2. Brandy Hall

“Frodo!”

The weary traveler turned just in time to see a blur of color rushing towards him. The next instant, he was nearly falling over with the force of Merry Brandybuck’s hug. “I thought you’d never get here!” the nineteen-year-old said excitedly. “We would’ve left yesterday, and left you to catch up, but Papa said that we had to have an adult with us.”

Frodo laughed and returned the hug. “Ah, so that’s why you asked me to come!”

Merry grinned and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “Well, of course you know I wanted you to come visit,” he said, unwrapping his arms from around Frodo’s waist and folding them across his chest. “But yes, there was more than one reason.”

Frodo laughed again and aimed a playful kick at Merry, who avoided it quickly. Not feeling up to a chase, Frodo shook his head and yawned. “How far are we from Brandy Hall?”

Merry looked up at him curiously, his eyebrows raised. “You should know. It’s only just over that hill.”

Frodo frowned for a moment, then chuckled. “I must have fallen asleep on my feet,” he said. “I walked most of last night, you know.”

Merry shook his head, clicking his tongue reproachfully. “And you still took three days to get here! I would’ve expected better, cousin, with all your wanderings.” He studied his older cousin for a moment, as though making sure he had not changed since the last time they’d seen each other. Then, he shrugged slightly, and grinned. “Well, come along then, I’ll lead you to Brandy Hall. Pearl Took and some of her friends have been asking about you. They seem to find you quite charming!”

Merry’s grin broadened as Frodo’s face paled slightly, and with a laugh, grabbed his cousin’s hand and all but dragged him the remaining distance to Brandy Hall. There, Frodo realized that he had quite forgotten how crowded and noisy it was.

He was greeted heartily by most everyone, and given one of the many guestrooms, where he gratefully unpacked and flopped down on the bed. Merry accompanied him, chattering excitedly about anything and everything, while Frodo closed his eyes and listened, mumbling an “Mmm-hmm,” when it was needed.

At last, Merry tired of filling him in on all the news of Brandy Hall, and sat down beside him on the bed. “Frodo?” he said softly. “Are you asleep?”

Frodo turned his head toward him and opened his eyes halfway. “Almost,” he said tiredly, then paused, and his eyes opened a little further. “Why?”

Merry looked down at his hands, lying in his lap. “No reason,” he said innocently. “I was just wondering.”

Frodo was immediately wide awake and he stared hard at Merry, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Merry,” he said suspiciously, “I know you too well to believe that you were ‘just wondering.’ What are you really up t—” He was cut off as a small whirlwind with a curly mop of unruly sandy hair and mischievous green eyes suddenly jumped onto his stomach, sending all the air out of his lungs.

“Hullo, Cousin Frodo!” said Pippin Took cheerfully, grinning down at his gasping older cousin below him. “Did you miss me?”

“Up until just now, yes, I did,” Frodo grumbled good-naturedly, pushing Pippin off and sitting up. Both Pippin and Merry were grinning widely, each so like the other; Frodo should have known better than to think that Merry would be anywhere without his other half.

“Come now, Frodo,” said Pippin, “you know you just couldn’t wait to see me!”

Frodo looked his young cousin up and down. ‘He must’ve grown an inch since I last saw him,’ he thought in surprise. Pippin was already up to his chest – at the rate he was growing, he’d pass Frodo’s height before he was even in his tweens!

“Do you know what I miss?” asked Frodo, feigning thoughtfulness. “I miss…” He suddenly pounced on Pippin, pushing the astonished boy onto his back and beginning to tickle him mercilessly. “…I miss being able to do this to you!”

Pippin, though caught off his guard at first, quickly began defending himself; although the fact that he was laughing so hard he could barely breathe debilitated him a bit. He managed to wriggle away from Frodo’s hands and jump on his older cousin, sending Frodo sprawling on his back with Pippin straddling his stomach and tickling him.

Merry quietly sat and watched as the tables continued turning: one moment, Frodo was on top, and the next, he was buried beneath Pippin. The almost-tweenage lad did not lend aid to either side, and simply watched and waited, blinking thoughtfully.

At last, when the inevitable came, and the two playfully wrestling cousins rolled off the bed, continuing their game on the floor, Merry suddenly came alive. He leapt off the bed, giving a battle cry louder than his cousins’ startled yelps, and landed sprawling on top of them.

