Part III
 
 

2:00 PM

In the heart of the marketplace, in the tailor’s stuffy little shop surrounded by more fabrics than could be counted, Merry and Pippin were not singing. They weren’t humming or even whistling. In fact, they were barely conscious.

What had started as a simple pick-up had soon turned into an emergency altering. The tailor had made a nearly unprecedented error and had measured the sleeves for Frodo’s formal dining shirt two inches too short. The sleeves now had to be removed and completely redone.

“I don’t know how that happened, Mr. Baggins,” the tailor muttered for the twentieth time. “I’m most sorry for this. There will, of course, be a deduction to the fee for your inconvenience.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Frodo from the center of the room, where he stood patiently as the tailor took new measurements. He glanced over at his cousins, who were mimicking the postures they had assumed earlier in the novelty shop. “Sorry, cousins, but if this isn’t fixed now, it won’t be ready in time for Pally’s end-of-summer feast.”

“Can’t we at least go outside?” Pippin begged, looking at Frodo pleadingly. Merry simply continued staring up at the ceiling, as though he had lost all desire to blink. “I found a shawl for my mum for Yule and if I get it now, I can surprise her this year for a change.”

“The weaver will still be there once this is finished,” said Frodo. He reasoned this was a rather convenient and perfect way of keeping Merry from causing mischief. If he let Merry take Pippin to get the shawl, there was no telling what his cousin might attempt in the process.

“The weaver might be there, but the shawl might not be,” Pippin pointed out.

“I thought you said it was too early to get Yule gifts,” Frodo reminded.

Pippin didn’t miss a beat. “I did but you said you get your gifts now and that got me thinking that Mum’s always there when I go shopping and so she always knows what I get her and I can never surprise her and it’s a not a real gift if you’re not surprised but the only way I can surprise her is if I go with Da or Vinca and Da’s too impatient and doesn’t let me spend money and Vinca’s always teasing me and telling me to buy ugly things but Mum doesn’t like ugly or cheap things so I need to get it now while I have spending money and they’re not here. Please Frodo.” And then he pouted.

Frodo nearly wavered, but in the end he held his ground. There was no way he was letting Merry out of his sight if he could help it. “This will only be another few minutes. If the shawl is no longer there, I’m sure the weaver could make another if you describe it to her. You could pay for it now and when it’s finished, I’ll pick it up and keep it at Bag End until you come back for my birthday.”

Pippin pouted more and slumped into his chair. Beside him, Merry stifled an aggravated sigh.

At that moment, at Bag End, the delivery lad arrived with all of Frodo’s purchases from the marketplace. He rattled the gate as he had been instructed to do and let out a shrill whistle. At the rear of the smial, Sam and his cousins looked up and Sam waved. He dropped his spade and came to let the delivery lad in.

“Hullo, Basil,” Sam greeted, opening the gate. He motioned for the lad to follow him up the walk path to the front door.

“Hullo, Sam,” Basil greeted back and shoved the push cart up the shallow slope. He propped it to a stop at the porch and helped Sam haul the parcels inside, where they set everything down in the entryway.

“What’re ‘ee doing wit’ them spades?” Basil asked once they were finished and back outside. Jolly was still kneeling down, leveling the ground and Tom was following after. They were nearly done with their first pass through. Sam briefly explained the purpose for their project as he stepped into the study and searched the master’s desk for his coin purse. Basil stood in the entryway, listening, and shook his head slowly. “Won’t all that stone be a mite slippery?”

“No more’n grass or mud, I expect,” Sam said, getting more than a bit tired of that question. Now that he thought on it more, the stone slabs didn’t seem like such a crazy idea after all.

“No offense to ‘ee, Sam,” Basil said, “but that master of yours has-”

“What?” Sam asked sharply, coming out of the study with a couple of farthings in hand.

Basil bit back the rest of his words at Sam’s measured glare. “He’s got hisself a right fine smial,” Basil said at last. He took the coin Sam offered him and followed the gardener outside. Basil picked up the handles of his push cart and waved to Jolly and Tom, shouting farewell, and Jolly and Tom waved back, never stopping their work.

Sam watched as Basil let himself out of the gate, then reentered Bag End to put everything away. Most everything went into the pantries and larder. He put the stationery and parchment in the desk in the study, right where his master liked to keep such things. The candles he placed throughout the smial, where they looked to be needed most. The bathing oils went into the second bath, as that was the one Mr. Frodo used all the time. The wall sconces and the tinder box went into Mr. Frodo’s bedchamber, as Sam wasn’t sure what his master’s intentions were for the sconces but he did know that Mr. Frodo wanted the tinder box well-hidden; the box was to be his master’s birthday gift to Master Merry.

