When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 14 ~The Aftermath

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            After Bilbo and Merry took their baths, (Yes, Merry and Bilbo had been wearing their dirty clothes all day) we went to bed.

            I don’t believe that I have ever slept that hard in my life, and the next morning came far too quickly.  I was only awoken by the smell of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and sausage drifting throughout the house.

            I got up, got dressed, and wandered into the kitchen.  Bilbo was in there, finishing up the last of a stack of pancakes.  Merry and Frodo were sitting on the floor, (Glancing out the window, I checked to make sure that the furniture was still outside ;) and Bombur was sitting as near to the kitchen as he could get from the front room.

            “Hullo, Frodo, Merry, Cousin Bilbo, and Dwarf Bombur!” I said cheerily, joining them on the floor.  There was a plate set for me, and Merry and Frodo were already eating.

            It obviously was a bit too cheery for Merry and Frodo, as my greeting was met with glares.

            “Well, excuse me.” I said indignantly.

            “How can you be so cheerful this early?” Merry asked grumpily. 

            “It’s not early!” Bombur asserted, checking the clock on the mantel.  “It’s—achoo!—nearly 9 o’clock and a half.”

            We all jumped as Bombur sneezed.  It was if an earthquake had shaken the room.

            “Bless you Bombur!” Bilbo said in surprise, handing him a plate heaped with eggs, pancakes, sausage, and bacon.  “Should I make you some tea?”

            Bombur nodded.  “Could you bring be a handkie as bell?” he asked.

            Bilbo obliged, fishing in his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and handing it to Bombur.

            “Thag you,” Bombur said as it was handed to him.

            Merry and I looked at each other in fear.  Was it just us, or did Bombur sound slightly more nasally than usual?

            Bombur blew his nose, and it was as if a great trumpet was blasting in the kitchen.  We all dropped our forks and placed our hands over our ears, where we held them for several minutes.

            Finally Bombur finished with a resounding honk.  We carefully let go of our ears; ready to clap our hands back on at a moment’s notice, but fortunately that was unnecessary.   

            Frodo stared at Bombur, horrified.  “No...It can’t be...”

            “Bombur, are you sick?” Bilbo demanded.

            “A little,” Bombur admitted.

            Merry and Frodo groaned loudly.  “I hope that it isn’t contagious,” I thought worriedly.  That was the last thing that we needed: for everyone in Bag End to come down with the cold.  Merry was positively grumpy when he got sick, Frodo was whiny, and I was downright bored whenever it happened.  I tried to imagine Bilbo taking care of us all, but instead saw him being laid into a grave.  I shuddered at the image.

            “Don’t tell me you’re getting sick as well, Mr. Pippin,” Bilbo said, noticing my shiver.

            I shook my head fervently.  I was not going to get sick.

            “Well, Bombur,” Bilbo said, straining the tea leaves; “I certainly believe that you should take this tea and go lie down.”

            Bombur accepted it gratefully.  “I believe I shall,” he said, sipping the tea as he walked back to his bed.

            Making himself a plate of food, Bilbo sat down with us and began to eat.  I eyed the piles of dirty dishes, hoping that somebody else would be cleaning them. 

            “So,” Bilbo said, finishing off his fourth pancake, “I was thinking that after washing the dishes, we should wash off the furniture and bring it inside, hopefully in time for second breakfast.  Are we agreed?”

            We lads gave a half-hearted “Aye.”

            “Try not to be so enthusiastic,” Bilbo said with a roll of the eyes.

            After finishing breakfast, Bilbo filled the sink with hot, soapy water, leaving Frodo, Merry and I to wash the dishes, which was no easy task.

            “Merry, you wash, and Pippin, you dry,” Frodo ordered.

            “What will you do?” I asked, suspiciously.

            “I’ll put away,” he answered.

            Merry frowned.  “Frodo, that’s the easiest job!  Pippin should do it, and you should wash.”

            “Pippin isn’t tall enough to reach the upper cabinets.”

            “Fine then, I’ll put away.  But we are guests in your home; therefore you should assume the hardest job.  Isn’t that right, Bilbo?”  Merry raised his voice at the end of his statement.

            “Yes, yes, absolutely,” his answer floated back.

            Merry smiled at Frodo.  Frodo sighed heavily and picked up the first dish.

            Soon we were done.  Merry had found throughout the course of the washing that putting away was not the easiest job; he could not possibly put away the dishes as fast as Frodo washed them and I dried them.  That meant that while Frodo and I sat and watched, he was scurrying about trying to put the dishes away.

            “You should help me, you know,” he said, while precariously balancing a glass atop a stack of plates.

            Frodo shrugged.  “You were the one who said that I should wash,” he said matter-of-factly.

            Merry grumbled under his breath as he put the last of the dishes away.  “Finally!” he said, joining us on the floor.  No sooner had he sat down, when Bilbo walked in.

            “Good job lads!  Almost a pity that it’s now time for second breakfast,” he said.

            We groaned in unison.  Visions of me drying plates for the rest of my stay here filled my thoughts.

            Bilbo went to one of the pantries and brought out two loaves of bread and five apples.  We each took an apple while Bilbo sliced and buttered the bread. 

            “Should I take an apple to Bombur?” I asked.

            Bilbo shook his head.  “Bombur is sound asleep.”

            I nodded, but that comment struck me as odd.  “How can he be asleep?  He isn’t snoring,”

            Suddenly, the sound of Bombur’s snoring echoed throughout the house. 

            “Pippin!” everyone exclaimed.

            “What?”

            “How could you?”  Merry said, his face twisting in anguish.

            “I didn’t do it!”

            Bilbo stopped us before we could continue in this debate.  “Hoy, lads, stop,” he said, handing us each four pieces of generously buttered bread.  “Eat that, and then we must go clean my furniture.”

            We all devoured second breakfast quickly, wishing to get the furniture cleaning over as soon as possible.

            “I think that Merry should have to clean it himself,” I said, munching my apple.

            “I didn’t make you clean the pantry all by yourself when you got jam all over it.” Merry retorted.  “And, Pip, you got it everywhere, all over the jars, shelves, and not to mention yourself!”

            I primly wiped my fingers on a towel.  “I was five.  You, however, are old and should know better.”

            “Nonetheless,” Frodo cut in, “He helped you then, and you should help him now.  However stupid it was to put the furniture in the yard is not the point.”

            “It was Sam’s idea.”

            “But you listened to him, Merry.”

            Merry rolled his eyes and turned to Bilbo.  “Where shall we start?”

            “Well,” Bilbo began; “I thought that we should carefully wipe the furniture down with hot, wet rags.  That way...”

            I sighed.  This was going to be a long day.

~~~

Author’s Notes: I am not exactly sure on the finer points of speech when one has a cold.  I can speak it quite well, but as for writing it, I come to a severe problem.  If anyone has any tips, hints, or pointers on writing the words of the nasally plugged, they would be greatly appreciated.   

Also, while being unsure on exactly how Bilbo washes furniture, the method used is the one most often used by our family.