Faramir knew which pub the hobbits frequented, so it was easy to learn which kind of ale they preferred, and to buy a firkin.  Pippin was on duty that night, but that served his purposes well enough.

“I was curious,” he said, when a rather hearty meal had been cleared away and half the firkin drunk, “what your thoughts were concerning the King’s Taster.”

Master Samwise looked about to say something, but didn’t.  Faramir decided not to press him just yet.

“Pippin wants to apply for it,” said Merry.

“For the food?” said Frodo.

“Presumably.  I tried to explain how patently ridiculous it was, unless he means to stay in Gondor for the rest of his life, but I know he’s still up to something.”

“Indeed.  You’d be surprised at how many have written—many for need, many for ambition.”  He slid a note across the table to Merry.

“Shouldn’t I not be reading that?”

Frodo lifted up the corner of it.  “Faramir is a man of tact.  I suspect he would not have given it to you if it mattered.”

“Quite,” said Faramir.

Merry turned the letter over, and Sam and Frodo crowded around behind.

“Say, Mr. Merry!  That isn’t your writing!”

“No,” said Merry.  “It’s Pippin’s.”

“Yes, and he’s using the familiar.”

“I thought you might have some insight in the matter,” said Faramir.

“Well,” said Merry, “as delicious as Gondor’s food can be, I’m not interested, so I think Pippin’s joking.”

“Or perhaps—perhaps,” added Frodo, “he’s included Merry so that his own application will look less ludicrous by comparison.  Has he, in fact, written to the King?”

“Yes—three other, equally badly written letters from other hobbit names I haven’t even heard of.  I admit, I have not heard of the custom of stringing two family names together.”  Faramir handed the other letters over as well.

“Lawks!” said Merry.  “Can you imagine Lotho Pimple tasting food for the King?  In livery?”

“He’d look ghastly!” said Frodo.

“Already looks ghastly,” added Sam.

“Poor fellow.”

“I take it these are all people you know, then?” said Faramir.  “Then I am doubly glad I showed them to you.  I have wished to learn more of your people.”

“Lotho Sackville-Baggins is hardly the best example for that,” said Merry, “but we’ll be happy to oblige.”

The ale was fully depleted by the time Faramir asked the question he had truly wanted to ask, as he fingered Pippin’s final letter—this one with his own name—under his surcoat.  “So, if he were to apply—do you think Pippin truly wants the job?”

Frodo snorted.  “Of course he doesn’t—he wants to go home, same as the rest of us.  But, we’ve all noticed that running a kingdom of Men is a considerably dour business—certainly dourer than a clan of hobbits.  I understand wanting to protect the King, and that poison is a danger, but—”

“That don’t mean the King can go about hurting his own people, does it?” said Sam.  “Once Strider announced it, I said to Mr. Frodo, that don’t seem right, but then nothing’s the same here.”

“Ah,” said Faramir.  “And do you think Pippin would have had the same objection?”

Merry shrugged.  “You can never tell with him.  Half the times his plans are overly convoluted in search of some point he thinks is painfully obvious; the other half the time he doesn’t have a plan at all.”

“And yet,” Frodo added, “they seem to work out more often than they should…”

“Well, yes,” said Merry.  “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“Perish the thought,” said Faramir.  “Your objection is a just one, though I know not whether—or how—one could discontinue the practice entirely.  Still, I believe you three have helped me with something.”

“Oh?” said Frodo.  “And what is that?”

“My recommendation for the position of King’s Taster.”

“It’s not me, I hope?” said Merry.

“Of course not.  You’re sworn to Rohan.  Speak to Éomer if you are interested in such a position.”

“That,” said Merry, “entirely depends on the quality of his cooks when Saruman’s orcs haven’t been trampling half the countryside.”