He left the sconces on his master’s dresser and, bringing the tinder box with him, he knelt in front of the wardrobe. The wardrobe was rather large, stained cherry oak, and was held up on large, fat feet that raised the bottom of the wardrobe off the ground by a couple of inches. He reached underneath the wardrobe and felt around on the underside of the wardrobe for the hidden compartment there that his master had told him about that morning. His fingers stumbled about clumsily, but finally he found them, to little slip-latches shaped like triangles by the feel of them. He slid both the latches toward him and heard a ‘thunk’ as the hidden compartment fell loose. He lowered his hand flush to the ground and gently brought the little drawer out with it. It crossed his mind that this could have been where old Mr. Bilbo used to keep his jewels and gold, for who would ever think to look for them in such a place, and that Mr. Frodo was placing a good store of faith in him by telling him about this secret drawer, but he dismissed those thoughts quickly as he placed the tinder box within the drawer and then concentrated on getting it back into its place. He had to fight with it a bit and was eventually obliged to lying flat on the ground to hold the drawer with one hand and fix the latches with the other.

That done, he quickly forgot all about the hidden compartment (or would forget about it, given enough time) and picked up the now-empty canvas bags in which everything had been delivered. These he would take with him when he left tonight, for his Gaffer to use when he started harvesting his potatoes. Mr. Bilbo had always given the bags to his Gaffer and Mr. Frodo had seen no reason to part from tradition.

He stored the bags in the back entryway with the berries, then stepped outside to rejoin his friends, who were now crouching low and glancing back up the path.

“What do you think, Sam?” Tom asked. “Does it need another going over?”

Sam squatted to near eye level with the ground and shook his head. “That’ll do right enough,” he declared and the three friends stood as one, Jolly rubbing his knees.

“So what’s next? Hauling all them stone slabs out here, I suppose,” Jolly said, now leaning against the leveling beam.

“They’re heavy, but not so much as we can’t all take one a piece,” Sam said. “Doesn’t really matter how we lay them down, so long as we use them all. There should be enough for the job and there should be room left in between the slabs. I’m thinking I’ll fill the spaces with some soil and then plant some grass to grow there.”

Tom nodded, envisioning what his cousin had in mind. “That’ll look right nice when it’s grown in,” he said and Jolly agreed. Tom clapped his hands together and started back up the slope to the back porch. “Let’s get started then. If we finish quickly enough, we might be able to finish in time for tea. We could go visit the lasses for a bit.”

Sam liked this idea, so they got to work. He waited for his friends to join him at the back door, then led the way back into the entryway. He selected a slab from the top of the nearest pile. Making sure that his knees were under him and his feet were planted firmly, he lifted the slab, grunting slightly under the weight, then made his way back out the door. Tom entered when Sam was out and Jolly followed in like fashion.

They quickly set a pattern, so that none of them would be crowding the other getting into or out of the door, and though the work was hard, they started singing again, right where they had left off. They were now on their fourth pass of their song and so far, none of them were tiring of it.

He passed the archipelagoes
Where yellow grows the marigold,
Where countless silver fountains are,
And mountains are of fairy-gold…*

Stone by stone, slab by slab, they slowly went about their work. The trips became more strenuous the farther along they got, but they never missed a beat of their singing, so used they were to such work. In fact, they were so wrapped up in their labor that they at first didn’t notice the audience they had acquired, until Sam looked up after laying down a particularly large slab and spotted them. He shot up quickly and nearly knocked Tom down.

“Rosie, Goldie, what’re you doing here?” he asked accusingly and tried not to notice the coy smirks on their faces.

Tom quickly set down his slab, being careful not to let it drop but not exactly paying mind to lay it down as he should. “Hullo there, Goldie,” he said.

“Good day, lads,” Rosie greeted. “The littlest ones are napping, so May said we could take a break if we like. And we very much are enjoying our break.” She looked pointedly at Sam, who just suddenly became aware of the fact that he was shirtless. “You’re looking fine, Sam.”

“Rosie,” Goldie turned to her friend and hissed, blushing nearly as brightly as Sam was. Tom just puffed out his chest more and Jolly nearly chocked on laughter as he too set down his slab and joined the others in this unexpected break.

“We brought tea,” Rosie continued and held up some water skins. Marigold was holding a bag of muffins.

“Or we could take tea now,” Tom reasoned. “Either way, we’ll be finished about the same time, I reckon.”

“I reckon,” Sam agreed, still blushing and wishing his shirt wasn’t laying on the grass by the back porch. “‘Twould be a shame for Rosie to walk all the way up here for naught again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was for naught,” Rosie teased, causing Sam to blush even brighter than before.

“Lor’ bless me if I ever become as hopeless as the two of you,” Jolly said and, shaking with laughter, went to join his sister at the fence.
 

3:00 PM

Pippin burst out of the tailor’s shop with a shout of glee. Merry followed close behind, keeping his enthusiasm a little better concealed. He glanced quickly to the right and thanked the stars above that the healer’s apprentice was still there, though it looked like she would be closing shop soon. He would have to move quickly.

