity.

Perhaps he should reprimand them smartly first, before dealing out the most unpleasant duties he could find?

This had a certain appeal - but he was conscious that it was the Master of Buckland (curse him!) and the Thain (curse him too!) who stood before him. It wouldn’t be proper for a mere cook to lecture gentry too severely. They could make his life very uncomfortable afterwards, if they had a mind to. And Mistress Goodenough would blush at the thought of him waggling his finger at dignitaries as if they were no more than naughty hobbit-lads.

Anyway, he should make some allowance for the fact that both culprits had spent time outside the borders of the Shire on their Many Dubious Adventures. It was entirely possible that some strange illness unknown to hobbits had played havoc with their brains, making them act more irresponsibly than their age (and social status) demanded. He fleetingly recalled that whilst serving the green-eyed Took at the Floating Log one afternoon he had heard him rabbitting on about dark forests and talking trees. Talking trees, indeed! Next he’d be saying that mushrooms could dance! And they’d allegedly drank some sort of magic elixir that had made them sprout up far too (unnaturally) tall for any decent hobbit!

Then again, he reflected, as he remembered he’d lost nearly half his body weight to nervous sweating (and other less savoury waste products) during their deception, he had been in fear for his life! Maybe that hadn’t been their intention, but it was a fact nonetheless. After all, there’s not a one that’s too grand for an earful when they deserve it, as his childhood neighbour Gammer Gummage used to say - wisdom she wholeheartedly adhered to herself after losing her teeth to an errant apple thrown by the local merchant’s lad. It had hit her square on the mouth and she’d had to bid her remaining gnashers a tearful goodbye later that day.

Actually, those words of wisdom were about the only intelligible sentence she could manage since that unfortunate accident…

He shook himself from his reverie of the ancient, but still formidable, matriarch and focussed once more on his enemies.

“So, Mr Brandybuck, Mr Took, sirs. It’s right nice of you to offer your services like this.” He glared at them expectantly.

They smiled nervously at him - for they all knew that they’d not ’offered their services’ - but the pair appeared to be resigned to their fate and did not contradict the glowering cook.

Farlibar was slightly uncomfortable with this unexpected position of authority over the two, but a vision of his bodiless head rolling about the field outside and being kicked around for sport by Big Folk whilst his lifeless mouth magically tried to chew at the grass hardened his resolve. He would be strong! He would show these uncommon criminals that he, Farlibar Barleyburn, was not to be trifled with! He had a Royal Seal Of Approval to do so and he would take full advantage of it!

“Erm, well…” the Bucklander started - and Farlibar was beside himself with glee to note the extreme discomfort on his once-smug face. “You see…”

“It’s our pleasure to help you Master Farlibar,” offered the Thain weakly when the other hobbit trailed off in an apparent loss for words.

Pleasure, scoffed the cook inwardly. That’ll be the last thing on his addled brain in a few moments. He looked to his left where a small barrel of onions had arrived for the stew which was planned for the later afternoon meal. Wonder how much pleasure he’ll find peeling and slicing that lot with nothing more than a spoon!

Then he had a moment of inspiration. He’d make the Thain do the peeling and the ghastly Bucklander could attempt the ‘slicing.’ Oh, yes! What a splendid idea! His mum always said he was brighter than a candle. He smiled fondly at the thought of her. His old dad had been a bit of a stern hobbit, but Dandelion Barleyburn was a jewel amongst mothers, despite her unflattering forename.

“Well, I’m right glad to hear that, your Thainship. There’s a lot to do and we need all the help we can get, ‘specially with all the cooking that’s planned for later.”

He paused dramatically, then:. “And what with you both offering to be of such a service, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me - see’s that I’m doing my job all proper-like. After all, I wouldn’t want to be accused of trying to poison anyone.”

He crossed his arms tightly and the two gentlehobbits took a step back at the vehemence behind his last statement.

“Poison? I can’t imagine anyone would think you capable of poisoning someone,” sputtered the boot loving Bucklander, anxiously tugging at his smart green and gold cloak.

Farlibar’s eyes boggled in disbelief. Why, that irresponsible, fanciful, cloud-hugging half-giant! He’d fooled him into thinking he’d made the little Prince ill with his magnificent mushrooms - and given poor Farlibar a very unwelcome near-death experience!

