Solmath 1430 SR

Little Merry-lad toddled into the study, where Sam was writing his weekly letters to his brothers. The little face was crumpled with distress.

       "Fwo cwying!" he wailed. Sam dropped his pen in consternation.

       "What's the matter with him? Has your brother hurt himself?"

       "Not Fwo. Uncy Fwo cwying. He sad," the infant hiccupped, scrubbing at his eyes with pudgy fists as his father picked him up.

       Sam set Merry on his legs again and raced for the kitchen. Was Frodo ill or in pain? Had his melancholy returned? His heart was pounding and he began to imagine all sorts of scenes and situations, all of them sad and some positively tragic.

       "Frodo? Frodo!" Sam skidded into the kitchen, tripped on the step, stubbed his toe and swore, hopping about in pain. As he did so he cracked his knee on the leg of the table, dislodging some apples from their perch in the fruit bowl.. They rained down around Rufus, who was dozing on his cushion. The cat leapt up with a yowl and shot out from under the table, scooted between Sam's feet and tripped him. Sam landed heavily, his fall cushioned by a large bag of onions, which sagged over on to its side like a deflating balloon, causing the contents to spill out and roll across the floor.

       Frodo was at the other end of the table, chopping onions. He paused to wipe his streaming eyes and watched in amazement and increasing hysteria as Sam's series of disasters unfolded. As onions and apples rolled over the flagstones, Frodo began to laugh helplessly, leaning on the table, his giggles multiplying until he could barely breathe. His mirth was not dampened by the string of curses in a variety of languages which originated from the far end of the kitchen. Sam sat up and glared around but Frodo could only splutter and point to the rolling fruit and vegetables and give way to more laughter. It took several minutes to calm down and bring the hysteria under control enough to speak.

       "What...........what............what in the Shire...............are you doing, Sam?" He made his way to his friend's side to help him, trying not to succumb to another fit of the giggles and failing utterly.

       Sam looked up, his curses dying on his lips at the sight of his friend grinning. "Merry-lad said you were crying. I thought the worst and came running to see what was wrong."

       "I was cutting onions and they're very strong. Poor little lad must have seem me wiping my eyes and thought I was upset. That was quite an entrance! Oh Sam..........." He went into another bout of wheezing chuckles. "You silly ass!"

       Sam allowed himself to be helped to his feet. He was beginning to see the funny side, and Rufus' suspicious face peering round the doorway certainly helped. The cat edged slowly into the room and sniffed at an onion, than dabbed at it with one paw. When it rolled he bristled a little, then chased after it.

       Rose and the children appeared in the doorway, attracted by the noise. Merry-lad was still whimpering and clinging round his mother's neck, and the others were wide-eyed at the mess.

       Frodo attempted to explain, but the memory set him off again and he sat on the bench clutching his ribs, unable to say anything coherent. Sam had to recite the the whole saga from beginning to end until he too began to howl, and the family joined in. Only Merry still looked doubtful. Frodo took the child on his lap.

       "Fwo not sad?"

       "No, squirt, I'm not sad. I was cutting onions and they have something in them which makes tears flow."

       "Fwo not sad!" the little lad announced, to cheers. He leaned over the dish and sniffed a little too enthusiastically, then started back, rubbing his eyes and grimacing.

       "Did Sam-dad say bad words when he banged his toe?" Ellie asked.

       "Yes, he did." Sam had the grace to look suitably ashamed. "And even more when he banged his knee." Frodo turned to his friend. "Merry's been teaching you Rohirric curses. Very expressive. I'll have to learn those."

       "I hope someone is going to pick up all this lot," said Rose, with a meaningful stare at her husband. "This place looks like a bear garden." She inspected the saucepan of boiling potatoes and the pan of sausages while Frodo tipped the onions into another pan with some butter.

       The children gathered all the stray fruit and veg, leaving one small onion for Rufus, who was hunting it down with great determination and stealth.

       "Be careful, Roo-Roo. Onions can be dangerous if they're cornered!" Frodo murmured, to shrieks of laughter from everyone.

       Rufus crept along on his belly, edging closer to his prey, paused, wriggled his bottom and pounced. He caught the offending item between his front paws, then rolled on his back and kicked at it with powerful back feet. Having satisfied himself that the beast was no longer a threat, he lay back and washed his ears.

       "I'm sorry I startled you, old lad," said Sam, stroking the white chest and exposed belly. Never one to bear a grudge, Rufus accepted the apology graciously, rubbing his cheek against the proffered fingers.

       "We should put some arnica ointment on those bruises, Sam."

       "Aye. Onions aren't very soft to land on, I must say. Of course my flint-hearted wife is more concerned about them than she is about me." Sam tried to look wounded.

       "That is because a bruised Sam will heal. Bruised onions and apples go bad," Rose teased, kissing him on the nose. "Still, I can understand you panicking if you though Frodo was in trouble." She shook her head and laughed. "My lads, what will you do next?"

       A little later the family sat down to their dinner, while out in the passage Rufus was busy. Having dealt with the troublesome onion, he now had a particularly vicious cotton reel to stalk. All this and fruit missiles to cope with! There was no peace for an accomplished hunter and family guardian.