Frodo emerged behind him and patted him on the back. “Come along, Merry,” he said. “Let’s get Pippin that shawl, then we’ll pop back into Mable’s for tea before going home.”

Merry and Frodo trailed behind Pippin, who was making a beeline for the weaver’s booth. By the time they caught up, Pippin was frowning at the remaining shawls. “It’s gone,” he stated.

“I’m sorry Pippin,” Frodo said sympathetically before turning to the weaver. “Will you be able to remake the shawl, if my cousin can describe it to you?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Baggins,” the weaver said. She looked down at Pippin, waiting for the description, but it was not forthcoming.

Pippin was frowning deeply and didn’t seem to notice his waiting audience as he scanned the other items. Finally, he shook his head and said, “No, I’ve changed my mind. I think she’ll like a rug better instead, for the kitchen,” and then proceeded to dig through the highest-stacked pile. He started at the bottom of the stack, pulling rugs out randomly to get a better look at them.

“Be careful, Pippin, or you’re going to spill them,” Frodo warned.

No sooner did he speak the words than Pippin pulled out a rug at such an angle and with such force that the whole pile tottered and began to topple over. Both Frodo and the weaver leapt forward in an attempt to prevent the stack from falling but they were too late. The pile crashed to the ground and rugs were lying happenstance everywhere.

“Sorry,” Pippin said and winked at Merry as Frodo stooped down to help the weaver clean the mess. Merry winked back and slipped away. Within moments, he was standing in front of the apprentice’s booth once again. A quick glance around showed him that there were still plenty of shoppers and vendors nearby. Not as many as he would have liked, but it mattered not; good rumors had a way of spreading quickly.

“Hullo again,” Willow said, remembering him from before. “Can I help you now, dear?”

Merry glanced back over his shoulder at Frodo then turned back, worry stitched all over his face. “I certainly hope so,” he said, his voice raised just enough to carry over the din of shoppers and vendors, “because it’s not for me, it’s for my cousin, Frodo Baggins.”

“Oh?” said the apprentice and immediately several nearby shoppers slowed down and eavesdropped conspicuously.

Merry nodded gravely. “You see, he’s had this problem for a while now and I keep telling him to go to the healer, but he’s so deathly embarrassed about it that he refuses to do so. He keeps insisting it will go away on its own, but it keeps getting worse so far as I can tell.”

“Well, whatever is the matter?” Willow asked and now several shoppers were standing about, pretending to browse while they waited for the pronouncement.

Merry leaned over as if to whisper the answer, but the whisper wasn’t much lower than his normal speaking voice. As he leaned over, so did several of the other nearby hobbits. “He is, what’s the word? Costive,” informed Merry. “He’s got his pipes all clogged up, as you might say, and he’s not dropped a stone since mid-Astron.”

“Mid-Astron?” exclaimed an elderly hobbitess. “I’ve not heard of it going that long. Why, he should be dead!”

“You would think so,” Merry replied gravely, “which is why I’m so very worried about him.”

“Isn’t he eating enough grain?” asked the blacksmith.

“He is. That’s the odd thing. He can eat an entire loaf all by himself in one day,” Merry intoned. He glanced behind him to check on his cousins; Pippin had just toppled another pile of rugs right on top of Frodo, after tripping backwards and stepping on Frodo’s foot.

“Does he have any other symptoms?” the pretty apprentice asked.

Merry nodded. “He gets extremely pale, more so than usual anyway, and he’ll break out into cold sweats when its really bad. He’ll run to the privy only to have nothing come of it, other than the most horrendous smell, that covers nearly the entire top of the Hill. I almost thought I’d die twice from the fumes, just this morning alone.”

“He’s not got hisself a sweet tooth, has he?” asked a young mother with a bairn on her hip. “Or eating too much meat and not enough to go with it?”

“He eats quite regular,” Merry said.

“And he’s still getting no fruit for his labor?” asked a young lad, who appeared to be about Pippin’s age.

“Not since mid-Astron,” reminded a baker.

“I think it might be some odd allergy or something,” Merry suggested.

“I need to know for certain before I can help him,” Willow said.

“Since mid-Astron!” exclaimed a newcomer at the back of the crowd. “It’s a wonder he can walk at all.”

“There must be something you can suggest, a standard remedy,” Merry pleaded now. “Something needs to be done now. I’d hate to see the condition he’ll be in after another four months, or even four days.”

“Let’s see what I can mix up,” Willow offered and started rummaging through her supplies. Now that the talk was turning to business, the standers-by went back to their shopping and the vendors went back to their booths, but they were whispering excitedly amongst themselves, already spreading the word about Mr. Frodo’s unfortunate health condition. At that same instant, Pippin completed his purchase of a tea cozy and Frodo spotted Merry across the square.

“How long has Merry been over there?” Frodo asked Pippin as the lad slowly counted his change.

Pippin shrugged. “I don’t know. How long?”

