Chapter 5 – Tea With the Bagginses

Pippin’s curiosity had led him to find me at the smithy’s, and after much talk and looking about at all the metalwork, he reminded me that it was time for tea. We walked back to the Porch to collect Merry, and when we arrived we found Elves mixed in with our usual group of Dwarves and Halflings. I saw Glorfindel among them, and to my surprise he recognized me and returned my greeting with one of his own.

“Hoy, Boromir, look, Frodo’s here!” Pippin announced. He gave a little bounce up onto the balls of his feet and made straightway for the Halfling. I followed a little more slowly, wishing to study the Ringbearer for a moment before we met again.

I would have recognized him instantly, anywhere, now that I knew he bore the Ring, but in any case his dark hair and blue eyes distinguished him from the other hobbits here. Frodo still looked somewhat ill, which was understandable in someone who had suffered such a grievous wound and been so long abed. He was thinner and paler than the other hobbits, and dark circles showed under his eyes. I could not determine if he had the Ring now with him, on his person. If so, it was hidden. All the Halflings seemed intent on a board game set out on the table where they were clustered, and did not notice me as I approached. Tea had already been served, judging by the plates of cake and fruit set about.

I had just come close enough to make my greeting when suddenly Merry shifted a game piece with a thwap, shouted “Buckland!” and flung up both arms into the air, nearly grazing my chest with his fists as I stood behind him. “Hah! What do you have to say about that, Master Baggins?”

Frodo frowned at the board.  “That was a shallow victory, Merry, very shallow . . . in fact, hardly a win at all. It shouldn’t even count. I think you have taken advantage of me in my present sleepy state, and when we play again tomorrow, I will give you the trouncing you deserve.”

“Nonsense. This is a decisive victory, and proves again the superiority of the Brandybucks," Merry retorted. By this time, Pippin had circled around the table, wedged himself in between Frodo and Samwise, and pushed under Frodo’s arm for a hug. Sam looked exasperated as he moved aside to accommodate the littlest hobbit. Bilbo shook his head at the commotion and smiled.

“Pip!” Frodo’s face lit up and he raised his hand to tousle Pippin’s curly hair. “Where’ve you been? We missed you for tea.”

“Oh, I’ll make up for it now. Frodo, this is Boromir son of Denethor of Gondor, the one I told you is teaching Merry and me about swordfighting.”

Frodo looked up and smiled at me, then rose and bowed. “It is my pleasure to meet you again, Boromir. Thank you very much for all your kindness to my cousins. Will you join us?” Merry dragged over a chair from the Dwarves’ table for me, and we all sat down together.

“The pleasure is mine,” I replied. “They are quick students, and very good-natured about all the bumps and pains that go with sword-practice.”

“Well, I am happy to hear a good report,” Bilbo said. “Boromir, are you going to take some ale this afternoon?” He and Frodo sat close together, leaning against each other a little, sharing a plate of cakes and a pot of tea between them.

Merry had already filled a mug with ale (the Dwarves had brought a barrel with them to the Porch) and placed it in front of me.  I thanked him and he sat back down, happily regarding the playing-pieces on the game board in front of him.

“Boromir,” he declared,” I want you to know that I am the champion of the table today, and I am looking forward to re-establishing my claim tomorrow, as soon as possible. Do you play this game in Gondor?”

I looked at the board and blinked. I did not recognize it as any game I knew, but what surprised me was the set itself. The board was made of beautifully polished wood, traced with silver and gold in an intricate pattern, and the game-pieces were wrought entirely of silver and gold, finely engraved and inlaid with patterns of glittering gems. I had never seen anything like it before in my life.

Frodo noticed my reaction. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he said. He picked up one of the larger pieces and looked at it closely for a moment, turning it over in his hands before offering it to me for inspection. “The Dwarves gave it to Bilbo. Every piece has a dragon inlaid on the top, in honor of Smaug’s demise.”

I peered at the tiny, exquisite dragon outline, fine as script and smoother than parchment. “Amazing,” I said honestly. “I have never seen such elaborate work.”

Both elder and younger Baggines nodded their heads in agreement. “I met Dwarves back in the Shire,” Frodo said, “and they even visited and stayed with us at times, but I have never seen such . . . finery . . . as this.” He shook his head with amusement. “Merry and I used to play with walnuts and acorns, on a board that Bilbo painted for us, when we were lads.”

“And speaking of playing, how about another round?” Merry put forth.  “Ready to be vanquished by a Brandybuck again?”

