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.

Credit to Tuckborough dot net and to Andrea for Merry’s wonderful limerick! Danke schön!

Much Ado about Mushrooms

Chapter 4

One hour later

Merry and Pippin made their way to the Royal Tent for a visit with Aragorn before dinner was served. After the disaster in the cooks’ tent with Farlibar, they had decided to keep a low profile and had been on their best behaviour ever since.

It hadn’t seemed at first that they would be successful in this venture; when they’d fled from Farlibar - and had immediately encountered Sam and Faramir. Merry grimaced as he remembered the gardener’s threat to investigate the cooks’ tent. His relief had been boundless when Faramir had deflected their friend’s attention to his own impending meeting with Aragorn.

But apart from skirting danger with the Shire‘s most famous gardener, they‘d had no further problems.

Honestly, Sam was as disturbingly suspicious as a Baggins when it came to Brandybucks and Tooks!

Although, he thought (with a moment of rare pity for the Frogmorton cook), his suspicion had been warranted in this case.

But they hadn’t meant to ruin all those plates - it was an accident. And if that foolish cousin of his hadn’t put that blasted knife in his pocket, the unfortunate incident may not have occurred at all.

He glared at the blissfully ignorant countenance of the Thain, who - unaware of his cousin’s thoughts - was happily munching on an apple he’d ‘confiscated’ from Faramir-lad (claiming it was too close to dinner for him to be spoiling his appetite with the treat).

Merry eyed the sweet juice dribbling down his chin with some annoyance. “Really, Pippin, have you no shame at all, stealing food from a five year old? Your own son!”

Pippin swallowed a mouthful of the fruit and wiped at his sticky face. “I didn’t steal it - I confiscated it!” he declared, surprised at his cousin‘s spontaneous rebuke. “And anyway, my son is almost six, I‘ll have you know!”

The Master of Buckland rolled his eyes (which were thankfully much improved after their earlier ordeal) and said: “A typical Took excuse. You know, one of these days, your stomach will explode like the Deeping wall.”

“I don’t think so Cousin,” came the cheeky retort. “At least, not before yours. Or haven’t you noticed that your stomach is swelling like the Brandywine in a storm? You’re much more likely to pop first!”

Merry was offended at the slight to his physique and put his hands over it defensively, as if to protect it from further insult, which made Pippin feel justified enough to add:

“See? Look at it! Why, you look just like Rose a few months before she produces the latest addition to Bag End!”

If looks could kill, Pippin would have dropped on the spot. But the impudent Took continued to polish off the rapidly dwindling apple and Merry decided to change the subject. Sometimes, it just wasn’t worth arguing with his cousin.

“I wonder if the new plates have arrived yet,” he said, still silently fuming at Pippin’s cheek.

“Oh, yes. They did,” replied Pippin.

“How do you know that?”

“I saw them being delivered half an hour ago when Diamond and I rescued the guards from Faramir-lad and our Gamgee namesakes.”

“Thank goodness for that! Imagine the trouble we’d be in if there weren’t enough plates for dinner?” Merry felt uncomfortable at the thought of Aragorn realising they’d caused more mischief after the punishment he’d dealt them than before he’d first arrived to the Frogmorton cook’s rescue.

“Don’t worry, Mer. It was a good thing we met Mistress Goodenough and…eh… ’explained’ the situation. She was very impressed with your offer to replace the dishes we broke.”

Merry grinned. They’d come upon the kindly matron an hour after fleeing the scene of their crime and, feeling very guilty for all the trouble they’d caused the good proprietress, he’d quickly explained that they’d accidentally stumbled into the table on a ‘visit’ to see if there were any mushrooms left and doomed her dishes to a shattering demise. Fortunately, he’d already sent word to Brandy Hall to have them replaced in time for dinner and she’d been delighted to be the recipient of crockery of such fine quality.

“That’s right kind of you Master Brandybuck, Mister Thain, sirs. I’ll keep them to be used for special occasions when we get back to the Floating Log. Imagine, dishes from Brandy Hall itself!”

And she’d left them beaming with pride at their own cleverness.

So now the Frogmorton cook had nothing to complain about!

Not really.