All his earlier thoughts of propriety fled as he seethed at the Brandybuck’s cheek. He took a bold step forward and the cowering pair paled as his own face grew crimson. “Really? What was all that about a ‘poor, dear child’ earlier, then? And the bit about ‘… the dishes you prepared were most in evidence. If it wasn'’t the mushrooms, it must have been the roast pork?"‘

This latter comment he threw at the Thain in a moment of wild abandonment. The head of Tuckborough flushed slightly and gave a nervous chuckle before shaking his head and pulling himself upright.

“Actually, Master Barleyburn, it was Merry who said that. And anyway, we never actually said you had made anyone ill. We were just pointing out how prolific your dishes were at the feast and admiring the great variety of food you produced.”

Farlibar almost gasped at the outrageous comment and the Beast of Brandy Hall took advantage of his momentary speechlessness to add his own nuggets of clarity.

“Absolutely! We never specifically stated that eating the mushrooms had made someone sick.”

The cook thought they were losing their minds for certain now. “Well then,” he said frostily, “what was all that about a 'poor, dear child being sick all over the place?'”

“Er…well, actually… one of them was. We must have got a little mixed up when trying to explain it to you. One of the Fairbairn lads swallowed a glass of wine before his mum knew what he was up to and threw up half the Shire afterwards. He’d thought it was berry juice, you see…” The Master of Buckland shifted uncomfortably at the admission.

“Really?” fumed the cook. “And so you thought it would be a grand idea to use that to trick me out of my mushrooms?”

“Take it as a compliment, Master Farlibar!” said the Thain hastily. “Think of the lengths we were prepared to go to just to sample more of your excellent fare!”

Farlibar was almost puce at this point. Compliment? Mixed up? He should have listened to his mother when she’d told him to be wary of power-hungry Tooks taking advantage of their station! As for the Bucklander…

And the ’lengths’ they had been prepared to go to just to ‘sample more of his excellent fare’ had had him in such a panic he’d seriously considered visiting those blasted Far Eastern Lands just to save his own skin. Riding Oliphaunts had not been out of the question either!

He composed himself enough to give a civil answer. “In that case, sirs,” he said in a voice of false sweetness, “allow me to give you some instruction on the preparation of my ’excellent fare.’ That way, you won’t have to go to so much trouble next time to taste it - you can just take yourselves off to your own kitchens to make it yourselves! You do know where your own kitchens are, I hope? I’d hate to see you get lost in those grand houses of yours because you got mixed up!”

Farlibar couldn’t believe he was speaking to two extremely important gentlehobbits in such a manner, but, oh! The giddy heights of satisfaction he experienced when they agreed to his ’instruction’ (not that they had any choice). He truly was the King Of His Own Realm - and they were his to toy with! Maybe once they’d finished leaking onion tears from their eyes he’d sit back (and order all the others to do likewise) while the terrible twosome washed every last dish in the tent! He’d sit down and put his feet up while they scurried about dipping, scrubbing, rinsing…

And afterwards, maybe he’d get that preening Bucklander to make them all tea? And serve the remaining seedcake on the fine plates they had just washed? Have the Thain make some of that custard he was swooning over earlier and pour it over the cake! Make their freshly cleaned plates as mucky as possible so they’d have to clean them again! There were at least another two hours before afternoon tea would be served to the Big Folk and if he made them work right quick-like there’d be plenty of time to accomplish that and finish the main meal for later.

Oh, what an absolutely magnificent idea! His heart glowed with happiness at the appealing scenario. Him. Farlibar Barleyburn. Being waited on hand and foot by the Thain and the Master of Buckland! Having them scurry about like servants, desperate to fulfil his every command! It was a joy he had never expected in his lifetime. Why, this was better than any grand title that wonderful, honourable, blessed King could bestow on him (may he feast like a hobbit for the rest of his life!).

Enough of this dreaming! Time to make them do some honest work. Uncrossing his arms and smiling with genuine emotion, he picked up a couple of dish towels and passed them to the Blight of Buckland and the Bane of the Shire. “You might want to tie them over your nice clothes before you get started sirs. If you’ll just follow me then, I’ll show you where to begin.”

Leading the unhappy duo to the barrel of onions and presenting them with a small teaspoon and an empty bucket, he gave them ’instructions’ and left them to their task.

Farlibar had never felt so good in all his life!

XXX

Five minutes later found the Knight of Gondor peeling away crisp, golden-brown onion skins and passing the pale inner vegetables to the extremely red-eyed Knight of Rohan who was mutilating them into chunks with the ridiculously small utensil he’d been presented with.

