THE PACT

Merry put his hand over the cup. The tankards Men used were far too large for their hands to hold easily, so the hobbits had taken to requesting teacups for their ale.

“I’ve not finished this one yet,” he said.

Faramir raised an eyebrow, and turned to pour more for Frodo and Sam from the pitcher the innkeeper had left at their table. Things were beginning to warm up for the evening, and the tavern had begun to fill.

Gimli looked at Merry, puzzled. “Master Meriadoc, you have been nursing that same cup all evening. I’ve never known you to be so abstemious.”

Merry shrugged.

“Pippin’s--” Frodo stopped and put a hand to his mouth to stifle a small belch-- “Pip’s not here.”

Faramir still looked curious.

“Mr. Pippin’s on duty,” Sam said helpfully. He’d had several cups already.

“I am afraid that doesn’t answer Gimli’s question, gentlemen,” replied the Steward. “I know that Pippin is on duty tonight, but I do not understand what difference that makes.”

“Not gentlemen,” mumbled Frodo. He had also had several cups. “Gentlehobbits!”

“I beg your pardon, Frodo. But I still do not understand what Pippin’s absence has to do with it.”

Merry, who had remained silent, watching Sam and Frodo becoming more mellow by the cup, finally spoke up. “Pip and I have a pact. We only get drunk together.”

“ ‘s right,” said Frodo. “Only together. Hadn’t you noticed?” His blue eyes were beginning to lose focus.

Gimli raised a brow. “I am sure there is a story there, young Merry.”

Faramir was also looking at him with interest. Frodo and Sam just grinned. They knew all about it.

“Well, it’s not a pretty story. Pip was a young tween when some daft idiots dared him to get drunk. He got so drunk it nearly killed him. We made a pact after that to only get drunk together, and never to get so drunk we would pass out. It seemed a good way to me to protect him.”*

“Meant you couldn’t get drunk by yourself either,” put in Frodo. He looked at the bottom of his cup which was empty, and held it out to Faramir, who obliged.

“It seemed worth it at the time,” said Merry. The truth was, at the time he had not really thought of the restrictions he’d placed upon himself. But he did not regret it, though it had meant numerous occasions when he had sat sober, watching other folks get tipsy around him. Like tonight. But he didn’t regret this either--it was good to see Frodo and Sam enjoying themselves for once. He had been pleased when Faramir had persuaded them to join him at the tavern.

Faramir’s own voice was getting a bit slow, but he was not really very intoxicated himself yet. “That was a noble thing to do, Merry. It sounds like the kind of daft thing Boromir would have done for me in such a situation.” Faramir tended to get sentimental when he was drinking.

Merry’s face lit up, and his eyes filled. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do. It never came up, but if it had then it would have, if you know what I mean.” Faramir looked puzzled when he finished his sentence. Did that make sense?

Merry had followed his meaning, though, and looked gratified, if a bit amused.

Gimli was on his third full-sized ale, and was not even remotely flown yet. It took a lot of ale to affect a Dwarf. “It must have made some interesting difficulties.”

Frodo grinned sloppily. “Meant I always had *two* drunk cousins to deal with getting home.”

Sam looked over. “ ‘member that night at the Dragon, when Mr. Pippin turned twenty-five?”

Merry grinned. That was the first occasion when he and Pippin had ever set out to put *that* part of their pact in practice. He listened, as Frodo told Faramir and Gimli of that time, occasionally putting in a word or two himself.

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Pippin had arrived at Bag End the day before his birthday in high spirits. He had persuaded his parents he did not want a party that year, but only wished to spend time at Bag End with Frodo and Merry. They had not only agreed, but had given him extra pocket money. Although they had refused to allow him to go alone, they did allow him to travel with Cousin Ferdinand, who had an errand to Bywater. He got on well with old Ferdinand, who had taught him to play the pipes.

Ferdinand dropped Pippin off, and declined Frodo’s invitation to tea.

Since it was the day before his birthday, Frodo and Merry gave him gifts: Frodo gave him a handsome pipe, and Merry a new leather pouch filled with Longbottom Leaf. Since his parents had only allowed him to smoke since Yule the gifts were much appreciated. In fact, he was so pleased he could scarcely be restrained from giving them their gifts right away.