“Let’s go,” Frodo said. He was ready to leave and go home, and he didn’t like the look of the dispersing crowd that had surrounded the healer’s booth just moments before. He could only hope that Merry was making a fool of himself flirting with the pretty apprentice but he feared that wasn’t so.

He led Pippin across the square, slightly favoring his injured foot, and noticed that many shoppers were giving him sympathetic looks. One gammer came up and patted him on the arm. “I do hope you start feeling better soon, Mr. Baggins.”

“I feel fine,” Frodo said, baffled.

The gammer then patted him on the cheek and clucked her tongue. “Such a brave heart,” she murmured and went back to her shopping. The other gammers with her nodded in agreement.

Frodo narrowed his eyes at the back of Merry’s head and marched toward his cousin as best he could, no longer caring if Pippin was keeping up. He was nearly to his destination and was readying to strangle Merry for whatever he had done when the blacksmith whistled to him and shouted across the square, “Oi! Mr. Baggins! I just now remembered. Last time I was knotted up like a rope, me missus had me drink some castor oil. ‘Tis nasty stuff but it gets the job done.”

“I’ve found that rosemary and thyme covers the smell quite nicely,” put in a post messenger standing outside the post office.

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind,” Frodo said as civilly as he could through clenched teeth. He crossed the remaining distance to the healer’s booth and seethed, “Merry.”

Merry turned around and feigned innocence. “Oh Frodo, there you are. I was just talking to Willow here. Did you know she’s been the healer’s apprentice for two years now?”

“Merry,” Frodo said again, fighting for calm and failing miserably. “What did you do?”

“Now, Mr. Baggins, Master Merry was only concerned for you,” Willow said, trying to soothe the infuriated Master of the Hill. “You have a serious condition. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about either. Everyone gets costive from time to time, though I never heard of it lasting this long. You really should have come to my mistress sooner, but I think this mixture will help. It’s quite strong.”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” Frodo said. “I thank you for your concern, but the only one who will be needing your services after today is Merry.”

“He’d said you were denying it,” Willow intoned gravely. “Now, put this in your tea, two pinches a cup, four times a day to start. After you’re loosened up a bit, you can take it down to three.”

She held the pouch of herbs out to him. Frodo did his best not to direct his anger at the lass and Merry did his best not to smile goofily and burst into tearful laughter. This had worked perfectly! He would have to thank Dody and Ilby when he returned to Brandy Hall for gifting him with this idea.

Frodo ignored the offered herbs and instead grabbed onto Merry’s arm with an iron grip. He pulled his cousin from the booth and once they were far enough away, he hissed into Merry’s ear, “You will pay for this, Meriadoc Brandybuck, make no mistake about that.”

“What’s wrong, Cousin? Can’t take your own medicine?” Merry asked and finally lost control of his laughter. He doubled over with mirth, tears springing to his eyes, and was soon grasping at a stitch in his side.

Frodo could only stand there, glaring at his cousin as more passersby wished him his health and offered up advice. If that wasn’t enough, a young lad of about seven years whispered rather loudly to his sister, “I heard it from Tory that he hasn’t done number two in four months. That must be a record.”

This of course sent Merry into another laughing fit, just as Pippin tugged on Frodo’s shirt. “What Pip?” Frodo asked.

“I went back and got a shawl. Do you think it matches the tea cozy?” Pippin asked and held up the two items, which were quite mismatched. “Oh, and the weaver said that if your plumbing’s backed up, you should get it flushed, but I told her there was nothing wrong with your plumbing. There isn’t, is there?”

Merry was now laughing so hard he could barely stand and he had since ceased to breathe properly. Pippin continued to look up at Frodo, the picture of innocence with his tea cozy and shawl.

“I need a drink,” Frodo said.

“We’re going for tea now?” Pippin asked but Frodo walked past Mable’s and into The Ivy Bush. He sat against the far wall in the dimmest lit booth, Merry and Pippin across from him, Merry still chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes and Pippin looking curiously between the two.

The barkeep brought Frodo a tankard before he could even order one, and Frodo gratefully gulped down the draught – only to choke it back and spit it out an instant later. The brew was so strong, Frodo’s eyes instantly watered up and his face flushed scarlet. Frodo looked more closely at the tankard, then up at the hovering and expectant barkeep. “What is this?” he demanded.

“‘Tis me strongest malt liquor, mixed with cordial to help it go down,” the barkeep announced. “That’ll unclog you, if naught else does, and a lot quicker’n those healer’s herbs. On the house.” He turned about and walked away as Merry dissolved into giggles once again.

“Frodo, you’re clogged up?” Pippin asked.

Frodo did not respond, only tipped his head back and took another swig. Oh yes, Merry would most definitely pay for this.
 

4:00 PM

Sam, Tom, Jolly, Rosie and Marigold sat in a circle against the well in the lengthening shade cast from Bag End, passing around the last of the tea and laughing at a joke Jolly had just finished telling. The last hour had passed without their knowledge, so wrapped up they were in each other’s company.

