“He doesn’t seem to be doing much relaxing,” said Merry.

“Yes, well, who would, with his insides being clenched up like that?” said Pippin.

“Eh?” Frodo said.  “I thought that dress was a little thin for him, but who would—”

“Mannish custom,” said Merry.  “I was surprised by it too—like the bodice, but on the inside, and apparently a lot more painful.”

“We have them in the Shire, too, you know,” said Pippin.

“What?”

“I mean, not that anyone uses them often, because it’s easier having it outside than inside, but that’s what lasses wear underneath all that get-up on their weddings.”

“Really?” said Merry, in the exact tone of voice that implied Pippin was not allowed to know things of that nature without engaging in some kind of dastardly or possibly rakish behavior.

Pippin rolled his eyes.  “I have sisters.  Older and married ones.  These ones look more painful, though.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve tried on a bodice,” said Merry after a long pause.

“Right, then,” said Pippin.  “I won’t.”

Frodo was staring at the meniscus in his wineglass, in an obvious attempt to keep from smiling more than he already was.  “How old were you?” he finally said.

“Frodo.  What part of ‘I won’t’ don’t you understand?”

“You wouldn’t be.  You’d only be implying, which you already have.”

“Well,” said Pippin, “I think if I were dressed in one of those things, I’d be tense too.”

“That wasn’t quite my point,” said Merry.  “You remember what I told you about my kissing the lasses back home?”

Frodo sat bolt upright and fixed his best “I am your elder cousin and I am disappointed in you” glare at Merry.  Sam raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.  Pippin immediately leaned forward and said, “Who was it?”

“They get faint of breath,” Merry said, plowing forward despite his comrades’ disparate reactions.  “I suggested it to Éowyn, and Faramir fainted, and what’s more, he’s done it twice more during the day!  Whereas Strider hasn’t even had to stop to catch his breath!”

“You had better not tease Faramir for it,” said Pippin.

“I wasn’t planning on it!  Faramir’s a good man.”

“I’m a good hobbit.”

“No, you’re not,” said Merry and Frodo simultaneously.  Merry added, “And, even if you were, you’re family.”

“Faugh!  Why do you two always team up on me?”

“I’m not going to tease Faramir, Pip,” said Merry.  “I merely want to rectify the great injustice that has been visited upon him, by the fact that he has fainted and your King has not.”

“Oh!”  Pippin paused.  “Do you want any help?”

“No, but if you insist…”

Pippin drained his glass, stood up, and brusquely pulled Merry out of his chair.  “How are we going to make Strider faint?”

“Oh, I hadn’t figured that out yet,” said Merry, “but I have a feeling that some here might help us out…”

Frodo watched their departure for a good minute.

“Do you want me to look after them?” said Sam, who had refrained from joining in the conversation (Frodo suspected) because he was so utterly out of his depth.

“No,” said Frodo.  “You’ve hardly eaten yet.  Wait till they start running around armed with peacock feathers.”

“Peacock feathers, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo rubbed his forehead.  How had he known that?  “Call it a guess.”  He rose to refill his glass, reminding himself of exactlywhat caddish behavior Merry had admitted to doing, and made a mental note to Have Words with him on the morrow.