“No!” said Frodo firmly. “You will wait until tomorrow, as is proper. We won’t take them if you do bring them out tonight.”

“Oh, very well,” he pouted.

“Pippin, let’s have tea,” put in Merry, “and you can tell us what you want to do for your birthday tomorrow.”

The mention of tea warded off the tweenager’s sulks, as Merry thought it might, and the three cousins headed for the kitchen where Frodo had laid a rather lavish spread. The sight of food finished restoring Pippin’s good humor.

For a while they busied themselves with the meal, hobbit-fashion. (“Frodo! You made mushroom tarts for me?” “Pass the butter, please.” “I’d like another scone, thank you.” “How about some cheese?” “Oh, come on Frodo, let me put a bit more honey in my tea!”)

As they passed from tea straight into supper without pause, they finally slowed down to filling up the corners, and Frodo broached the subject of Pippin’s plans.

He popped the bit of cheese he had been playing with into his mouth, and then smiled widely. “I’ve saved my pocket money last month--” he sounded and looked quite proud, and Frodo and Merry exchanged surprised looks. Merry was impressed; it was very hard for Pippin to hold onto money, and his parents generally kept him short, for he would often spend all his money on sweets or other short-lived treats. “And Father gave me some extra to bring with me! I’d like--” he stopped, blushing beet red--”I want to take the two of you, and Sam if he will go, to the Dragon. *My* treat!” He rushed on as though he feared an argument. “I really, really, want to treat you!”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Pippin,” said Frodo.

Merry looked at his younger cousin askance. He could tell Pip wasn’t quite finished yet.

“Now that I’m twenty-five, as long as I’m with you, I can have more than a half, you know.”

They both nodded. That was the rule at the Dragon. Tweenagers of twenty-five or older could drink as much as their accompanying adults allowed. Unaccompanied, they were still restricted to a half. Younger than twenty-five could not even get a half if they were alone.

“Merry, remember our promise? We’ll be together…” he trailed off, and blushed again.

Now Merry knew what he was trying to say. He rolled his eyes. He was not sure he was ready for that.

Frodo was puzzled. “What do you mean, Pip?”

“You know about the pact Merry and I have--never to get drunk unless we are together.”

His older cousin nodded. That was a result of an unfortunate experience when Pippin was only twenty. “Are you saying you *want* to get drunk, Pip? I must say that is surprising, given what happened.”

“Only a little bit drunk. I mean, I don’t remember what happened too well, other than it was thoroughly unpleasant. But that’s why, you see. I’d like to have a nice time like other hobbits do, but not too much. I mean, Merry will be there. And so will you.” He widened the green eyes to their most appealing expression, biting his lower lip.

Merry smirked. He’d get his way. And it might be fun at that. He had not even been pleasantly drunk himself since they had made their pact, in spite of some teasing from his Buckland friends about his temperate ways when they went to the inns. It was about time.

Apparently Frodo agreed, for he nodded thoughtfully. “It might help to have a more pleasant experience to compare to, at that, dear.”

The next night the three cousins, accompanied by Sam, entered the Dragon. Pippin was fairly trembling with excitement.

Merry wore his gift, a silver fob that had once belonged to Grandfather Adalgrim. Because he had been saving his money, Pippin gave mathoms: the fob for Merry, an inkwell for Frodo and for Sam a small volume on figuring the phases of the moon for planting. They *were* mathoms, but they were carefully selected to please, and not simply any old thing to hand.

The four of them found a table to one side of the room by the wall. The Dragon was not very crowded; it was after all Sterday, and most hobbits would have been out the night before.

The innkeeper Toby Harfoot himself came over to their table, and looked expectantly at Frodo to take the order. The older hobbits all looked at Pippin, who blushed, and said “We’d like four tankards and a pitcher of beer, please.”

Toby raised his eyebrows at this, and looked again at Frodo.

“Master Toby, my cousin is twenty-five today, and plans to treat us tonight.”

Now the old hobbit grinned and looked at Pippin once more. “Well, I must say ‘happy birthday’ then, Mr. Pippin. I’ll bring your order straight away!”

Pippin beamed. “Did you hear that? He said ‘Mr. Pippin’ not ‘Master Pippin’.”

“A sure sign of advancing years, I tell you,” laughed Merry, pleased to see Pippin made so happy.

