Chapter Three: The Attack

The next morning they all saw that the snow had wrapped Hobbiton in a thick blanket. Faramir rose only a little stiffly from the cramped sleeping quarters and the other hobbits were already awake and active. The man only had to follow the steady stream of Pippin’s chatter and the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen to know where they all were. And so he found them, all but Frodo.

"Where’s Frodo?" the Steward asked.

"Out preparing his attack," Merry said casually, licking butter from his fingers from the large stack of pancakes he had put on his plate.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He’s done this every first snow fall since I was a faunt and probably before then," the hobbit explained as he carefully carried his plate to the dining room table.

Faramir’s eyes widened a little at the quantity, then remembered that hobbits did have large appetites.

"Step outside the door at your own risk," the littlest Knight of the Riddermark continued. "He’s already got Sam, me, Pippin, Aragorn, though he hasn’t yet tackled Rose and the Lady Arwen yet."

"I see."

"But you’ve got to go out anyway, Faramir," Pippin said as he poured syrup on an equally large number of cakes for himself. "It would just make his day if he could include you in the fun too."

"I shall accommodate him then," the Steward said.

"And you have to act surprised," Pippin asked.

"Of course."

"You probably won’t have to fake it," Merry said. "He can be very devious. He’ll get you when you least expect it."

"He would outwit a Ranger’s skill?"

"Well, as I said, he already got Strider."

The man looked up at his king who merely smiled at him.

"I shall look forward to matching wits with him, then."

"You won’t win," Merry said definitively. "No one does. Believe me, we’ve tried."

"How would you like your eggs, my lord?" Sam asked. "I’ve got a mushroom omelette in the making for the master and I could make you one if you’d like or scramble a few or..."

"An omelette would be fine, please. Thank you very much."

"Have a seat then and take your comfort."

"Thank you again."

Faramir sat down with the others and looked more expansively around the room, while the hobbits chattered merrily on. It was very cozy and comfortable and he thought he would grow to like it very much. It was very much a beloved home, made so by those who lived there. He was even more pleased that he had been made an honorary hobbit by those he esteemed so highly. Even though he had only arrived the night before, it was already obvious how love suffused the home like a visible light and warmed his heart as nothing since his mother’s death had. It was a soothing balm to his wounded heart that was still in pain after the deaths of his brother and father to hear and see all the love that was around. He was amused to see that though Sam still considered Frodo his master he did not hesitate to tell him what to do if he thought it right and Frodo obeyed like an obedient child. The love between the three cousins was also a very protective love, with Frodo in the role of elder brother. Faramir thought he could be very happy in such a home.

"Perhaps you could go out and call Frodo in for breakfast," Aragorn suggested to his Steward with a mischievous smile.

Faramir returned the smile. "It shall be my pleasure."

"Ours too," his wife’s shieldbrother said and they all followed the Ranger to the door and crowded around the window where they could watch.

The Ranger opened the door cautiously and could hardly get more than half his body out before a snowball hit him on the side and there was a delightful giggle heard by all, though no face to go with it.

"I at least made it out the door before I was hit," Aragorn remarked drily. "And I wasn’t warned either."

Faramir took his defeat graciously and stepped the rest of the way out the door. He looked to the right and called out. "I have been asked to call you to breakfast."

Another snowball came in response and more giggles, this time from the audience as well. But Frodo promptly showed himself. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, his feet covered in snow, his face happy and that made everyone else happy.

"Shall we go in?" Faramir asked, moving aside a bit.

"I am rather disappointed, Faramir," Frodo said.

"How so?"

"You should have at least fired back a bit."

"I didn’t want to delay you from your meal," the Ranger replied. "Perhaps we could have a rematch after we’ve broken our fast?"

"I think that could be arranged," Frodo said. Merry and Pippin grinned as did Aragorn and Sam rolled his eyes when he didn’t think anyone was watching.

"I look forward to it," Faramir said with a smile.

"So do we," Pippin said and he and Merry broke into giggles.

