Chapter Twenty-Four: Yuletide

"Merry, this is going to be—"

"Hsh, Pip, you’ll wake him!"

Pippin slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles as he and Merry cautiously made their way towards Frodo’s bed, where their older cousin slept, blissfully unaware of his impending danger.

Step by step, the two troublemakers stealthily crept closer to the bed. Suddenly, Pippin kicked the leg of the bedside table, causing the book that had been placed on top of it to fall to the floor, with a crash that sounded sickeningly loud to Merry and Pippin’s ears.

Both lads froze. For a moment, there was no sound except for Frodo’s soft, even breathing and the frantic beating of their own hearts in their ears. At last, Merry sighed with relief.

"Hush now, Pippin," he whispered. "And watch where you step."

Pippin nodded solemnly, taking great care, as he took the last few steps, to use his hobbit-stealth to the fullest. He stood at the foot of the bed, while Merry took position at the head. Frodo made no sign, except to sigh softly and burrow deeper under the blankets.

"Are you ready?" asked Merry in a whisper. Pippin nodded, eyes fixed on Frodo’s still face, ready to make a run for it, if he should wake. Merry shot him a quick grin and opened his hands, revealing something cold and wet in his palms, which was rapidly melting. A snowball. He took one step closer, paused for a moment, staring at Frodo’s face, then shrugged and bent down.

Merry froze as Frodo turned in his sleep, rolling over onto his side and curling up tighter against the cold winter air. Biting his lip – hard – to keep from laughing, Merry ever so slowly moved the snowball into one hand and with the other, gently peeled the thick coverlets down to Frodo’s waist.

"Better be outside the door, Pip," he cautioned his younger cousin. Pippin wisely obeyed, keeping his hands over his mouth until he was safely outside the room, where he promptly had to lean against the wall for support as he rocked with quiet laughter.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Merry glanced down at the snowball in his hand, to find it melting quickly. With his other hand, he carefully pulled back the wide neckline of Frodo’s nightshirt, and holding his breath, he dropped the snowball down his peacefully sleeping cousin’s back and raced to the door, where he and Pippin held each other in silent laughter.

Their trick had not long to take effect.

Scarcely had Merry reached the door when Frodo’s eyes flew open. He sat up with a half-gasp, half-cry, and jumped out of bed. "Ah, cold! Ah!" The snowball, now only the size of a marble, promptly dropped to the floor. Frodo picked it up. His eyes narrowed and he slowly turned toward the doorway.

"Merry!"

The two troublemakers wisely took to their heels and ran for their lives, squealing and laughing out loud, followed by a long line of threats from their infuriated cousin. It took a lot to anger Frodo, and they had gotten it down to a science.

Bilbo, still half-asleep, came trudging down the hall, a candle in his hand. He headed for Frodo’s room and there found his nephew hopping on one foot, trying to quickly yank his breeches on under his nightshirt, muttering angrily under his breath.

"Frodo?" Bilbo said around a yawn. "What’s going on? And why is your back all wet?"

Frodo finally pulled on his breeches and grabbed his warm brown jacket, slung over a chair. "Merry and Pippin," he said simply and hurriedly. A fire was smouldering in his bright blue eyes that would have made an orc pause for thought. The sound of the front door opening and closing reached their ears, and Frodo raced down the hall, quickly slipping his arms into his jacket-sleeves as he followed the two troublemakers.

Bilbo watched as the door shut behind his nephews, shaking his head. He wasn’t awake enough to question what was going on, and with a shrug, decided to go back to bed. It wasn’t even five o’clock in the morning yet. Much too early for any self-respecting hobbit to be up. Yawning, he sleepily shuffled back down the hall, pausing to check on Daisy before heading to his room.

The little lass was sound asleep, curled up in a warm little ball with a smile on her face. Smiling himself, Bilbo continued to his room, where he blew out his candle and climbed into his welcoming warm bed, leaving Merry and Pippin to Frodo’s mercy.

Although Merry and Pippin had a large headstart, Frodo caught them up as they attempted to hide among the hedges in the front garden. They a simultaneous shriek of dismay when they saw him, and quickly crawled through the bushes. Fortunately for them, they were smaller and able to move quicker through the thick branches.

