“What are you doing?” said Pippin, peering over Merry’s shoulder far too dramatically.

“I’m making a map,” said Merry.  “And an itinerary.”

“That’s—that’s The Horse and Rider, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you making a map of all the inns and alehouses in Minas Tirith?”

“No,” said Merry.  “I’m talking to you.  You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Fine,” said Pippin.  “I didn’t want to know anyway.”

Merry smiled.

*  *  *

“Strider?” said Merry.

“Yes?”

“Is there any way you can give me your schedule for… a week from now?  And the schedules of your higher ranking officials?”

“For what purpose?”

“A very good one,” said Merry.  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

*  *  *

“Strider wouldn’t budge,” said Merry.  “So do you think you could find out?”

“Mr. Merry…”

“You’re a very good conspirator, as long as wizards aren’t involved, and I’m not involving him till I send out the invitations.  All you have to do is learn where he’ll be at 5:00 in the afternoon on a given day.”

“Didn’t you ever reckon that the reason I was a good conspirator was that I looked as I belonged in the hedges?”

“You—you’re Frodo’s esquire, now, for all that most of Minas Tirith knows.  You should be able to make some discreet inquiries.”

“Who’s footing the bill?”

“Eh?”

“At the inn!  I hope as I’m not”

“Oh,” said Merry.  “Well, the whole money thing just seems to happen when you’re famous.  But I won’t involve you in the bill, thank you, in return for your help.  We can’t tip our hand till we’ve already sprung our attack.”

*  *  *

“And you are asking me to put this aside for a night, and act as if it were not there?”

“No,” said Merry, “I’m asking you to give up this little charade, Éomer King, for at least one night, because every Rider I’ve talked to has said you already approve of him because you haven’t gutted him yet.”

“I think Aragorn would not be glad if I did that,” said Éomer.

“Oh, he wouldn’t,” said Merry, “and then there’s the fact that betting on either one of you at a sparring match is about even odds.  Still, if all you’ve done is glare at him?”

“I have not only glared at him.  We have also had words.”

“Well, then, have words with him this night, and make them friendlier!”

“You do not seem to understand fealty, Holdwine.  And why is this needed, again?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

*  *  *

Frodo read through the invitation that Merry had just pressed into his hand.  “A bachelor party?  Is there something I’m not aware of, Merry?”

“No,” said Merry.  “Only that we’re not likely to be about when they actually do get married, so—why not?”

“How many pages of notes have you written, planning this?”

“More than you have, writing your book!”

Frodo picked up a stack of (filled) paper and hit Merry on the head with it.

“It’ll be good research into our characters,” said Merry, unfazed.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going!”

“I didn’t say you had a choice!”

*  *  *

At five o’clock on that Thursday, Faramir was startled by a knocks on his door, loud as thunder.  He made no response, but shifted closer to the door until he could hear Halfling voices.  Then he opened it, and was startled to see the crowd gathered there.

“You,” said Merry, “are being kidnapped.”

Faramir took a step back.  “What is the occasion for this?”

“Your making Éowyn happier than I’ve ever seen her?  Call it an early bachelor party, if you wish.”

“And whither am I to be kidnapped?  And how long?”

“Well,” said Merry, “we’ll start at the establishment of your choice, and then, if you want, we can move on.  Oh, and you won’t be released till the inns close for the night.”

Seeing Aragorn there, Faramir caught his eye.

“The Court can wait for your merriment for one evening,” said the King.

“Well, then,” said Faramir, casting a not-so-wistful look down at the papers upon his desk, “I do not have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”