“Well, this is another fine mess you’ve got us into,” said Merry tightly as he wiped his streaming eyes with one edge of his tea towel.

“What are you talking about? It was your idea to come in here and pilfer mushrooms, not mine!” replied the affronted Pippin. “And you're supposed to be slicing those onions, not mashing them!”

Merry eyed him with some annoyance. “If you think you can do a better job with this…this….”

“Spoon, Merry. It’s a spoon.”

“Yes, thank you Pippin, I know what it is! If you think you can do better with this spoon…” He spat the word out as if he was talking about the One Ring, “then you’re welcome to try!”

Pippin very wisely remained silent.

“As I was saying,” continued his irate cousin, “you could have tried to stop me from coming here, instead of acting like a tweenager and going along with it.”

“Me stop you? You’re having a laugh aren’t you Mer? When have I ever been able to stop you doing something when you didn’t want to?” Pippin exclaimed in disbelief.

But Merry paid him no heed, instead sneaking a glance over his left shoulder. The Frogmorton Fright was standing at the other table arranging what little ingredients were currently present for Pippin to make custard with later on. He was making a most peculiar noise…singing! The smug cook was actually singing! Merry gritted his teeth, then hastily returned his head to its former position when Farlibar looked up and threw him a cheery wave.

He nudged his cousin with an elbow. “Pip, he’s singing! The nerve! Can you hear him?”

Pippin strained his ear - without trying to look like he was straining his ear - to catch the words, but the stocky hobbit had taken pity on them and moved a little bit closer so they could hear what he was singing - without trying to make it look like he was moving forward so they could hear what he was singing.. 

.

A magnificent cook there was

With a very noble cause

When wicked pretence

Caused great offence

He gave culprits reason to pause!

.

He made them peel away

And chop and slice all day

With onion eye

Made them wash and dry

His every command obeyed!

. 

Now with great respect they look

At Frogmorton’s best cook

Honour his name

And now his fame

Is spread by the great Took!

.

Pippin looked at Merry sympathetically. “You didn’t even get a mention,” he stated.

But his cousin was too flabbergasted at Farlibar’s impertinence to formulate an answer. He curled his fists so tightly that the helpless spoon was bent beyond recognition and he threw it in the bucket in disgust.

“His every command obeyed! Did you hear him Pip? Gloating, that’s what he’s doing. Gloating!”

Alarmed at the sight of the large vein in Merry’s neck throbbing away, Pippin attempted to soothe him. “Well, to be fair Merry, we did ask for it. Coming in here and scaring him half out his wits…”

“What wits?” fumed Merry. “You’re assuming he has any!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied his cousin as another verse from Farlibar drifted over. “It’s a rather interesting tune. Sounds like something Sam would make up if he were angry enough to be provoked into it.”

“Sam sings songs about Elves and fireworks! Not onions and Thains.”

“Mer, what I mean is that we may have went a step too far with him. We’re not tweenagers any more. We should be acting responsibly. He doesn’t know Strider, so goodness knows what he was imagining when we were going on about angry Kings seeking justice.”

Merry flushed slightly at that - except for his eyes which couldn’t get any redder. Perhaps Pippin had a point. He himself knew from experience that the cook was easy to provoke - that’s why coming here had seemed like such a good idea. But in retrospect, he should have just asked the cook nicely, like a well-brought-up Master of Buckland and respectable Knight of Rohan would be expected to. He had no idea why he had acted so immaturely. Pippin he could excuse because he followed wherever Merry led him, but his own behaviour? Could he excuse that?

But then Farlibar moved closer still - merely a metre away now - and Merry got the full benefit of a previously unheard verse of his self-made musical masterpiece.

  .

They’re really not so grand

Those queer folk from Buck-land

No hobbit sense

It’s all pretence

Their heads are full of sand!

.

He whirled around furiously, all penitence forgotten and eyed the allegedly ‘shy’ cook with blazing eyes.

But the cheeky Frogmorton native just smiled innocently and moved away again, apparently still on his quest for Pippin’s ingredients.

Inhaling deeply through his nose he faced his cousin. “Right Pip, that’s it. We’re not staying here a moment longer!”

Pippin was trying unsuccessfully to control his laughter at the most recent verse they had been privy to. “Don’t be daft Mer,” he gasped. “Strider will banish us back over the Bridge if he finds out we deserted our duties - and disobeyed his direct orders.”