The two young rogues scrambled out of the hedges and went racing up the hill towards the Party Field. Frodo, with difficulty, disentangled himself from the bushes and followed them, threatening "death by tickling" if he caught them. He was only partially angry now, and taking great pleasure in giving the two mischief-makers a good scare.

Merry and Pippin raced at top speed past the Party Field and down the Hill, going into a small forest. It was less than a quarter of a mile wide, and perhaps only two miles long, but perfectly sized for make-believe battles and games. Merry and Pippin knew it well, as did Frodo, and they wove through the trees with amazing speed, startling several squirrels, a rabbit, and even a deer, which bounded away with its flag-like tail straight in the air as a warning.

Frodo had just caught up with the two, and was in the process of holding them down while shoveling snow down their shirts, when the sound of silvery laughter floated down to them. All three lads stopped, and looked around, listening intently.

There it was again: a clear, musical laugh, soft and gentle as a spring breeze. There was no stir in the snow-covered trees, and the three hobbits held their breaths, straining their senses to the utmost, trying to find the mysterious intruder.

Only Frodo had even the slightest inkling as to who it might be.

"Hullo?" he called. "Who’s there?"

Again the light laughter sounded, slightly louder this time, and followed by soft voices speaking and singing a song in a strange tongue. Now Frodo’s guess was proved, and his eyes widened, lighting up in astonishment and joy. Merry and Pippin looked up at him curiously as recognition dawned on his face.

"Maer aur, Fair Folk!" he said clearly. "Will you come out?"

There was silence for several moments, as Merry and Pippin got to their feet and stood beside Frodo, half-afraid. "Elves?" Merry whispered, more to himself than the others. He hadn’t thought that Elves even came near the Shire, much less in the heart of it.

Then, a slim figure, amazingly tall to the young hobbits, stepped out soundlessly from behind a tree. His long hair was dark as night, and his bright eyes were grey as the sea. His face was fair beyond measure; both young and old, joyful and sorrowful. But at the moment, he was smiling, and his eyes were dancing with mirth.

"Hail, Elvellon," he said in a voice light and musical, like his laughter. "How is it that you speak the Elf-tongue?"

Instinctively, all three lads bowed, and Frodo answered, eyes wide, "My Uncle Bilbo taught me…sir," he added, a little shyly. He had met Elves before, but he never ceased to be awed by them.

The Elf’s smile was warm and kind, beyond the caring that most Elves normally have for Mortals. He bowed, much to the surprise of the hobbit lads before him.

"Mae govannen – well met indeed, small ones," he said kindly. "I am Maethor, of the house of Elrond Half-Elven."

Frodo smiled, and glancing down at Merry and Pippin beside him, saw that they were still staring in utter astonishment at the tall Elf. "I’m Frodo Baggins," he said, and gesturing to the other two, "And these are Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, my cousins." The two young hobbits managed to mumble a polite greeting, and the Elf laughed.

"Well met, I say again," he smiled at the younger two, and immediately they relaxed, and smiled back. Then he turned his bright gaze upon Frodo. "But you are a kinsman of Bilbo?" he asked curiously. "The hobbit who was a visitor at Imladris, and still keeps exchange with our kindred there?"

"Well, actually, all three of us are," Frodo explained. "We’re cousins, but we call him ‘Uncle.’ You know him?"

"I do indeed; quite a special hobbit, from what I hear of your folk. Courageous, as well."

Frodo was silent but smiling with pleasure at hearing an Elf speak so highly of his dear uncle. There was not a sound for a moment, but then Pippin unexpectedly broke it.

"Excuse me for asking, Mr…" he looked the tall being up and down. "Mr. Elf, sir, but what are you doing in the Shire?"

Merry stared, appalled, at his cousin, whispering a reproachful, "Pippin!" under his breath, while Frodo raised his eyebrows as he watched Maethor, wondering what his response would be.

Maethor laughed softly and lightly. "Lord Elrond has repeatedly said that hobbits amaze him, and now I have seen it proved." Pippin beamed, and the other two couldn’t help but smile, as well. "To answer your question," the Elf continued, "I shall introduce you to my companions. We are traveling to the Sea, but the call of it is not as strong in us as it is in some of our kindred, and we have stopped for a while in this fair country." He turned, and called softly in the Elvish language, which Merry and Pippin did not understand a word of.

A moment later, little more than half a dozen Elves stepped serenely out from the trees. There were four maidens among them, and while most of the company were dark-haired, there were three of them with shining golden hair.