“Yes,” said Frodo, “soon we’ll see him with a bride on his arm.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll see Mr. Pippin settling down anytime soon. He’s going to cut quite a figure amongst the lasses.”

Pippin laughed again and blushed once more. He was not going to mind their teasing at all tonight. It was all part of being the byrding, after all. It was only a couple of moments before Toby returned with a tray, four tankards, and a large pewter pitcher full to the brim with good brown beer, the foam dripping over the lip. He set them out upon the table with a flourish and took his leave.

Pippin’s eyes were bright. His cousins and Sam watched him expectantly, as he poured out for all of them. This was the first time he’d ever had more than a half, and he picked it up and sipped first. “Oh my!” he said, “this is very good beer!”

“The Dragon has the brownest beer in the Shire, so they say,” said Sam, as he took a hefty swig.

Frodo lifted his to the center of the table. “To our Pip!” he said, “Many happy returns of the day!”

Merry and Sam brought theirs together with his. “Here, here!”

At first, Pippin nursed his drink. He was used to making a half last all evening. But soon he began to get into the spirit of things, and he and Merry finished at nearly the same time. He poured them another.

Frodo and Sam, however were taking it slow. Frodo wanted to keep a more or less sober eye on his younger cousins, and Sam was usually a slow drinker anyway.

By the time they had filled their tankards the third time, Pippin was giggling at everything any of them said. Merry was telling a very long and involved joke, and Frodo suspected that he would forget the punch line if he ever got to it.

Frodo and Sam had their second, and Pippin poured out a fourth for Merry and himself, the pitcher ran out. Sam took it to the bar to be refilled, and Pippin began to sing. Even drunk there was nothing slurred or hesitant about his singing.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go

To heal my heart and drown my woe.

Rain may fall and wind may blow…”**

It was one of Bilbo’s favorites, and they all soon joined in, Sam as well, when he returned. This pitcher was not nearly so full. He winked at Frodo as he poured out.

They sang some more, “Nob O’ the Lea”, “Hey, Laddie, Laddie!” and “The Man in the Moon Came Down Too Soon”. Pippin’s toes were tapping and suddenly he stood up, wavering a bit, and climbed upon the table.

“Hey! Hey! It’s beer for me!

Don’t want coffee!

Don’t want tea!

Hey! Hey! It’s beer for me!

Come now and fill my cup,

Fill it up, fill it up!

Let’s all have another round,

Drink it down, drink it down!”

He started to dance rather unsteadily, his hairy toes barely missed making contact with Frodo’s nose. Merry laughed and clapped, but Frodo and Sam tugged at his pants leg.

“Pippin!” said Frodo, “come down!”

“Hey! Hey! It’s beer for me!

Don’t want coffee!

Don’t want tea!

Hey! Hey! It’s beer for me!”

He started jumping up and tried to twirl around. Unfortunately he missed his footing and came crashing down. The pitcher went flying, dumping its contents over the four of them, before it landed on the floor a few feet away. The few patrons there had been watching in amusement, and now they all applauded. Pippin sat there on the table looking rather surprised.

He turned and met Merry’s eyes, and both of them burst into peals of laughter. Shaking his head, Frodo helped Pippin off the table. “I think we have celebrated enough for tonight, Pip!”

He and Sam guided the two younger hobbits out of the Green Dragon and they staggered into the night. It was rather a slow walk back to Bag End. When they arrived Sam helped him to pour his cousins into bed.

“Well, Mr. Frodo, that was an interesting evening. You thank Mr. Pippin for inviting me. And I’ll just bring a bit of the Gaffer’s remedy up with me in the morning. I don’t much suppose they’ll see light of day before elevenses.”

Frodo grinned. “I suppose that you are right, Sam. And the Gaffer’s remedy will be very welcome.”

__________________________________________

“And that,” said Frodo “was the first time they kept that part of their pact. It wasn’t the last.” He laughed again at the memory, as did Faramir and Gimli at the image it brought them.

Merry sipped at his drink again, and sighed. He did miss Pippin on nights like this. Suddenly a thought came to him that sent a shiver down his spine.

If he had lost Pip after the Last Battle, he would never have been able to get drunk again.

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* In my story “The Dare”, here on Stories of Arda

**Taken from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 1, Chapter 4, “A Shortcut to Mushrooms”