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At the End of His Rope  by Lindelea

Chapter 49. Eastfarthing Pony Races

The Mistress of Buckland stared aghast at row upon row of lovely teacakes, baked especially for the occasion, all inedible. 'All?' she repeated. 'Every one?'

The head cook shifted from foot to foot, saying in a low tone, 'Aye, Mistress.'

'How did this happen?' she demanded.

'Well, we were hard-pressed with all the crowd expected, and it was every hand put to work. The apprentices are very good to follow written directions exactly, Mum, and so they were set to stir up the teacakes and...'

'And none of them knew that the fat was bad,' Estella finished. She looked at the lump of creamy fat with its yellowish streaks that the cook's first assistant held out for her inspection.

'Aye, Mum, they said they thought it might smell a bit funny but perhaps the funny smell would bake out. They didn't know any better, Mistress, they shoulda been better supervised.' In defence of the apprentices, the head cook added, 'They followed the directions to perfection.'

Estella chuckled without humour. 'I can see that,' she said, looking at the beautiful, useless cakes. She sighed. 'Well, throw them all out. I doubt even the chickens or pigs would eat them. And throw out all the fat as well, there's naught to use it for. It'll taint any food it touches; you can't even use it to grease the pans.'

The cook nodded unhappily. 'Well I know it, Mistress... but what's to be done about tea?'

Estella considered. The flour to be used for today's festal food had been carefully apportioned. The Steward and the Master had gone over the harvest numbers and rationed out the grain, all the way to next year's hoped-for harvest. They'd eat through the winter, not well, but at least they shouldn't come up short, barring some disaster.

'What hasn't been baked yet?' she asked.

'The rolls for the late dinner, Mum,' the first assistant cook said helpfully.

Estella made a decision. 'All right, take half the amount of flour you'd have put into rolls,' she said. 'Mix up a crumble crust with crushed oats, we've some of them to spare, and sweetening, and butter--mind that the butter is sweet!' The cooks nodded. 'Take the blackberries you'd planned to serve as berries-and-cream, fill the large baking pans with them, top them with the crumble crust.'

'Aye, Mistress, I know just what you're intending,' the head cook said.

'Good,' she answered. 'Cut the squares small, beat up the cream for a topping. It won't be much of a tea, but it'll be something.' She sighed. 'You'll have to use butter until butchering time, when more fat can be rendered. It'll cut down the amount of cream available, but such is life. You can feed the skimmed milk to the chickens and pigs at the least.'

'Yes'm,' the head cook answered. Estella lingered a moment to watch the apprentices shoveling the teacakes into basins, to be taken out and buried, shook her head and sighed. She hoped the rest of the day would go better.

The festal breakfast for the residents of Brandy Hall was filled with laughter and cheer, even if it didn't "snow food and rain drink" as it had in previous years. The Master and Steward of Buckland watched the Thain's eyes move over the table, realising that he undoubtedly had an accurate appraisal of Buckland's harvest when he was done. There would be time enough later for discussion.

Then came the gay procession to the racecourse where huge crowds from all over Buckland and the Eastfarthing were already gathered, cheering, waving banners, singing. Not a lot of picnic food was evident, but the crowd made up in cheer what they lacked in provisions.

The Mayor, the Thain, and the Master and Mistress of Buckland stood up before the crowd, which stilled to hear the Mayor speak the opening words. There was a great roar of approval as he presented the Master and Mistress, but when he introduced the Thain, and Pippin stepped forward to greet the throng, stunned silence fell. The news of his healing had gone throughout the Shire, of course, but this was the first time that many of Eastfarthing had seen him since the previous year, at that time supported on either side, unable to walk unaided. Now he grinned as a swell of cheers began; he waved, bowed, stepped back with a nod to the Mayor, who shouted with a grin of his own, 'I now declare these festivities... open!'

Pippin sat down between Merry and Berilac, Doderas and Elberic behind the steward, ready to jump at his command. He watched as Pansy Brandybuck slowly walked back to the Hall with Estella, turned to catch Merry watching as well, said, 'I understand congratulations are in order.'

'Thank you,' the Master said gravely. 'At least, we hope so.' The Thain nodded.

'When?' he asked.

'In the spring,' Merry answered. Changing the subject, he pointed to the field, where the ponies were being lined up for the first race. 'Look, there's Wingfoot's grandson. Fastest pony in the Eastfarthing,' he said.

'O really?' Pippin said with interest. 'I'd heard Budgeford had a promising entry.'

'Ah, yes,' Merry agreed. 'The Bolgers' attempt to breed swift ponies is beginning to bear some serious fruit. But I still believe the Hall will carry the day... ours have the endurance as well as the speed, you know, and each pony will have to race in several heats this day.'