"These are Frodo Baggins, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took," Maethor explained to the Elves in their own tongue, as a few of them cast doubtful looks upon the young hobbits. "They are kinsmen of Bilbo and one of them is an Elf-friend." Then, turning back to the hobbits, he smiled. "These are some of my kindred from Imladris – Rivendell, as you would call it, although two here hail from Mirkwood."

And thereupon, he introduced them each by name: Luinel, Melui, and Brethil were the she-Elves of Rivendell, and Celebros was another, from Mirkwood. The others were Magnor, Faron, Tathar and Ithildin. The middle two, with golden hair, hailed from Mirkwood, and were sons of Thranduil, the King.

The Elves, doubtful at first, were now smiling kindly at the hobbits, although none looked quite as eager and youthful as Maethor. It was impossible for most mortals to tell the age of an Elf, but the leader of their company certainly seemed younger than the others.

Suddenly a soft song whispered on the early morning breeze caught their attention and they all stood still, listening. It was faint, but hauntingly beautiful, like some distant siren song that enchanted all who heard it.

Never in all his life had Frodo heard anything so beautiful, and he closed his eyes to listen. He could not make out the words, but that did not lessen the beauty of it. Beside him, Merry and Pippin were still and silent as well, just as enthralled with the song as he.

But just as suddenly as it had begun, the melody stopped, and nothing was to be heard save the gentle whisper of the breeze.

Maethor abruptly focused his keen grey eyes on the young hobbits. "Forgive us, but we cannot linger," he said with a gentle, apologetic smile. "You heard, did you not? Ah, rare indeed do mortals hear it – treasure the memory of that song forever. For like as not, you shall not hear it again." His eyes grew slightly distant, and he spoke more softly, as to himself. "Already the sea calls us, and we can resist her call no longer." He again returned to the hobbits. "We must bid you farewell now, for we can linger no longer in this land."

The other Elves were already departing, some with smiling glances at the hobbits, and others without looking back. Maethor stepped forward and touched the tops of the young hobbits’ heads, each in turn. "May the stars shine upon your faces," he whispered, bowing low. "Namárië."

And just as swiftly and silently as he had appeared, he was gone.

"Farewell, Maethor!" Frodo called after him.

"Good-bye, Maethor!" Pippin added. "Happy Yule!"

"Good-bye!" Merry said, finally having the use of his tongue again.

Silvery laughter and song floated back to them, and then died away, and the wood was silent once more.

***

"Uncle Bilbo! Uncle Bilbo!"

Pippin’s excited, high-pitched voice broke through the stillness of the early morning, and startled Bilbo reluctantly from sleep. He groaned, and buried his head under the pillow. He could hear Merry and Frodo shushing their youngest cousin, and the sound of swiftly moving feet coming towards his room. The door was opened quietly, and the three lads stepped in, Merry with his hand firmly covering Pippin’s mouth, just in case.

"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo whispered, going over to the bedside and touching his uncle’s shoulder. "Are you awake?"

Bilbo sighed and removed his head from beneath the pillow, opening his eyes. "I am now," he mumbled. Frodo’s face broke into a smile and the other two appeared next to him.

"We have something to tell you, Uncle Bilbo," Pippin said, pulling Merry’s hand from his mouth. He kept his voice (fairly) low, but he was all but bouncing with excitement and his green eyes glowed.

Waking up a bit more, Bilbo sat up, and noticed that there was the same excited sparkle in Frodo and Merry’s eyes, and all three lads were breathless, their cheeks flushed. "What is it?" he asked, resigning himself to the fact that he would get no more sleep that morning.

Pippin grinned, with the look of one sharing a great secret. "We – Merry and Frodo and me – saw Elves!" Merry nodded empathetically, his golden curls bouncing.

"What do you mean, you saw Elves?" asked Bilbo, now fully awake. "I didn’t think they visited this part of the Shire." He looked to Frodo for confirmation.

"We did meet Elves, Uncle," Frodo said. "We were in the woods behind the Party Field, and we heard singing and laughter. We called, but there was no answer, so I tried in Elvish. Then an Elf suddenly appeared. He said his name was Maethor –"

He was interrupted as Pippin said eagerly, "And he was from Rivendell! And then a lot more Elves came out, but they weren’t as friendly as he was…"

Pippin, in turn, was interrupted by Merry. "Two of them were sons of Thranduil – didn’t you meet him on your journey?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "And they all introduced themselves to us, after Frodo told them who we were, and…what were their names, Frodo?"