Sam had donned his shirt shortly after the lasses arrived. Jolly and Tom now also wore their shirts, but unbuttoned still. Rosie, not one to be daunted by the shyness of her friend, had instantly made herself comfortable at Sam’s side. Marigold sat on her brother’s right, with Tom beside her and Jolly between his two siblings.

“Whoever takes the last sip of tea tells the next story,” Jolly said and passed the near-empty water skin to Tom.

The rules of this game were simple. Everyone had to take a drink of the tea, and no one could tell a story twice in a row. Tom tested the weight of the water skin and swished the tea inside to determine how much was left. Then he filled his cup halfway and indicated with a wink and a nod toward Sam that Marigold should do the same. Goldie caught the meaning and filled her cup halfway also before passing the water skin to Sam.

Sam too felt the water skin and knew he had one of two options. He could fill his cup just enough to coat the bottom and give Rosie the last serving, or he could finish the tea himself and risk telling whatever story Jolly demanded of him. Knowing he would likely live to regret this, he emptied the water skin into his cup and shrugged as he passed it to Rosie.

“Looks as though it’s me,” Sam said. “What am I telling then, Jolly?”

Jolly grinned impishly and turned to look at his brother. A spark of understanding passed between them and Jolly nodded at Tom’s wink. “Tell us, Sam, about your first kiss, or who you want your first kiss to be with.”

“Er,” Sam muttered with a sideways glance at Rosie, who was watching him intently. He could feel the blush as it raced up his neck to his face, and wouldn’t have been surprised if someone told him he was brighter than a ripe tomato.

As if to make things worse, Goldie said, “Sam’s not kissed no one yet.”

“Goldie!” Sam hissed, as Tom and Jolly laughed.

“So then who will be the lucky first lass?” Jolly asked.

“I don’t know, as it hasn’t happened yet,” Sam answered, hoping that would suffice and knowing it wouldn’t.

“No, come on now, Sam, remember what Jolly said: who do you want it to be with,” Tom said.

“Yes, Sam, who do you want it to be?” Rosie asked, a spark in her own eyes, but not one of mischief.

“Um,” Sam said, suddenly breathless under that keen gaze. “Well, I, um…”

A commotion at the gate saved Sam from having to answer. His master had returned from market at last.

Sam jumped up, horrified to be caught lazing about while there was work to be finished, noting for the first time that nearly an hour had passed since they first sat down to tea. How had they lost track of the time so badly? They should have finished laying the stones by now!

The others were equally horrified, and the lasses doubly so, for they should have returned to help May long before now and they had known all along that they shouldn’t have even been at Bag End. They scurried about to clean up from tea and Sam was frantically putting together an apology or explanation of some sort.

Mr. Frodo walked toward them, a storm in his icy glare, and Master Merry and Master Pippin followed close behind. Master Pippin looked a mix between amused and subdued, whilst Master Merry was just plain amused and more than a bit smug.

“Master, I can explain,” Sam started but his master wasn’t listening.

Mr. Frodo looked down at the half-finished walk path. “I see you aren’t finished,” he stated. “Good.”

“Good?” Sam asked.

“Yes, this is perfect actually. Merry and Pippin can help you with the rest of it.”

This gave everyone pause and for the first time in an hour, Merry’s smug smile faded ever so slightly. “What?” he asked. He knew Frodo was angry, but he couldn’t be serious. “Why Pippin?”

“Because he helped you,” Frodo stated.

“He did not.”

“I am not a buffoon, Meriadoc,” Frodo shot back, not caring if Sam and his friends saw him angry. “I know he helped you. This is your retribution and neither of you are to be helped. You’ll carry those stones and you’ll do as Sam tells you. Understand, Samwise?”

“I do, but it’s really not necessary, Master,” Sam said, amazed that he was keeping his voice from shaking. He had never seen his master so angry as he was right now, and it was more than a bit chilling. “I know we’re a bit behind, but Tom, Jolly and I’ll have this finished in no time.”

“They can still help you,” Frodo stated. “Five pairs of hands are better than three.”

“I can’t disagree with that sir, but Master Pippin’s a mite young, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” Sam said.

Frodo looked at his gardener, the icy glare turned somehow even colder. When he spoke, his voice was perfectly calm, a dangerous contradiction to his stern expression. “They’re helping you.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said, and watched with the others as Frodo turned and walked up the half-finished path and entered the smial through the back door. The door slammed shut, a loud wooden shout in the stunned silence that filled the garden.

After a time, Tom leaned into Sam’s side and whispered in his ear, “What was that about? Why is he angry with you?”

“I think I may have given him some bad advice,” Sam answered miserably. He’d never had his master angry with him before and he didn’t like it.

“What’d you tell him?” Tom asked.

Sam glanced over at Merry and Pippin, and Merry was once again grinning smugly, too proud of himself to be deflated for too long. “‘Let him get you’,” Sam quoted. “I figured it’d be better than trying to dodge him for the next two weeks. I guess I was wrong.”

