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Pippin and Frodo were laughing so hard, Sam ran to close the door to the corridor before a host of curious Elves came to investigate.
At Pippin’s urging, and armed with a dish of lard from the kitchens, Frodo had plastered down both sides of Merry’s hair to see if it could be made to part neatly in the middle like Aragorn and Boromir’s. Merry gazed mournfully into the mirror.
“It’s not natural for hobbit hair, and that’s a fact,” Sam declared.
“Oh dear,” Frodo gasped, wiping tears of mirth from his face. “I needed that. Sorry, Merry,”
“I forgive you,” Merry sighed dramatically.
When Frodo went into his bedroom to retrieve one of Bilbo’s pocket handkerchiefs, Sam, Merry, and Pippin exchanged satisfied glances. They meant to lighten Frodo’s burden – and heart – in any way possible.
“You’re next, Pippin,” Merry whispered, trying unsuccessfully to scruffle his curls back into shape. “Tomorrow, ask to borrow Strider’s boots and clomp around in them a bit.”
“I’d like to see that myself,” Sam grinned.
“I’ll get Strider to loan them to me somehow,” Pippin said confidently. Suddenly he frowned. “Lady Arwen doesn’t need to see me doing all that clomping, though... does she?”
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