Frodo thought for a moment. "I know that the two sons of Thranduil were called Faron and Tathar, but I’m not sure I remember the others…Celebros, and Melui, I think, and Brethil…"

"And Magnor, Luinel and Ithildin," Pippin finished triumphantly, grinning at the looks of surprise from the older hobbits. "I was listening."

Bilbo laughed. "So it seems," he said, ruffling Pippin’s curly hair. "Now why don’t you listen so well when I try to teach you Elvish?"

"I dunno," Pippin replied with a shrug.

"Maethor said that he knew you, Uncle," Frodo interrupted. "He said you were very brave."

Bilbo smiled, obviously pleased and almost embarrassed at the compliment. "Well, I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting him," he said. "But I did meet a few of the others. Ithildin is Lindir’s brother, you know. And I believe that Melui, Luinel and Brethil I met, or at least, saw while I was in Rivendell. But I don’t recognize the others." He sighed, then abruptly changed the subject. "But what did they say to you lads?"

"Not much," Frodo admitted. "He said that he and the others were traveling to the Sea and had stopped here for a while. Have you ever heard the song?"

Bilbo blinked. "What song?"

"The song of the Sea. I think it is the song that lures the Elves there."

"No, I have not. Why?"

"We did. It was very faint, but it was so beautiful…" Frodo closed his eyes, almost able to hear the haunting song in his mind. "I think there were words in it, but I couldn’t catch them."

"And everyone stopped to listen," Merry added. "The Elves looked…I don’t know…" he unsuccessfully searched for the right word.

"…enchanted by it." Frodo finished for him. Merry nodded.

Bilbo smiled and shook his head, amazed at his nephews’ extraordinary encounter. "Well, I wish that I had been there," he said. "Although I still say it’s too early."

It was not long before the subject turned toward more immediately important things -- like the upcoming Festival. When Bilbo announced that they would be leaving right after breakfast, Merry was immediately flying into Daisy's room to wake her, followed only slightly more slowly by Pippin. Frodo went into his room to dress, while Bilbo did the same.

As Daisy’s eyes began to open, Merry gently brushed back the dark curls from her face. "Daisy?" he said softly. "Wake up!" The little lass mumbled something unintelligible, and turned over onto her side. Merry looked crestfallen for a moment, and then an impish grin spread over his face.

"Oh, blast," he said, sitting at the edge of the bed. "If Daisy won’t wake up, we can’t go to the festival."

"We’ll miss all the food, and games," Pippin added eagerly, catching on to Merry’s game. "And presents and…food…"

One of Daisy’s eyes opened. Then, slowly, the other. She turned over onto her back, but Merry and Pippin paid no heed to her, and continued to describe the wonderful things at the Yuletide Festival.

"…and there’s Mrs. Cotton’s peach cobbler," Merry said dreamily. "And Mrs. Gamgee’s raspberry tarts…"

"And don’t forget about Miss Proudfoot’s strawberry custard!" Pippin licked his lips at the thought.

Merry sighed and rested his head on Pippin’s shoulder. "I can almost taste it now."

Pippin pushed him off. "But what about the pie-eating contest? We can’t eat anything until we do that."

Merry grinned. "All right, after I beat all of you at the pie-eating contest. Then we’ll eat the custard…and the tarts…"

Daisy sat up, her green eyes sparkling as the rising sun’s light filtered in through the window. "Mer," she said, tugging on his sleeve. "Daisy wan’ go to festible too!"

Merry turned to look down at the girl, acting surprised. "Oh, hullo, Daisy," he said. "I didn’t know you were awake!"

Daisy’s eyes were serious. "Daisy wan’ go to the festible an’ eat pie!" she repeated.

"Well, of course," Merry assured her. "Now that you’re awake, we can go get ready! Come on, let’s go have breakfast!"

Pippin whooped enthusiastically and went out the door in a blur of color. Merry let Daisy climb onto his back, and they followed his cousin into the kitchen, breakfast now the most important thing on their minds.