The lasses left then with hasty good-byes. While they weren’t looking forward to May’s wrath, it would be a hundred times better than Mr. Frodo’s. They dashed out of the garden and were through the gate and down the lane before anyone could blink.

“Well, let’s get started,” Sam said.

“You go open the door,” Jolly whispered and gave Sam a little nudge.

“Don’t be silly Jolly. We’ll have to go in to get the rocks anyway,” Tom said but he held back despite his words until Sam took the first step forward.

Merry watched as Sam and his cousins approached the back door with careful and silent steps. He turned to Pippin and slapped him supportively on the back. “Well, Pip, seems Frodo’s determined to teach us a lesson. Let’s go then, shall we,” he said, his smirk still securely in place.

Pippin grumbled. He was not happy with the outcome of today’s events. He knew all along that he would end up in trouble, no matter what Merry had said. Yet he had gone along anyway and now he was stuck having to haul stones that were easily as heavy as he was. Why did he always listen to Merry?

“Come on, it won’t be so bad,” Merry assured when Pippin didn’t budge. “The two of us together will have no trouble carrying one of those stones. With Sam, Tom and Jolly working, this will be done in no time anyway. We’ll probably wind up only having to make a few trips.”

Pippin glared up at Merry, who had clearly missed the reason Pippin was upset. He huffed out his frustration and followed his cousin to the back door. They both stood outside and out of the way to watch how the others lifted the stones. First, they stooped down. Then, they lifted the slabs just enough to steady them on their knees. Next, they secured their arms beneath the stones, and finally stood up with them, leaning back just slightly to regain their balance and rest the stones on their bellies, taking some of the weight off their arms and onto their more steady back and legs. They then walked steadily out of the door and down the path, their feet wide apart for more stability.

“We can do that,” Merry said when Jolly, the last of the three, exited the foyer. Pippin just continued to glare up at him. “Here, I’ll carry the stones, you just follow along beside me and pretend that you’re helping me to steady them. There’s no need for you to do more than you need to.”

Pippin agreed to this with a shrug and watched worriedly as Merry mimicked the other lads. He stooped down to kneel before the next slab, which was easily more than Pippin’s weight, but Merry wasn’t too concerned. He had carried Pippin around many times before, mostly in play, and he figured this wouldn’t be too different from that. He reached over, shimmied the topmost slab so that it rested a little bit off of the others, then wrapped his hands around either edge and hefted it with a heave.

At first, he thought his arms had been ripped from their sockets, so great was the pain, but upon realizing that he was still fully intact, he understood that his body was simply refusing to do the job set for it. The slab hadn’t moved an inch off the pile. He blew his curls out of his eyes, then tried again, shimmying the slab off the pile a bit more to get a better grip, this time not just with his fingers, but with his forearms as well. He steadied himself a bit more than before and used all his strength this time. He managed to get the slab onto his knees, but only just, and then he had to fight to not let the weight crush his knees to the floor. He hurriedly repositioned the stone so that it rested on his legs, which helped somewhat, but he still needed to stand with the blasted thing and then walk down the path to put it in its place. With a growing sense of dread, he realized that the end of the path would only get farther and farther away, while he would get more and more weary. Oh, but Frodo had chosen his punishment well.

Merry paused for a moment to catch his breath, which was already coming short and fast, while Pippin stood back and watched his cousin with increasing alarm. Merry wasn’t used to such labor, unlike the other lads, and while they had made this look easy, it was like moving a mountain for his cousin. Yet Merry didn’t complain. He waited for the space of half a minute, then secured the stone beneath his arms and stood on shaking, protesting legs. He stumbled backward a few steps, but quickly steadied himself, panting and sweating already. He turned to the door to find the other lads already back and waiting for him to clear the way. He grimaced a smile and shuffled his way out of the foyer, Pippin beside him, his hands up to hold the bottom of the stone and take some of its weight off his cousin.

“Just don’t drop it on me,” Pippin said.

“I won’t… drop… it.” Merry strained, concentrating on shuffling down the path and avoiding stepping into one of the cracks. The last thing he needed to do was trip and sprain his ankle, and likely drop the stone on Pippin in the process. He didn’t even notice as Sam, then Jolly, then Tom passed them up, until he reached the end and Sam told him where to place his slab. Jolly and Tom exchanged looks with Sam, then went back to retrieve their next slabs. Sam stayed behind, a look of apology in his brown eyes.

Merry carefully stooped back down and put the stone where indicated, grunting and huffing all the while. He set the slab down and sighed with relief. He looked up at Sam from this position, his breath ragged, his muscles burning, and sweat dripping down his face. Sam looked down at him, and he burned with shame that the gardener wasn’t even panting and had barely broken a sweat. Pippin, who had only taken a slight weight off Merry, was also winded and glistening with sweat. How did Sam and his friends make this look so easy?