There was a pause for a moment as everyone tried to get their breath, but then Merry grinned at Pippin. “Get him!” The two young imps jumped upon their outnumbered older cousin, and Frodo was buried beneath their pitiless tickling.

All three were laughing to the point of tears, and their loud shouts could probably be heard all through Brandy Hall.

“Merry! He’s got my arm! He’s got my arm!”

“Here – ahh!”

“Ouch – get off my chest, Pippin, you troll! I can’t breathe!”

“Dreadfully sorry, Cousin Frodo! Here, does this help?”

“Pippin!”

“Hey, Pip, a little help?”

“Sorry, Merry. Aieeee!”

“Oi, that hurt. Ah, stop, ahh! Stop, I tell you! Stop!”

“You know, Pip, I think Frodo’s most ticklish spot is his stomach.”

“Oohhhh…”

“Ahhh! No, stop, please! Mercy, Pip, mercy!”

“Hmm! I do believe you’re right, Mer.”

“This isn’t fair! Stop, stop! Truce!”

“What was that, cousin? A truce, you say?”

“Mmmmph.”

“Pippin, I don’t think that Frodo can talk to us if you don’t get off his face.”

“Sorry. That better, Cousin Frodo?”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. But what were you saying before?”

“A truce.”

“Hmm, what do you think, Pip?”

“I don’t know… he certainly seems serious.”

“You’re right. Very well, Cousin Frodo. A truce. Shake?”

Merry held out his hand and as Frodo took it, he helped his older cousin up.

“Heaven and earth,” Frodo muttered as he dusted himself off. “Remind me never to try that again.”

“Will do, Cousin!” said Pippin cheerfully, ducking the next instant to avoid a smack.

Suddenly a shrill voice rang down the hallway, so loud and piercing that the lads had to cover their ears. "Supper-time!"

Merry groaned, slowly removing his hands from his offended ears. “Oi, I think Zinnia’s voice can probably be heard all the way to Tuckborough.” Zinnia was the Brandy Hall Head Cook, as she called herself, and in complete and absolute power of the kitchen. Every maid (and several mischievous lads who shall remain unnamed) in the smial feared not only her sharp tongue, but also the hard wooden spoon that she carried in her apron pockets at all times. There were no slackers in the kitchen of Brandy Hall.

Pippin stood up and brushed some dust off his shirtsleeve. “You know, I thought I did hear her once, when I was hidin’ in the apple orchard after I lifted the blackberry pie that Pimpernel left cooling on the windowsill. I could just imagine that great, big wooden spoon about to whack me, and I could almost hear that awful, shrill voice of hers:” He adopted Zinnia’s voice, sounding frighteningly similar. “‘Peregrin Took, you put that pie back – now!’” He shuddered. “It scared me so much, I truly did put the pie back – after eating about half of it, of course,” he added with a grin, earning an appreciative clap on the back from Merry.

“I’ve taught you well, cousin,” he said as all three of them headed down the hall towards the dining room. “I’ve taught you well.”

***

After supper, Saradoc, Merry’s father and the new Master of Buckland ordered all the lads who were going on the camping trip to get their packs and wait outside. Frodo did so, and joined Merry and Pippin, along with their cousins, Berilac, Merimas, Kalimac, and Gorbadas Brandybuck, as well as Reginard, his brother Everard, and Isengar Took.

Saradoc himself was not going; Merry had pleaded that they be allowed to camp by themselves. He had felt uneasy, being prone (understandingly) to worrying about his son, but once he was assured that Frodo was going to come along, he had agreed. The lad – Saradoc had to keep reminding himself that Frodo was an adult now, and no longer a lad, truly – had a level head on his shoulders, despite being a Baggins.

Still, to reassure himself further that the lads would be perfectly safe, Saradoc managed to pull Frodo aside and have a quick word with him.

“Now, Frodo-lad,” he said, using the pet name he’d always called him by, “it’s not that I don’t trust you, you understand, but you will make sure to look after them, won’t you?”

Frodo smiled reassuringly. “Of course, Uncle,” he said. “They shan’t come to any harm. And at any rate, we won’t be far from Brandy Hall – within hearing range, I daresay. I hope we shan’t keep you up all night with our noise,” he added with a chuckle.

Saradoc smiled and patted Frodo’s shoulder. “Thank you, Frodo-lad,” he said sincerely. “You know how much I worry about Merry. The boy has a knack for getting into mischief.”