***

After what seemed like an eternity to the eager young hobbits, noon actually came, and with it, the Festival! Daisy was dressed in her beautiful new dress, and Mrs. Gamgee had kindly offered to do her hair. Merry was in his best yellow waistcoat and, under strict orders from his parents, forced to wear thick leather gloves and his new woolen scarf, which itched his neck terribly.

Pippin was also in his best green waistcoat, along with his scarf and gloves, all of which he found most uncomfortable. Frodo wore a deep sapphire colored waistcoat, similar to the one he’d worn at the birthday party, and the same winter gear as the younger two. Bilbo wore an ornately embroidered cranberry waistcoat, thick dark leather gloves, and a warm winter coat.

Once they had gotten all of this troublesome clothing on, they at last left Bag End and walked (well, in Merry, Pippin and Daisy’s case, ran) down the Hill towards the marketplace, where the sounds of the Festival floated up to them.

They met the Gamgees along the way, also dressed in their best, and Frodo quickened his pace to keep up with Sam and his brothers, leaving the adults coming much more slowly behind.

"Did you hear ’bout the pie-eatin’ contest, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam’s oldest brother, Hamson excitedly. "I plan on winnin’."

Frodo laughed. "Well, you’ll be up against Merry and Pippin," he pointed out. "And while Gamgees may be able to eat a lot, and quickly, I don’t know that they could beat a Brandybuck or a Took!"

Hamson laughed good-naturedly. "Well, I am to try at any rate!"

"What about you, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. "Are you goin’ to enter the contest?"

Frodo smiled. "I don’t think so, Sam. I’m afraid a Baggins doesn’t stand a chance against Gamgees, Brandybucks and Tooks."

"Not to mention Bolgers!" Halfred, the second-oldest Gamgee lad put in. "I hear Fatty hasn’t eaten for three days!" He shook his head. "I can’t even imagine missin’ one meal, let alone all of ’em three days straight!"

"Well, then Merry and Pippin will be hard-pressed to win," said Frodo. "I just hope for their sakes that they don’t ruin their appetite for your mother’s raspberry tarts!"

All four lads licked their lips in delight at the very thought and sped up as the wonderful aroma of food drifted up to them. They turned around and waved farewell to the slow adults, and then eagerly raced the remaining distance to the marketplace.

The Festival was already in full swing when they reached it, and Merry, Pippin and Daisy were nowhere to be seen. Hamson and Halfred headed off immediately to get ready for the pie-eating contest, which was always one of the first events of the day. Sam and Frodo strolled leisurely past the various booths, looking at the beads, ribbons, rugs, jewelry and other items for sale.

Finding nothing that they wanted – at least, not yet – they decided to head for the pie-eating contest. Neither of them were entering, but Frodo thought it best if he came to keep an eye on Daisy, as well as to give support to Merry and Pippin.

It took a long while to make their way through the crowd, and when they finally got to the wooden platform where the tables were being set up, both were hot and uncomfortable in their warm winter clothes. They spotted Merry and Pippin sitting on the steps that led up to the platform, and went over to them.

"Where’s Daisy?" asked Frodo as they reached the two.

Merry grinned. "Over there."

Following his gaze, Frodo saw Emmaretta Took and Rosie Cotton, weaving ribbons into little Daisy’s hair. Pippin smirked. "Miss Emmaretta was asking about you, Frodo," he said teasingly. "She wants to talk to you." Giving his younger cousin a playful swat on the shoulder, Frodo and Sam approached the giggling, chattering girls.

"Happy Yule!" called Frodo cheerfully. The girls looked up and smiled.

"Happy Yule to you both!" Emmaretta returned, as Daisy ran into Frodo’s open arms. "Where have you been?"

Frodo picked Daisy up and set her on his shoulders, much to the little girl’s delight. "Around," he said with a smile. "But how did you two end up with this one?"

Right on cue, Daisy reached down and covered his eyes with her small hands. "Guess who?" she said with a sly smile at the other two girls, who covered chuckles behind their hands.

"Merry?"

"Nope, not Mer."

"Pippin?"

"No."

"I know! Sam!"

"No! Not Sam!"

"Blast. Could it be…Daisy?"

Frodo picked Daisy off his shoulders and held her in front of him. "It is Daisy!" he laughed.

The lass giggled. "How you know?" Frodo set her down and tickled her round belly. "I just know," he said mysteriously.