The Thain nodded and sat back to watch the races. No elevenses were served, he noted; of course, they were not strictly necessary after the festal breakfast, though they were customary. The midday meal was served to the notables, whilst visiting hobbits broke out picnic lunches during the noonday break. Once again, the meal was adequate, not sumptuous as one might expect of festival fare, and he saw even the picnickers were not stuffing themselves with food. Ah, well, one advantage was that it made for less to carry.

Merry left his seat several times, to check on race day details, and to share the nooning with Estella and their son, Pippin thought. Even when he remained seated, he was rarely still, eyes taking in every detail, leaning to comment to his steward, who'd occasionally send Doderic or Elberic on an errand. He certainly did not look tired to Pippin, and the watching Thain saw no obvious evidence of the heart trouble that had taken Merry's father; Merry's colour was good, he was not short of breath, he walked briskly, handled the excitement of the races well... of course, Pippin was no healer, but to his eyes there was little wrong with the Master.

Wingfoot's grandson proved to be the fastest pony in Eastfarthing, as Merry had predicted, though in the final race he beat the Budgeford pony by the barest margin. As the Sun was seeking her bed, the crowds packed up their blankets and picnic baskets and sleepy children. Those living nearby would make their way home, while those from farther away would camp overnight on the already-harvested hay fields, where many bright tents rested like countless butterflies upon the stubble. There would be singing and dancing under the stars, far into the night, and then the long journey homewards on the morrow.

The late dinner for residents of Brandy Hall and special guests took place by lantern and torchlight under the stars. Estella had gone early to bed, on healer's orders, for they were being extremely careful with the Mistress and the little one she carried.

At the end of the repast, as the glasses of brandy were being served out, the Master of Buckland rose for the usual toasts. He toasted the fair day, the winning pony and rider, the trainer, the workers who had made the day possible. He toasted the Mayor and the Thain. With a smile, he toasted the Mayor's youngest, 'for it is young Tolman's first birthday, this very day!' The tiny one smiled and gabbled and waved a spoon, and the Master bowed. 'Very nice speech, my lad,' he said, and was rewarded by a sprinkle of laughter.

Then Merry raised his glass again, saying, 'There are other birthdays I have been in the custom of toasting this day.' Pippin nodded and met Sam's eye. 'First, to Bilbo, perhaps the most... colourful member of the family, a very happy birthday to him, wherever he might be!' All drank silently, and Pippin shared an ironic smile with Merry. Then Merry lifted his glass again. 'But we must also drink to Frodo Baggins, who gave everything he loved to save the Shire. May his memory grow ever green in our hearts.' He fell quiet, and all raised their glasses in silent remembering.

Looking intently at Merry, Pippin saw the glass tremble in his cousin's hand. He stood quickly, raising his own glass higher, saying, 'To Cousin Frodo!' All who remembered Frodo rose to drink the toast. 'And now,' Pippin shouted, placing a hand on Merry's shoulder, 'a toast to our host, the founder of the feast, the Master of Buckland!' He gently eased Merry into his chair, thankful for the custom that the one being toasted must not stand for his own toast. The glasses were raised, and drained. The hobbits resumed their seats. The steward indicated to the servers that they should serve out more brandy as needed, then nodded to the Thain and Master.

Pippin rose and stretched. 'Very nice feast,' he said to all and nobody.

Sam rose as well, nodding to Rose. 'Enjoy yourself, my dear,' he said. 'We have some business to discuss. I will meet you back at the Hall.' She smiled, squeezed his hand, let him go.

Sam and Pippin stood to either side of Merry, unobtrusively steadying him as he stood up from his chair, then the three walked slowly back to the Hall, arms linked companionably.

'I saw that,' Pippin muttered when they'd covered half the distance and no ears were nearby to hear.

'I'm fine,' Merry said softly.

'You're not fine,' Sam contradicted. 'I saw it, too.'

Merry shook his head. 'You're fussing like a bunch of old aunties,' he said, 'there's nothing...' he staggered and they caught him.

'Nothing, eh?' Pippin said grimly. 'Would have made a nice picture, it would, for you to fall over in front of the entire Hall just now.'

'I'm fine,' Merry protested.

'Berilac told me about the dizzy spells,' Pippin said. 'More the fool, you, if you think to fool us.' The Mayor glanced at him sharply, and he nodded.

'I--' Merry started to say, but stopped. Had they not had a firm grip on him, he would have fallen.

Pippin glanced behind him, where Doderas walked, sent by Berilac to follow them. 'Tell the healer we're coming,' he said, 'but don't waken the Mistress.'

'Yes, Sir,' Doderas said, and jogged ahead. The Thain and Mayor lifted the unconscious Master between them and bore him to the Hall.





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