“Tom, Jolly and I will have all these stones laid out in no time,” Sam stated, and Merry was certain he could hear pity in his voice. “I figure it’d be easier, on Master Pippin at any rate, if you two took up some spades and started filling the cracks with soil, and then load up the wheel barrow with the excess dirt and haul it to the compost heaps. That is, if you’re wanting.”

“Frodo said we were to carry the rocks,” Merry pointed out.

“Aye, but he also said you was to listen to me, meaning no disrespect,” Sam said. “I’ll take the brunt of his wrath if he gets upset by it.”

Merry nodded grudgingly. “Very well,” he said and forced himself to stand up. His knees were wobbly, but he managed to stay upright. Jolly and Tom passed him again, each with their own stone, and Merry remembered with a stab of shame that Jolly was two years his junior.

Sam walked past them back to the foyer and Merry swallowed his pride, hurtful though it was. If it were him alone, he would work himself to the bone to prove that he could keep up with the other lads, but he had Pippin to think about. He nodded to Pippin. “Let’s go,” he mumbled and looked about for the spades and soil.

“Frodo won’t consider this helping us?” Pippin asked of Sam’s plans.

“If he does, I’m sure he’ll say something,” Merry reasoned. “But since his precious Sam told us to do it, I’m betting he won’t say anything against it.” He handed a spade to Pippin and then, being sure to keep out of the way as the other lads came and went, they started to fill in the cracks with the soil.

From the kitchen window, Frodo watched his cousins work while he waited for the water to boil and the meat to brown. He shouldn’t have been so hasty in dictating their punishment and he rather regretted it now. He didn’t want his cousins hurt after all, and that seemed a likely outcome as they struggled with the first slab. He was glad when Sam stopped them and, after a word, his cousins changed to an easier job. Still, that likewise meant that Merry and Pippin were getting off rather easy for what they had done to Frodo, but he had already thought of another way to punish them for their humiliating prank at the marketplace.

After the meat was ready and the water bubbling, Frodo left the window and trotted to the pantries to retrieve the rest of the things he would need. He would make not only a main course, but dessert as well. He paused in the tunnel when he saw Sam readying to take his next slab and whistled to him. Sam looked up. “Thank you for looking after them,” Frodo said.

“I’m sorry I gave you bad advice, sir,” Sam said.

“No, you were right. Better to get it over and done with. I’m sorry for scolding you. You didn’t deserve it. Just do me a favor and keep them busy and out of my hair for a while,” Frodo said.

“Sure thing, Master,” Sam said.

“When you get close to finishing, let me know and I’ll draw them baths. You and the Cotton lads are invited to join us for dinner, naturally,” Frodo said. Sam nodded happily to this and went off with a hurry.

Frodo returned to the kitchen to see to the food. The meal was baking in the oven when Sam gave the signal that they would be finishing up soon. Frodo nodded out the window, then headed off first to the guest bath then his own private bath to draw water. He lit the fires and started the water to heating, then filled up two more buckets of cool water and poured those directly into the tub. He left the other water to boil and returned to the kitchen to begin afters, occasionally peeking out the window to watch his cousins work and make sure they weren’t slacking.

When Sam looked up at the window a half hour later and nodded that they were as good as done, Frodo returned to the baths to take the water off the fires and pour the heated water into the tubs. Then he hurried back to the kitchen to toss a quick salad and start the pie baking. When that was in order, he went outside to fetch his cousins. They happily dropped their spades and followed him into the smial.

“Frodo, we’re sorry, we…” Merry started.

“No need, Merry,” Frodo said. “Go on, take my bathing room. Pip, you take the guest bath. Take your time. Dinner will be waiting when you’re done, and I’m making your favorites – pot roast and apple crumble pie.”

“Good, because I’m famished,” Pippin said as his stomach grumbled to back up his words. He trotted down the tunnel to the guest bath, but Merry remained.

“He didn’t really want to help me,” Merry said to Frodo.

“Yet he still did,” Frodo replied. “I’m sorry if I humiliated you before, Merry. You paid me back good and proper. I think we will both think a little more the next time we decide to play such pranks.”

Merry nodded. “I know I certainly will,” he agreed, then went off to his own bath.

Oh, and Frodo would too. He would never think to humiliate his cousins again. However, playing a harmless prank was still in game, and he did owe Merry more than a few, especially since Merry had been lying through his teeth about being sorry.

He waited until both his cousins were securely in their baths, the doors closed shut, then went to the wardrobe in the kitchenette and pulled out two lengths of string. He paused just briefly, wondering if perhaps he was being too cruel to deprive hard-working hobbits a well-earned meal, but when he thought of the inquiries about his health he’d have to put up with for the next several weeks, that decided him. He tiptoed silently to the first guest bath and tied a rope to the handle of the door, then tied the other end of the rope to the pantry door next to bath. He tied the rope taunt, then trotted down to the other end of the tunnel to his private bath and repeated the process there. He smiled at his handy work and nodded with satisfaction. Simple but effective. Neither of his dear cousins would be emerging any time soon.