He probably wouldn’t say anything anyway, after mooning over Arwen in front of the assembled crowds during afternoon tea and sending his spiced loaf flying directly at the Steward as a result. He sniggered at the memory and thought of the ‘song’ he’d been composing because of that.

“What’s so funny,” asked Pippin, always keen to be included in a joke.

“Just thinking about my own musical masterpiece. A sort of tribute to Master Farlibar after the kindness he showed me with that Buckland song.”

Pippin grinned, and Merry wasn’t sure if it was at the thought of the cook’s song or his own. “Let’s hear it then.”

Encouraged by his cousin’s curiosity (not that he needed much encouragement), Merry gave him a rendition of the as yet solitary verse.

.

There was once a hobbit called Farlibar

Who fell deep in love with the Evenstar

But the beauteous Queen

Had never been keen

On anyone other than Elessar

.

Pippin laughed heartily at the amusing verse and Merry felt very good about himself. The annoying cook was not the only hobbit in the Shire with a talent for songs! And if he ever tried to repeat the scandalous slur on his Buckland brethren that he’d so arrogantly composed, then Merry would see to it that his little ditty made the rounds of Frogmorton’s good folk!

With this happy thought, Merry put a little spring in his step and he and Pippin came upon the Royal Tent in very good moods indeed.

“Hullo there!” Pippin greeted the guards with a smile. “We’re here to see Stri...I mean, the King. He’s expecting us, you know.”

“Of course, my Lords. We have instructions to give you both immediate entry,” stated one of the guards, bowing in acknowledgement to the merry duo.

Both hobbits puffed out their chests at being called ‘My Lords’. It was always pleasant to be admired.

Thanking the two regal guards for the ‘splendid work’ they were doing in seeing to their friend’s welfare (after all, it didn’t hurt to be nice to others), they entered the large tent to find that Aragorn already had some company - Sam and Faramir.

“Hullo Sam, hullo Faramir. We didn’t expect to see you here,” declared Merry in surprise.

Aragorn rose and his other two guests did likewise. “Merry, Pippin, I thought we could all take a breath of ‘fresh air’ before dinner, if that is acceptable.”

They were, naturally, delighted to take some ‘fresh air’ with their friends. Estella and Diamond both frowned on pipe-smoking before meals, saying the smell could ruin the appetite of any hungry hobbit, and so had banned them from doing it in front of the Gondorian visitors.

But if the King himself had asked them, well, what could they really say to that? Their wives would understand.

The five left the tent and Aragorn motioned to the guards to give them privacy, which they reluctantly complied with. Heading to the same large rock that (unknown to the cousins) Farlibar had visited earlier, they sat down and drew out their pipes, stuffing them with Old Toby and Longbottom Leaf as was each individual’s wont.

“So, my friends,” said Aragorn casually as everyone except Faramir puffed away on their pipe. “Have you been enjoying your day thus far?”

“Oh, very much, Strider!” declared Pippin.

Merry concurred wholeheartedly. “Good food, good company - what more can a hobbit ask for?”

Faramir smiled. “I hope you have not stated these wonders in order of preference?”

The Master of Buckland grinned back at him. “That depends.”

“Really? On what?” Both former rangers and Sam looked at him curiously.

“On the company we’re keeping at any given time, of course!”

Sam shook his head in embarrassment as Aragorn and Faramir laughed. Pippin was nodding his head at his cousin’s answer.

“Well, Merry. We must endeavour to raise the standard of company you keep - or lower the standard of food you consume,” said Aragorn - with a rather alarming twinkle in his eye, actually, Merry thought.

“Er, no. That’s all right Strider. You and Faramir are both grand enough. You too, Sam,” he added hastily at the gardener’s affronted glare.

“I should think so too!” huffed Sam and took another puff of his pipe.

“And where are your Lady wives?” asked Aragorn

“They’re helping to get all the children washed and ready for dinner,” replied Merry.

All the hobbit wives had returned to Rose and Sam’s tent for this mammoth undertaking, with Eowyn kindly accompanying them to assist, given the alarming number of Gamgee offspring Rose had to contend with. Arwen had also offered to help and she once again took possession of baby Primrose (whom she was reluctant to part with) while Eldarion and Elboron followed their mothers in kind.