Frodo shifted the straps of his pack. “Merry’s got plenty of common-sense, though,” he pointed out respectfully. “He’ll make a fine Master of Buckland someday.” He spoke confidently, and sincerely – although Merry could be quite the troublemaker, he did have plenty of good hobbit-sense, and was growing to be very responsible.

“Thank you,” Saradoc repeated. “But now, you’d best be off, Frodo-lad. It looks as though they’re getting a bit impatient. Have a good time!”

When everything was ready to go and the farewells dealt with, all the lads looked expectantly at Frodo. “We appointed you our leader,” Merry explained with a grin. “Since you’ve wandered all over the Shire. And since you're an adult now and so very wise and mature."

Frodo returned the grin and cuffed Merry lightly on the shoulder. "And don't you forget it," he warned as he picked up his walking stick. "Right, everyone ready to go? Let's be off, then." 

They had decided beforehand to camp somewhere far enough away from Brandy Hall so that they would not be bothered and it would feel like an actual adventure, but not too close to the Old Forest, which everyone feared immensely. They picked a small, secluded meadow, surrounded by trees on three sides, and a little hill on the other, from the top of which one could see both Brandy Hall on the right, and the Old Forest on the left.

After dropping their packs, building up a campfire and roasting their dinner over it, everyone settled down comfortably to hear and tell scary stories – a campfire tradition very strictly kept. Although everyone agreed that Frodo certainly told the best and most frightening, they preferred stories about Hobbits, rather than Elves or Big People. Merry and Pippin (with Frodo’s help) had stored up a large horde of these stories, which they never had to be asked twice to tell. They were the master storytellers that night; Merry told the story, while Pippin acted it out every so often, creating sound effects to make it even scarier.

“…And so, the Bullroarer spurred his great horse forward to meet the Orc King, Golfimbul – ”

“How big was he?” Little Isengar, only ten years old, interrupted Merry’s exciting story.

Merry thought for a moment, then pointed to a large oak tree at the edge of the clearing. “As big as that tree, or maybe even bigger!” The younger lads gasped and leaned closer, and Frodo smiled to himself. It was always amusing to hear Merry and Pippin’s stories, which got bigger and more exaggerated every time they were told.

“As I was saying,” Merry continued, “old Golfimbul went running toward the Bullroarer, leading his enormous army of orcs behind him. They rode fast, faster than the ponies of the hobbits – but they didn’t ride ponies, nor horses.” He paused dramatically and leaned forward so that the flames made dancing shadows on his face. “They rode… wargs!”

“What are wargs?” Isengar asked curiously, ignoring the annoyed elbow in the ribs he received from Gorbadas Brandybuck.

Merry smiled patiently at the boy. “They’re wolves, Iss,” he explained.

Pippin nodded eagerly. “Great, big, white wolves, bigger than the biggest pony!” he added. “Their teeth are as sharp as swords and longer than my arms, and…” Merry elbowed him in the ribs to stop him, and clearing his throat went on with the story.

“So the orcs were riding on the great wargs, and the ponies of the hobbits were rearing and trying to run away in fright. Except for Bullroarer’s horse, of course, who had been in battles before and was very brave.

“Bullroarer wasn’t scared one bit. He drew his sword, and with a yell, he spurred his pony right on to meet the orcs. The hobbit-army drew their swords and charged too, but the Bullroarer headed straight for Golfimbul. He tried to stab him with his sword, but the orc’s hide was so thick, Bullroarer’s sword broke on it. He was left weaponless, and Golfimbul knew it.

“But just as the ugly orc was about to stab him, the brave Bullroarer stood up in the stirrups and broke off a thick branch from a nearby tree, which he used as a club. Golfimbul wasn’t frightened of the club, and just laughed and raised his sword. But then the Bullroarer suddenly brought his club down – ”

"Whack!" Pippin emphasized.

“—and knocked Golfimbul’s head clean off!”

All the lads gasped as though hearing the story for the first time (although it was a well-known tale handed down generations and told to every hobbit child), their eyes wide and round.

“And so, the battle was ended, and the hobbits won the day!” Merry ended with a smile. 

The boys clapped enthusiastically, and standing up, Merry and Pippin each gave a little bow, grinning proudly.

“Old Bullroarer was the bravest hobbit ever,” Isengar breathed when things had quieted down.

Merry was quick to disagree. “Oh no, he wasn’t. Bilbo Baggins was – he fought dragons, giant spiders, orcs and wargs!”