“Merry, I am half Brandybuck myself and taught you how to play,” Frodo retorted. “You need to come up with a better reason for this ridiculous win of yours. Keeping me up all night and then dragging me out for early tea is more likely the cause.”

“Would you like to learn how to play, Boromir?” Pippin asked me, his sincere little face lifted up to meet my eyes. “Then we’ll have more players for the tournaments.”

I did not want to play a game just then, but I could not have disappointed Pippin if my life depended on it. I was trying to frame an answer when Samwise came to my rescue.

“I’ll bet that Mr. Boromir just wants to visit for a while and not play right now.” Sam gave me a quick glance to see if he had read me aright. “But I’ll play you a round, Mr. Merry, if you want to go again,” he said. “It’s a shame to let such a nice thing sit unused.” I gratefully handed the piece over to him and they readied the board for another match.

“Well, then, Frodo, are you going to eat now that your game’s over?” Pippin asked. “I’m fixing you a new cup of tea. Watch out for the honey.”

Frodo looked at the cup. “Peregrin Took,” he sighed, “how can you possibly make such a mess?” Pippin had managed to streak honey over the table, onto his shirt sleeves, and now even across his face, as he put up a wrist to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Turn around here,” Frodo ordered, and looked about the table. Samwise handed him a napkin moistened with water and Frodo began to dab at Pippin’s face. Pippin wriggled and protested, and Frodo, who seemed to have some practice at cleaning him up, made as if to grab Pippin’s shoulder with his other hand. He stopped halfway through the motion and winced.

“There! See? You shouldn’t be rubbing so hard!” Pippin complained. Sam, who had stopped playing in order to watch, gave him a hard stare.

“Pippin. Sit still and don’t make me do that again,” Frodo replied as sternly as he could while holding back a grin at the same time. Pippin subsided and let him finish mopping honey off his cheek. “There. Now you can do the rest yourself,” Frodo finally said, and handed the napkin to Pippin.

“The least you can do is drink the tea,” Pippin said aggrievedly as he cleaned off the table and started to work on his shirt.

“I will, thank you,” Frodo said, and applied himself to the cake. I suddenly thought of my little brother, remembering with piercing clarity how Faramir used to look up at me with adoration when he was Pippin’s size, and how he was the only one I had allowed to hug me after I became a certain age. Faramir . . . oh, I how I wished he could have come with me, and been with me here now.

“You indulge that child too much, Frodo,” I heard Bilbo murmur, between bites of cake.

“I suppose I do . . . but, Bilbo, he’s been such a brave lad, especially after Weathertop,” Frodo replied softly. “And he’s still so young . . .” 

A small piece of cake was now all that was left on the plate between them.  With a little flourish, the older hobbit cut it neatly in half, and the two of them laughed and finished up the very last bite of their meal together. Bilbo filled his pipe and sent a smoke ring drifting across the air. He tenderly smoothed Frodo’s hair and touched his shirt collar, and then seemed wholly content to sit and not speak anymore. 

Merry, Pippin and Samwise were now involved in their game. Frodo leaned forward and his blue eyes met mine. “Aragorn told me that you are the one who has captained the defense of Gondor,” he said. “Can you give us news of the South?”

I drew a breath, and began to speak of the beauty of Minas Tirith, our long struggle against the enemy, and the shadow spreading from the East. Frodo listened intently, asking questions now and again. Bilbo napped on and off as I spoke, but the other hobbits eventually left their game to listen, and I saw a glistening in Pippin’s eyes as I told of my brother and the perilous life he now led.

I paused in my tale for a long moment, wondering out loud how my City fared without me. I had not spoken so of Gondor to anyone since I had begun my journey, and I felt the pull of my homeland on my heart. Pippin, sitting next to me, laid his hand on my arm. Frodo looked even more strained and ill by the time I finished my story. I looked straight at him, willing him to understand my need.

“We of Minas Tirith have been staunch and true-hearted through long years of trial,” I said, intending my words for Frodo alone.  “We do not desire the power of wizard-lords; only strength to defend ourselves, strength to achieve victory in a just cause . . .”

“Good afternoon,” said an Elvish voice close to the table. Elrond himself stood there, with Aragorn beside him. They were both smiling, and I was glad to see that, for my heart was suddenly pounding and I felt like a man caught doing some clandestine act. I rose and bowed. They returned the salute and greeted us all around.