“Young Faramir-lad is quite taken with you, you know,” Merry said, looking at the Steward. “He was talking about all the stories you told him of your childhood with Boromir and didn’t want to leave you after lunch ended.”

The Steward grinned in a very smug manner, a look Merry never thought he‘d see on him. “He is a delightful child indeed. One cannot question his impeccable taste.”

Pippin snorted at this, producing a violent fit of coughing that turned his face berry-red before he wheezed out: “I’m fine, don’t panic.”

On seeing the surprised look of the Steward, Merry thought he should explain the Took’s reaction. “We might not be able to question the lad’s impeccable taste, but the same can’t be said for his impeccable timing.”

“Indeed? I am curious to know what my namesake has done that would elicit such a comment from his favourite Brandybuck cousin.”

“Well, before we left the tent to meet Strider, he asked if he could sit next to you at dinner to hear more stories of you and Boromir, and Pippin said he’d see what he could do. Then he demanded of his mum and dad - in front of the Queen and the Princess of Ithilien no less - that they ‘get him a brother too, like Boromir the Fearless’ …”

Pippin groaned at the upcoming revelation, which made the others grin widely and only encouraged his cousin to continue.

“…and poor Diamond blushed to her very roots when Pippin told him that they were already trying their very best to see to that.”

The small company laughed aloud at Pippin’s expense and Merry felt very pleased with himself.

Not so Pippin, though. He had received a scolding from his wife for the indelicate remark that still made his ears ring. And she would not be happy that it was now known to the King, the Steward and the Mayor as well.

He glared at Merry, who ignored him.

Merry was still grinning at the memory. “Watching Arwen and Eowyn trying to keep a straight face was even more fun than trying to get Sam into one of those ‘dandy outfits’ he hates wearing to the Free Fair.”

He smiled wickedly as Sam frowned and another wave of mirth swept the small company, but this time at the gardener‘s expense.

“Yes,” agreed Pippin, eager to divert attention from himself. “Do you remember what he said the year before last when we appeared at Bag End and tried to convince him to put on the those smart brown trousers with the red coat?”

The Master of Buckland wracked his brains for a moment, then smiled fondly. “Oh, yes, I remember that!” Putting on his best ’Sam’ voice, to the great amusement of the company (except the Mayor) he said, “’If you two think I’m setting one toe out that door looking like no more’n a rose sprouting out of a pot, then you’re both cracked in the head!’”

More laughter erupted as Sam now blushed, declaring: “I don’t talk like that.”

“Oh, yes you do!” the cousins declared as one while he glowered at them. Merry was enjoying his reaction to the friendly teasing so much that he continued with it - much to Sam’s annoyance.

“When Sam and Rose come to Buckland for a visit later this summer we’re going to teach the children to swim and they’re very excited about it. We talked about it when they visited Brandy Hall a few weeks ago. Estella suggested that it might be a good idea if Sam composed a song about the Brandywine River for them to learn.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as Sam squirmed. “But he just shuddered and said ‘I’d just as soon write a love song about the Dark Lord!’”

All the friends were now laughing in earnest as poor Sam sputtered on his pipe. Pippin’s eyes were wet with tears and he shook his head, repeating “A love song about the Dark Lord!” in amused disbelief.

“My dear Sam,” said Aragorn, clapping the unhappy Master of Bag End on the back. “If you ever compose that song, I think we would all be very interested to hear it!”

But Sam was now giving Merry (and Pippin) a Look. One which they’d learned to treat with respect…and caution.

“Talking about composing songs,” began Sam, and Merry suddenly felt uncomfortable. Pippin had obviously caught the mood as well, for the other three had stopped laughing and were regarding them a little too innocently.

“We learned a right interesting one earlier.” Sam was saying as Merry threw Pippin an alarmed glance.

“Oh, really?” he asked. Sam couldn’t possibly be talking about that odious song from the Terror in the Tent, could he? Any earlier sympathy he’d felt for Farlibar fled as quickly as he and Pippin had fled from the hobbit himself.

“Indeed,” nodded Aragorn thoughtfully. “If only we could remember the tune…”

Merry and Pippin both broke out in a light sweat as their three companions appeared to hunt their memories for the elusive tune.