Some of the lads were skeptical, but little Isengar leaned forward with wide eyes. “Did he really? I haven’t heard about the giant spiders. Tell us! Tell us!” He was joined by the other lads, who even though they no more than half believed the stories they’d heard about ‘Mad Baggins,’ agreed that it made a good campfire story.

Merry held up his hands in defense and shook his head. “No, I don’t remember it all. Frodo should tell it!”

All eyes turned toward Frodo, who hesitated a moment, wondering if such a frightening story should be told to teenage lads on their first "real" camping trip. Deciding that it would be all right so long as he didn't go into too much detail about the giant spiders, he got settled more comfortably, and the other lads did the same. Merry and Pippin joined them on the other side of the fire, curling up snugly in their sleeping rolls.

“You all know that Bilbo traveled with the wizard, Gandalf, and the thirteen dwarves, through Mirkwood, right?” Frodo began. There was a general nodding of heads. “All right, then.” He launched into the story, starting with Bombur the dwarf falling into the enchanted stream and going to deep sleep, leaving Bilbo and the dwarves unsure of what to do.

When he had finished, there was a hush for a long while. Then, little Isengar broke it.

“You’re right, Merry,” he said in a quiet, awed voice. “Bilbo was the bravest hobbit ever!”

There was a quiet murmuring of agreement from the others, and Frodo smiled, grateful that they appreciated what his uncle had done, but wishing that Bilbo was there to tell the tale and receive the praise himself.

Everyone agreed that it was time for bed, and drowsily crawled into their sleeping rolls. Gorbadas and Berilac were the first to drift off, followed closely by Isengar and Everard. Frodo, Merry and Pippin could hear Reginard and Merimas still whispering.

Merry watched as Frodo went to sleep, and Pippin soon followed. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, he could not get comfortable. He groaned softly in frustration and rolled over on his side, facing away from Frodo and Pippin. For a while, he was comfortable, and began to go to sleep.

But after just a few minutes, he noticed the rock beneath his sleeping roll, and turned over again. The entire camp was still, and Merry scooted his sleeping roll closer to Frodo’s. He realized with surprise that Pippin was nestled in their older cousin’s sleeping roll, curling up tightly in Frodo’s arms.

Merry sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He was cold, and unable to sleep, but Pippin was already taking up that side of Frodo’s sleeping roll, and to move around to the other side would surely wake up the rest of the camp.

He sighed resignedly, and was about to get back into his old sleeping roll, when he heard Frodo whisper sleepily, “Merry?” He looked at his cousin, whose eyes were only partially open. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just having a bit of trouble sleeping,” Merry whispered back. “What’s wrong with Pippin?”

Frodo shifted the sleeping hobbitboy into a more comfortable position. “He was cold. Do you want to come join him?”

“There’s not enough room.”

Frodo moved, with Pippin, backwards a ways, so that he was at the edge of one side of his sleeping roll. “Now there is,” he offered, opening his arms.

Merry smiled and snuggled up into his cousin’s sleeping roll, Pippin in between them. “Thank you,” he whispered, feeling Frodo pull up the blankets more closely around them and curl an arm over both him and Pippin.

It was not long before Merry could hear Frodo’s soft, even breathing, and knew that his cousin had fallen asleep again. He sighed and closed his eyes, burying his face in Pippin’s soft curls. But suddenly, his young cousin rolled over to face him. His eyes were open and sleep-filled, but curious.

“Merry? What are you doing here?” he whispered.

Merry smiled at his young cousin. “The same thing you are,” he replied. “I was cold.”

Pippin glanced behind him at Frodo’s sleeping face and back at Merry with a smile. “Oh,” he said simply, and nestled back comfortably into Frodo and Merry’s arms.

“Merry?” he said softly, a moment later.

“Hmm?” Merry murmured, already half-asleep.

“I’m glad I’m camping with you.” Merry’s arm tightened around Pippin and he smiled.

“Me too, Pip.”

“And I’m glad that Cousin Frodo’s here.”

“Me too, Pip.”

Pippin started to say something more, but stopped as he realized that Merry had fallen asleep. He smiled and gently brushed his cousin’s golden curls out of his eyes, before settling back down in the blankets. Frodo shifted in his sleep, and Pippin felt his arms tighten around him and Merry.

“Good night,” he whispered to both his cousins, before closing his eyes and joining them in sleep.

TBC...