“Well, hello there. I wondered where you two were all this time,” Bilbo said. “Busy with important affairs, I hear, and no time for meals or friends! So, you are back from your scouting trip, Dúnadan? I hear you had a late supper last night! Will you be at dinner this evening?”

“No, I must beg off again, not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow,” Aragorn replied with a smile and a mischievous look in his eye.

The hobbits exchanged glances. “We’re too ugly for him,” Merry half-whispered to Sam. The entire group chortled, and Aragorn smiled even more broadly and came around the table to slip down on one knee behind Bilbo and Frodo. He briefly touched Frodo’s face as if checking for fever, then laid his arm lightly around the Halfling’s shoulders.

Elrond was carrying a cup – which in itself amazed me; my father would never have done so in public – and set it down in front of the Ringbearer. Frodo’s smile vanished but the others’ grins grew broader. Far from feeling relieved by all the laughter, I was irritated by the interruption. I felt like a stranger in this group now, an outsider to the jokes and understandings that all the rest seemed to share.

Frodo looked at the cup with distaste. Aragorn said, “Frodo, I did not bring you here all the way through the wild in order to listen to you complain about the taste of your medicine. I have done my part. Drink up and do yours.”

My skepticism must have shown, because Frodo looked over at me and raised an eyebrow in reproach, drawing me back into the fun. “Don’t scoff, Boromir,” he said. “Smell this.”

He raised the mug and I bent to sniff, and then jerked back. “You drink that?” I asked incredulously, before I remembered that the source of the drink was standing at my elbow. Frodo shook his head, made a face, took a breath, and downed the draught to a round of hobbit applause. The younger hobbits and Aragorn were now laughing outright. Even Elrond was smiling. Bilbo poured tea into the empty mug so Frodo could take a cleansing swallow. My resentment melted away, and I laughed as well.

“Mighty warrior! Fearless hero!” I teased him, my smile deepening as I watched him shake his head and catch his breath. “Frodo, you have my highest regard. That was a valorous deed.”

“Strider, Boromir is teaching us sword-fighting,” Pippin piped up. “We’re going over to the armory next. Do you want to come watch?”

“Indeed?” Aragorn looked at me for affirmation. “That is excellent, Boromir. They have need of schooling in weapons. Of course I will come. Have you been defeated yet by these two rascals? Or do they talk you to death before the end of the match?” Merry and Pippin protested at this, but the other hobbits laughed.

To my great surprise, Elrond laughed too, and then addressed me personally. “Yes, thank you, Boromir, for your kind attention to our guests. I have come to seek you out this afternoon. May we have a word together before you go off to the lesson in the armory?”

I bowed again, quelling the sudden lurch in my chest. A word about what? Had he heard my words to Frodo and guessed what was on my heart? Elrond took me lightly by the arm and led me away from the crowd to the Porch’s curving balustrade. When we reached the railing he turned to face me, and when his grave eyes met mine I felt as if some unseen power buffeted me, so that I almost stepped back.  I remained silent, determined to not speak first. Elrond studied me for a moment, causing me to sweat a bit, and then he spoke.

“I have sent out scouts to learn what they can of the Enemy’s movements, and now we must start to lay our plans,” he began. “Many of my own people wish to travel South with the Ring.” He glanced at the gathering of folk on the Porch. “But the number must be few, since our hope is in speed and secrecy. Had I a host of Elves in the armour of the Elder Days, it would avail little.  Your path will take you southward also, and you are” and here he paused and looked thoughtfully at me, “a valiant and loyal man. You have shown great courage in your journey here, and you understand the peril of the quest. You have already traveled much of the path the Ringbearer must now take. Will you join me tomorrow to speak more of this?”

I took a breath. The hope of Minas Tirith was not yet lost. “Gladly, my lord,” I replied. “I would be honored to be counted in that company.”

Elrond gazed at me without speaking, and I did my best to meet his eyes steadily with my own. After a long moment, he looked over to the group of Halflings, where Aragorn sat surrounded by hobbits who seemed to be explaining the movements of different game-pieces to him. The lord of Rivendell smiled at the sight, and then looked back at me.

“Very well. We will meet at mid-morning. Speak to Aragorn, and he will bring you.” Elrond paused to study me again. “You have my praise for your attention to the Halflings,” he said, and I felt my heart warm a little. “With some matters it is better to trust to friendship, even more than to great wisdom. In dealing with the Enemy, a true heart is ever the best defense. But those chosen for the company will need strength and skill as well, and so,” taking my arm again and starting back to the table, “you all had better be off to the armory.”