“It’ll be worth it!” declared Merry, annoyed at his cousin’s mirth. “And stop laughing, it wasn’t funny!”

“You’re right. It wasn’t funny. It was hysterical!” He lapsed into another peal of laughter which promptly stopped when Merry shoved a handful of devastated onion…bits…under his nose. The strong fumes made the Thain gasp again, but this time in disgust.

Feeling slightly better for it, Merry discarded the mashed vegetable into the bucket of skins (and spoon) and decided on his next move. There had to be a way of getting out of here!

Looking around the tent he spied a sack of flour a few feet away, no doubt needed for the highly anticipated spiced bread Master Farlibar talked of earlier. Master Farlibar, he scoffed, wiping at his streaming eyes with his hand and forgetting he‘d just held raw onion in it. He howled at the ensuing sting. “Pip, get me some water, quickly!”

Pippin jumped to comply with his kin’s plea and spotted a jug near the flour. “Hold on a minute,” he answered, walking quickly over and pouring a glass.

Handing it to Merry on his return, he was surprised when he poured it directly over his face, emitting a groan of relief at the soothing coolness. Shrugging, Pippin handed him his dish towel and the damp Brandybuck held it over his eyes, then scrubbed his face with it thoroughly.

“Oh, that felt good!” Merry declared and tried to hand the towel back.

“I don’t want it. You’ve had your leaking eyes and runny nose on that!”

The bucket received it with indifference as Merry glared first at Pippin, then Farlibar who was sniggering away behind a collection of plates at the other table.

“So, any thoughts on how we’re getting out of here?” piped the Thain.

“I thought you didn’t want to leave. You said we asked for it,” he replied disdainfully.

“I said we asked for it and that’s true. But I never said I wanted to stay. Really, Mer. Don’t you know me by now? Anyway, if we do stay here much longer, I can‘t vouch for the cook‘s continued good health - what with the way you‘re looking at him.”

“He’s supposed to be shy and anxious Pip. Look at him! Have you ever seen anyone more brimming with confidence and self-certainty?” Merry spat as he gave the now jolly cook the evil eye.

Pippin answered immediately. “Why, yes. Every time I look in the mirror.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and thrust his chest out proudly, fine Gondorian attire fully evident now that the dish towel languished in their bucket of discarded concerns.

Merry rolled his smarting eyes - something which caused a deal of discomfort - and then looked at what the Took had just pulled out his pocket. Was that an ant?

“Pip, what’s that?” he asked, curiosity momentarily overcoming his discomfort.

“Oh, that’s Faramir’s. A toy. Looks real, doesn’t it? He brought a fair amount of his wooden insects to show the Steward, but after they sent one of the Ladies of Gondor into a tizzy, I took them off him.”

Merry grabbed the ‘toy’ and examined it. It was tiny, smooth and black in colour. Very well crafted. Who on earth would create such a thing for a child to play with? Then he remembered his own childhood fascination with insects, butterflies and worms and decided it was a perfectly reasonable plaything for a hobbit-lad.

Pippin was blethering on about how his son loved to frighten the cook with them at the Great Smials, but Merry was struck with inspiration and thought they could be put to better use alarming the cook from Frogmorton. “Do you have any more of these Pip?”

He grinned when Pippin pulled out a handful of the minute objects. I think we just found our way out, Cousin.”

“Really? With these?” Pippin eyed the wooden ants dubiously. There were about a dozen or so huddled on his palm. “How?”

But Merry was scanning the preparation area desperately with his much-abused eyes. “If only we had a knife!” he muttered.

“Erm, actually we do.” Pippin bent down and discreetly removed a small, sharp knife from his shiny black boot.

The Master of Buckland was temporarily lost for words as a rather guilty looking Thain passed it to him. “Faramir brought that with him too. Don’t ask me why, I have no idea. I took it for safety’s sake or Diamond would have made sure he couldn’t sit down for a week.”

Merry was livid. “Do you mean to tell me you had that all this time, but let me cut onions with a SPOON!” he screeched as he snatched the offending knife from his cousin’s hand, not too bothered if he knicked him with it in the process.

“Now, calm down Mer! You don’t want to let Master Farlibar know we’re up to something do you? I’m sorry about the knife - I just forgot,” he said sheepishly. He threw a glance at the cook who was regarding them suspiciously.

The Knight of Rohan also caught the cook frowning at them and only managed to calm himself with a concerted effort. He faced the table in an attempt to look like he was still ‘slicing’ away and Pippin resumed his seat to peel more onions. Farlibar seemed appeased by this and continued his hunt for a large bowl for the custard.