Strider knew it! He’d been told by the Frogmorton Fright and was now going to sing it to them - which of course meant…

Merry gulped very loudly.

Pippin started to giggle nervously.

“Oh, you don’t have to sing for us, Strider, we already know you have a very nice voice,” squeaked the Thain and Merry almost rolled his eyes. Squeaking! Honestly! If that wasn’t an admission of guilt before the charges had even been laid at their feet!

“But Peregrin, my friend, I absolutely insist on treating you both to this delightful song!”

Peregrin?

Delightful song?

Merry was so annoyed he almost forgot to be nervous - a situation which rectified itself immediately when the other three began to chorus in unison:

.

A magnificent cook there was

With a very noble cause

When wicked pretence

Caused great offence

He gave culprits reason to pause!

.

“Oh, you’ve heard that, have you?” Merry now squeaked. There was no point in trying to bluster their way out of it now.

Aragorn was looking at them in a very…kingly…manner and the Brandybuck realised this did not bode well for them both. Pippin had moved closer to him.

He must have realised it too.

“I heard it from the very hobbit who composed it. An excellent song! Do you not agree, my Steward?”

Aragorn turned to Faramir who had obviously been very amused by the verse.

And Merry and Pippin’s expressions turned to horror as their friend replied: “I think it a very fine tune, my Lord. Perhaps we should have it committed to parchment?”

What?

“They can’t do that, can they?” whispered Pippin in Merry’s ear.

Merry didn’t answer.

“I’ve a better idea, Mister Faramir, begging your pardon, sir.”

No! Not Sam too. Merry’s throat was feeling somewhat constricted as he and Pippin waited with bated breath for Sam’s ‘better idea’.

“How about we put it on lots of parchment, then send it to every corner of Gondor and Arnor, so’s all Strider’s folks can have a right good laugh at it.”

The cousins gasped at this. That was a terrible idea!

But the King and the Steward were apparently quite taken with it.

“I bow to your superior wisdom, Master Samwise,” conceded Faramir in (apparently great) admiration.

“It is a most excellent idea!” said the King. “Samwise Gamgee, your wisdom is boundless. Truly, you are the very best of Counsellors!”

And the very worst of friends thought Merry miserably as he and Pippin absorbed Sam’s bashful smile with a feeling of great betrayal.

He didn’t doubt they would do it either. No more would he or Pippin walk the circles of Minas Anor with their heads held high. Every time they entered one of the many fine establishments the city boasted for a mug of ale, they’d no doubt be treated to a rendition of it from any Gondorian drunk enough to remember the words (and brave enough to dare sing them, which they would if they were drunk)!

And Pippin would hear it from the Tower Guards whenever he gave them cheek (which was, surprisingly, very infrequent - Pip took his position as a Guard of the Citadel very seriously).

Nevertheless, they’d be the laughing stock of Gondor. And Arnor. Merry made a mental note never to visit Annúminas.

He was at least thankful that the Rohirrim were largely unable to read or write.

Until he remembered that the mighty people of Rohan told their history and stories through song.

“So, Meriadoc, Peregrin. What have you to say for yourselves?” demanded Aragorn.

Oh dear. Now he was calling them both by their full names. Merry cursed the day he ever laid eyes on Farlibar Barleyburn.

“Well, eh…you see…it was like this…” He was unfortunately unable to continue due to the intense stares of Aragorn, Faramir and their former friend, the Mayor.

“What Merry’s trying to say…” Pippin started and Merry was thankful to have three pairs of eyes transfer their glares to the Thain.

“…is that we all had a small, erm, misunderstanding.”

“A small misunderstanding!” snorted Sam. “And I have a small family.”

Merry thought this was very unfair. Sam had the largest family on Bagshot Row - everyone knew that. And it was still growing.

Of course, Pippin just had to say: “Well, technically, yes. Most of them are very small, what with being under ten years old…”

Four sets of eyes now glared at the Took and he wisely discontinued uttering his particular brand of nonsense.

“Let me make this easier for you both,” stated Aragorn (in his King voice again, Merry noted bitterly). “I had a meeting with Master Barleyburn within the last hour.”