"Oh yes," Emmaretta laughed. "That’s Frodo Baggins all over! Wisest hobbit in the Shire!"

Frodo narrowed his eyes at her. "If I didn't know you better, Miss Took, I'd say that there was a bit of sarcasm in that statement of yours."

Emmaretta widened her eyes. "Me?" she asked incredulously. "Sarcastic? Never!"

Frodo nodded firmly. "I should hope not."

Sam, who had been silent through this good-natured banter, now spoke up. "Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo," he said. "But the pie-eatin’ contest is startin’ now."

All heads turned back to the platform, where the contestants were sitting down at their tables. "Come on, Daisy," said Frodo, putting the girl up on his shoulders again. "We have to go watch Merry and Pippin beat Fatty Bolger."

"You think they’ll beat him?" Emmaretta asked, as all five of them made their way towards the platform. "I don’t think even a Took could beat a Bolger who’s starved himself for three days."

Rosie nodded, her golden curls bouncing. "I think that Hamson will win."

Frodo turned to look back at her. "What makes you think that?"

Rosie shrugged. "Well, just look at 'im! He looks like he’s ready to devour the table and chairs if those pies don’t come soon." Sam looked up at his older brother and grinned. It was true; Hamson did look quite eager.

"I still say Fatty Bolger will win," said Emmaretta. "But that other one, Johnny Proudfoot, I think his name is. He looks like he might have a chance."

Frodo looked at the contestants one at a time. "I'm to bet on Pippin," he said. "Tooks have the largest appetites of all, especially that one. He could clean out every pantry in Tuckborough!"

Daisy bounced on his shoulders. "Mer win!" she said. "Mer goin’ win!"

As they finally reached the platform, Mayor Whitfoot gave the signal, and the first pies were placed in front of the six contestants. Their hands tied behind their backs, they each dove headfirst into the blueberry pies in front of them.

Pippin was the first to finish as much of the pie as he could scrape out of the tin, and another one was quickly set before him. Fatty was only a split-second behind him, followed closely by Merry, Hamson, Halfred, and Johnny Proudfoot.

This time, Fatty was the first to finish his second pie, followed by Pippin, Merry, Halfred, Johnny, and Hamson. Again, the contestants dove face-first into their pies, and Fatty won again. He won the next two rounds, while Halfred and Johnny dropped out, unable to eat any more.

On the sixth pie, Hamson dropped out, and Merry took the lead. Pippin couldn’t bring himself to finish the last bite, and he dropped out as well. Emmaretta shot a smug glance at Frodo, who merely shrugged and continued to watch.

It was down to the last pie, and both remaining contestants were nearly finished. Both were chewing slowly now, no doubt feeling quite sick, but they were nearly tied. Then, suddenly, Fatty groaned and pushed the pie away, as Merry took the last bite.

Merry was the winner!

The crowd went wild with applause and cheers, and Daisy bounced on Frodo’s shoulders. A blue ribbon was pinned to Merry’s coat, and after wiping off their pie-covered faces, he and Pippin stumbled down the steps of the platform.

Frodo and the others congratulated them, but both went slightly green and dashed off towards the nearest bushes. When they emerged, still looking pale and sick, Frodo offered to carry Merry, who looked by far the worst. His young cousin was feeling far too ill to protest, and after giving Daisy to Emmaretta, Frodo hoisted him up onto his back and they made their way through the crowd, trying to find Bilbo. Pippin walked between Rosie and Sam, not as sick as Merry, but certainly not his usual bouncy self.

The group took a detour past the booths, where the girls bought a few necklaces and ribbons, and then finally spotted Bilbo on the outskirts of the marketplace. He was holding a plate full of assorted cookies, tarts, and a few slices of pie. "Hullo, lads," he said cheerfully, then seeing Emmaretta and Rosie, "And lasses. Enjoying yourselves?" Everyone nodded enthusiastically, except Merry and Pippin, who groaned.

Bilbo chuckled as he noticed their pale faces. "I heard that Merry won the pie-eating contest," he said. "Well, I hope you two aren’t too full to have some of these treats I’ve got. Cookies, and raspberry tarts, and…"

Merry and Pippin’s eyes widened and the older one slid off of Frodo’s back with a groan.

"…And there’s still some strawberry custard left..."

The others laughed as Merry and Pippin raced to the bushes at the edge of the marketplace.

TBC...