“What’s the plan, Mer?” he asked in a small voice, unsure of the reception he’d get.

“The plan,” stated Merry stiffly, “is to make that toad from the Floating Log think he has an insect problem.”

Pippin frowned. “You know, that would have sounded better if you’d said frog.”

Merry eyed him in confusion.

“Instead of toad.” he explained patiently. “As in: that frog from the Floating Log.” He looked very pleased with himself until Merry threw more onion at him.

“Focus, Pippin. Focus! Now, I’m going to go over to that sack of flour and - very casually - slit a hole in it. I’ll put these ’ants’ inside, then come back.”

Now Pippin was confused. “How’s that going to get us out of here?”

“Because, you annoying Fool of a Took, you’re going to go over afterwards for a glass of water and ’accidentally’ tip the sack over. The flour will spill out along with the ‘ants’ and we can escape in the uproar that’s caused by your alerting everyone else to the apparent infestation!”

The Fool of a Took ignored the slur to his character by asking what Merry’s excuse for going over would be.

“I’ll be getting more water for my eyes, of course!” explained the exasperated Merry.

“But won’t it look suspicious if you go for water first, then I go two minutes later?”

Merry seriously weighed Faramir-lad’s potential to be the youngest ever Thain in the history of the Shire at this question. “That won’t matter! He already thinks I’m a queer Bucklander, or didn’t you hear the last verse of that so-called song? He’ll think it’s perfectly normal that I have no manners, in fact, he’ll probably expect it!” he hissed.

Pippin wiped his cousin’s spittle off his face with the remaining dish towel (but did so cautiously, knowing where it had been). “Really, Merry. There’s no need to behave like a toothless old gammer, spraying all over me like that!” Upon regaining his dignity, he informed the elder hobbit he understood perfectly and was ready to act upon instruction.

Casually glancing in the Frog from the Floating Log’s direction (curse Pippin for putting that in his head!), Merry saw he currently had his back to them while in conference with one of the apprentices, no doubt looking to procure the elusive bowl he still sought.

Taking advantage of this momentary distraction, he silently made his way to the large sack of flour and slipped the alarmingly sharp knife into the upper left corner, making a healthy rip in it and stuffing the ‘ants‘ inside. Satisfied with his handiwork, he poured another glass of water to keep the ruse realistic in case the cook turned around unexpectedly, then slipped back to his former position unnoticed by his foe whilst determining to have words with Pippin later on about leaving sharp objects lying about for curious little fingers to find.

Upon his arrival, he returned the knife to Pippin who hastily shoved it in his pocket, then stood up and loudly declared: “Oh, I’m thirsty! You could have got me a glass of water while you were there, you inconsiderate Bucklander,” and he promptly marched off to the jug, leaving Merry silently fuming at his remark.

His cousin was as subtle as a kick in the rear, but fortunately, the Stain on Frogmorton had ignored them and was still chatting to the apprentice cook.

That didn’t last very long.

There was a loud whump and all eyes in the tent turned to Pippin as he stood by the fallen flour sack which was disgorging its contents at a steady pace. “Sorry about that. I tripped and it fell over.” He bent down as if to lift it back up and there came a very loud (and in Merry’s opinion, very theatrical) screech of disgust.

“Ants! Ants!” He straightened himself and pivoted to face Farlibar. “There are ants in that flour! I hope you weren’t planning on using this for the afternoon tea?” he demanded.

Farlibar looked very suspicious and Merry had a sudden moment of unease. What if they couldn’t fool him a second time? But the cook marched up to the flour and bent over the white powder, turning pale at the sight of the little black insects tumbling out of the hole in the sacking.

“Well good heavens Mr Thain, you’re quite right! They must have got in through that tear.” The cook scratched his head worriedly. “I didn’t know ants liked flour.”

Merry was feeling exceedingly pleased at the cook’s bafflement and the ensuing throng of hobbits who had converged around him to witness the spectacle. They were all muttering in perplexion and disgust. What would the fine people of Gondor think of the Shire if they thought its inhabitants let ants run loose in a kitchen?

He tried to motion Pippin to make a discreet exit while Farlibar was distracted, but Pippin was being so jostled about by the number of hobbits around him that it was difficult to catch his eye. When he finally did, it was to find him tripping over his feet in an effort to move away and then the Fool of a Took stumbled to the ground - the other hobbits moving out of his way before they were caught in his wake.