Merry was too nervous to seethe, but something must have shown on his face for Sam said:

“There’s no use looking like that, Meriadoc Brandybuck. He wouldn’t have dared come to the King himself had me and Mister Faramir here not half-dragged him. Even then he wasn’t too keen on the idea of telling tales on his ‘betters‘.”

Feeling further betrayed, Merry also lowered Faramir’s status to former friend - and Sam’s to potential enemy.

And why had he used that disapproving tone when he said betters? Merry didn’t think he was better than anyone! Except the very dead Dark Lord. And the equally deceased Saruman. Maybe Wormtongue. Definitely orcs. And Uruk-hai. Most of the population of Bree. All Sackville-Bagginses (not that he imagined there were any left, unless Otho had a guilty secret somewhere). Cooks from Frogmorton.

Well, perhaps Sam was right to use that disapproving tone.

“Master Barleyburn was indeed reluctant to be forced into explaining all the day’s happenings since he encountered you both, but conceded when I ordered him to.” revealed Aragorn.

Apparently, Merry was losing all his friends today.

“When I came upon you first in the cooks' tent and you squeaked in reply to my greeting…”

Squeaked? He glared at Pippin.

“…I was naturally suspicious of what you had been doing to act in such a guilty manner - especially when Master Barleyburn asked if my son was ‘recovered‘. This was why I recommended your assistance to him in the first place.”

Both cousins gulped.

“Imagine my surprise,” continued Aragorn, “ to be visited later in the afternoon and be informed that you had caused further upset to the good cook. Enough to be asked to leave - but not before causing devastation in your wake…”

He trailed off at the last sentence and looked at them in some disappointment.

Faramir was also looking slightly disappointed and their new enemy, the Mayor - well, oddly enough, he didn’t look too surprised.

“I had thought you too old for such foolishness, my friends,” said the King. “Are you aware that Master Barleyburn was in fear for his life at the perceived slight to his Royal guests?”

Merry and Pippin looked up in surprise, then looked back down in shame.

“No, your Majesty. We didn’t know that,” said Pippin in a very contrite voice. Merry, too, was sorry to hear it. Sort of.

“Didn’t he say something about running off to Far Eastern Lands to escape beheadings and the taste of grass?” queried Sam innocently.

Merry further dropped his status to ‘mortal’ enemy.

But then he remembered the look of fright in the cook’s eyes as he and Pippin had been having the time of their lives with their little deception, and felt genuinely sorry for the fear they’d instilled. He knew the cook wasn’t a very sociable hobbit and added to the fact he was an excellent cook who’d made a really quite spectacular mushroom dish for the welcoming feast…well he’d been an easy target to bluff out of a few more.

He hadn’t expected him to take it to heart so. But he should have.

The Master of Buckland looked up and stared Aragorn directly in the eye. “We really are sorry for that. We didn’t mean to scare him to death. It was just a ruse to get more…”

“Mushrooms,” finished Pippin with shame in his voice as his cousin trailed off. “If it’s any consolation, we did send for new plates for him.” He eyed Aragorn hopefully.

“And that, my friends, is your only saving grace.”

Saving grace?

Now Merry looked up in hope.

“Your gift of new dishes to the cook shows at least that you are aware of some of your transgressions and regret them.” Aragorn had finished his pipe and was currently knocking it against the rock in order to clear it.

Merry and Pippin waited anxiously for their (new) punishment, hoping their moment of reticence earlier would make it more lenient.

“However,” he continued as both hobbits gave s sigh of defeat (and Sam gave very smug grin), "I cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to go unpunished.”

“Therefore…”

They listened meekly to their sentence - and then gave a gasp of horror at the revelation of what they were expected to do as contrition for their crimes.

And when both Aragorn and Faramir credited their punishment to Sam, both hobbits glared at him accusingly, and Merry wondered if there was a level of enemy worse than ‘mortal‘.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author’s Note:  Well, it looks like there’ll be another chapter (surprise, surprise). Hopefully, the last one though - but I refuse to make any promises

Please do this poor author a favour and review if you liked it (a few words will be enough to make me happy).

Thanks!

Kara’s Aunty.