Frodo said no more, though the other hobbits knew his mind was working furiously planning his next attack. He ate very well, partly because he had already worked up an appetite and partly because he knew he was being watched to make sure he did eat what was proper for a hobbit or leastways almost proper, though his appetite had never truly returned to what it was and Sam had learned to accommodate for that. Faramir noted Frodo did not eat any of the pancakes and his omelette was a little smaller than the man’s own, but Frodo did finish every bit on his plate and drank his mug of mulled cider as well, triumphantly showing off his efforts to Sam who smiled warmly at him and lightly kissed his head. Frodo glowed under such care.

"Well, my lord Steward, are you ready?" the erstwhile Ring-bearer asked. "I’ll let you get out the door this time."

"I appreciate your kindness," Faramir said.

The two got up together and put their cloaks on. Frodo made sure he was bundled up properly before heading out for he was very aware of Sam's watchful gaze. Merry and Pippin followed with Aragorn just a bit behind. Sam shook his head with a chuckle and went back to the kitchen to clean up. Arwen helped Rose bring in the dishes from the dining room. Sam was that glad he had written that letter for he hadn’t seen his master this happy in too long a time. His cousins would have provided adequate cheer, but there was an extra spring in Frodo’s step and twinkle to his eye that he had new ‘victims’ for his snowballs that he hadn’t counted on.

The two hobbits and their king gathered around the windows again but there was not much to see. Their cousin and Steward soon disappeared.

"They’ve gone around the back," Pippin said. "I don’t think Frodo wanted to see Faramir embarrassed again in front of you, Aragorn."

"That was most thoughtful of him," the king agreed.

"But of course that won’t stop us from going out and joining them," Merry said, putting on his cloak and handing Pippin his and his scarf and mittens and then handing Aragorn his.

"Sam, you coming?" he called.

"In a bit, Mr. Merry," came back the response.

"Well, hurry up, or you’ll miss all the fun!" Pippin said.

The three went out the door and cut through the garden path. Sam was just a bit behind them when he yelped out as a snowball hit on the side. There was a victorious cry that had no face to it, but the sound of it warmed Sam through and through.

"There’s Faramir!" Merry whispered as the four now approached cautiously from the back. Moving noiselessly as only hobbits and a Ranger could, the three looked around, waiting for attack. Three snowballs in very quick succession hit them all in the back. More giggles went out into the air.

"How did he do that?" Pippin muttered. "It’s like he had three arms to throw that fast!"

Faramir turned when he heard that low voice and got up from where he had been squatting, only to be hit in the chest.

"I think he must be a ghost," Merry said. "Where are you, Frodo?"

"All around you!" came the answer. "Do you yield?"

Aragorn was the first to respond. "Never! Elendil!" he cried and with that, he launched a snowball at what no one else had seen and got a surprised yelp as a reward.

Sam’s face creased in concern, but he was soon smiling again when he heard that his master had taken no serious hurt. The fight continued for some time, both side scoring a fair share of hits, but in the end it had to be acknowledged that no one threw a snowball quite like Frodo Baggins or as many times so accurately.

They only stopped when Sam called a halt when he was able to get close enough to his master and see that Frodo’s maimed hand was hurting him.

"That’s it for today, Mr. Frodo, dear," he said and took his master by the hand and led him back in.

The others followed. "Told you he was good," Merry said to Faramir.

"He is very good."

"Don’t worry, Faramir, we won’t tell Eowyn how badly you fared," Merry assured.

"I appreciate that."

"And we won’t tell Arwen how badly you did, Aragorn," Pippin said.

"I would appreciate that also, if I hadn’t seen her already looking out the window with a large smile on her face."

"I’m sure she’ll take you back though."

"I would hope so."

After they got back inside, Frodo allowed himself to be further led into the kitchen where Sam got out some salve and gently massaged into the area when his master was missing a finger. The cold always made it ache more than usual and the salve helped, though it was Sam’s tender touch that provided most of the healing.

"I had so much fun today, Sam!" Frodo said. "Thank you for inviting Aragorn and Faramir."

Sam looked at the beautiful, shining being before him and it was like the Shadow had never been and they were lads again at any other Yule. Sam kissed his head quickly. "I’m that glad, me dear."