There was a distinct rrripp as he landed and Merry caught his breath. The knife! That idiot had put it in his pocket! He rose swiftly to check his cousin hadn’t injured himself but Farlibar was already helping him up again. Perhaps the cook wasn’t such an insufferable creature after all. He approached Pippin to check for any wounds that had escaped his notice.

“I’m fine, Mer. Just too many people and not enough space.” He was covered head to toe in the rapidly spilling flour and he attempted to dust it off.

The little black ants had emptied themselves onto the floor and everyone turned their attention back to them.

Farlibar bent down again and observed them in despair. “I don’t know how this could’ve happened, Mr Thain, Master Brandybuck, sirs.”

Merry smirked at the newfound tone of respect in the cook’s voice. Revenge was sweet! No, revenge was a bag of flour!

“No matter Master Barleyburn,” he said generously, trying hard not to crow. They may not be able to slink out anymore due to the crowd of hobbits, but he could still save the day using his wits. “These things sometimes happen when one cooks outside. Why, I once had an entire colony of ants march up to my picnic blanket and march back off carrying a bacon sandwich! You’re not to blame for it.”

Pippin looked at him as if he’d hit his head, but Farlibar’s face was shining with gratitude at the unexpected words. Merry put his hands in his pockets and puffed out his chest importantly, like he did when the local Shirriffs came to him for advice. “The King need never know about this, gentlehobbits. The Thain and I will pop over the Bridge and see to a new sack of flour while you clear this one away. How does that sound?”

The Thain was looking extremely impressed as the hobbits all slapped Merry on the back at his generosity and Farlibar grasped his hand, pumping it up and down as if they were the greatest of friends.

“Oh, thank you Mr Brandybuck, sir. That’s uncommonly kind of you! I take back everything I ever said of you.” (And it had been plentiful and unflattering, Merry was sure).

“Oh, no problem at all. It’s the least we can do after the little misunderstanding we had earlier,” said Merry in a rather patronising fashion, Pippin thought. “I’m not too proud a Brandybuck to make amends when they’re required,” he added. He pierced Farlibar with an unnervingly direct gaze and the cook flushed as if ashamed at the memory of the colourful song he'd been twittering a few moments earlier.

The cook then looked to the Thain to express his gratitude to him too, but was distracted by a clang as something metallic slipped from a tear in the Took’s tunic and clattered on the floor. Merry turned towards the noise and lost all power of speech at the sight of the little knife lying there, followed by the slight rattle of more coloured ‘insects’ tumbling from the torn pocket. It was too much to hope the cook hadn’t seen them and indeed, Farlibar’s expression was puzzled as he gazed at the knife and the infestation of the Thain’s pockets.

But then he slowly flushed as he pieced the evidence together and arrived at the inevitable conclusion. Brushing none-too-gently passed Merry (and causing him to tumble head first into the pool of flour), Farlibar bent down and gathered the knife and a handful of the damning playthings, then scooped up some ‘ants’ from the flour.

Wood! Painted wood! Farlibar was visibly seething, turning a most unflattering shade of scarlet at a truly alarming rate.

Merry hauled himself up, looking remarkably like a snowhobbit, and together he and Pippin backed slowly away from the impending wrath of the cook.

“Not to proud a Brandybuck to make amends when they’re required,” parroted the furious hobbit sarcastically, giving them the full benefit of his (seemingly) endless wrath. “The least we can do after the little misunderstanding we had.”

He was closing in on them fast and they increased their back peddling without realising they were backing into the large table.

With an enormous stack of freshly washed plates perched near the edge.

The resulting CRASH was enough to stir a Balrog and every hobbit in the tent jumped a mile out of their skin. Merry and Pippin whirled around in dismay as the dozens - no hundreds, surely - of crockery shards continued to bounce off each other, disintegrating into smaller and smaller fragments until the last one had ceased its death throes.

They wondered if their own death throes would be as dramatic when Farlibar got his hands on them.

Together they raised their heads and stared guiltily at their potential executioner.

The dark-haired cook was staring at all his beautifully washed plates in shock. Then he looked at the Twin Evils of Eriador and said, very soflty: “Get out.”

Gulping audibly, they sidled cautiously past the cook, over the ’plates’ and made delicately for the exit.

“FASTER!” yelled Farlibar at the top of his lungs.

And they happily obliged…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author’s Notes: If you like it, let me know and I may do a third chapter…