He twirled around and went outside to retrieve his helpers.
 

5:00 PM

Sam and his friends finished planting the last of the grass seeds, then put everything into the tool shed. Once that was locked and secure, they went to the well, admiring their handy work as they went. Tom winched up a bucket and dipped a clean rag into the cool water to clean themselves up with.

“I have to admit, once the grass grows in it’ll look a fair sight,” Jolly said.

“I’m just glad Mr. Baggins didn’t take ill to us giving his cousins the easy job,” Tom said. He washed off the last of the sweat and grime from his arms, then dunked the rag again and handed it to Sam. “I’m none too sure about dining with them all though.”

“Mr. Frodo will take it as an insult if we don’t go in,” Sam said. They couldn’t have that, the Master of the Hill feeling offended because of them.

At that moment, Mr. Frodo emerged from the hole and called out to them. “Dinner’s ready when you are!”

“We’ll be right there, Master,” Sam called back. He handed the rag to Jolly, who made quick work of cleaning up. Sam let the bucket drop back into the well and the three friends scuttled up the path to the back door. Sam dropped the rag with the other things he would be taking home, then knocking once, let himself and his cousins in.

They found Frodo in the kitchen, setting the table there for four rather than six. They quirked their eyebrows amongst themselves. “Mr. Frodo?” Sam started.

“Oh, there you are,” Mr. Frodo said with a cheery smile. “Go on and take a seat. I’ll get the food.”

“Um, sir?”

“No need to help, Sam,” Mr. Frodo went on, breezing about the kitchen and placing food on the table as though everything were normal. “You and your cousins are not to lift a finger, except to eat.”

Tom and Jolly shrugged it off and sat down, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable. Sam followed their lead, once again obliged to sit at the head of the table. He wanted to know as much as they did what had become of Master Merry and Master Pippin, but it wasn’t their place to ask. They waited until Mr. Frodo took his seat before digging in to eat.

Down the tunnel, Merry was still luxuriating in his bath, not able to believe his good luck. Not only had he got Frodo back, but his punishment had been a cakewalk. Frodo was getting soft in his old age.

He sloshed about in the tub, thinking he would let Frodo wait just a few minutes longer to start eating, but then his stomach growled, telling him is was time to eat. The bath water was beginning to cool anyway. He hurried to wash the soap from his hair, then stepped out of the bath. He stretched languorously, not even the least bit sore from that slab he’d had to carry. It hadn’t been all that heavy, now that he thought of it. If not for Pippin, he would have easily been able to keep up with the others.

He picked a towel off the rack and dried himself and ruffled up his hair. He realized too late that he should have brought a change of clothes in with him, but he figured he could easily enough walk across the tunnel to his room to retrieve fresh clothing before going to table. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stumbled over to the door, yawning widely all of sudden. He would not be staying up very late tonight, not after all the excitement the day had brought, and would likely pass out soon after dinner, especially if that pot roast tasted as good as it smelled. Frodo might not be a whiz in the kitchen, but he was a decent cook and pot roast was one of the few dishes Frodo excelled at. Merry’s mouth watered just thinking about it.

Merry reached for the door knob, twisted it, pulled and… nothing happened. Now, really, he knew he was a little bit tired, but certainly he could at least open up a dratted door! Merry pulled on the knob again, and again got nothing for his effort. He rattled the knob and pulled, pushed against the door and pulled, then tried rattling the knob as he pushed and then pulled. Still nothing. At last, he stood back and squinted at the stubborn door. What was going on? The knob was turning, why wasn’t the door op… No, surely Frodo wouldn’t have… He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t lock Merry in here while his pot roast was waiting to be eaten! Would he? There was only one way to find out.

“Frodo!” he called. “Are you there?”

Sam, Tom and Jolly paused in their eating. They had heard the racket from down the tunnel and now they were certain they had heard Master Merry’s voice. Yet Mr. Frodo was acting as though he didn’t notice.

“Did you know that pot roast is Merry’s most favorite dish?” Mr. Frodo said happily. “Aunt Esme showed me how to make it just like hers.”

Another faint plea from down the tunnel. “Frodo! Are you there! Um, I seem to have locked myself inside the bath somehow! Silly me. Could you let me out please?”

Mr. Frodo speared a piece of roast and placed it in his mouth. Just then, from the opposite direction, another racket could be heard from the other bathing room. Master Pippin was now asking if there was something wrong with his door.

“After Sam gave me cooking lessons,” Mr. Frodo continued without a blink, “I felt a bit more confident asking Esme to show me how to make it. So when I went back for Yule that year, she showed me what to do and I made it every night until I had it right. Merry was quite pleased that Yule, I must say.”

“Merry! Frodo! I’m hungry!”

Then Master Merry, who now sounded angry enough to scare a dragon. “FRODO! Let me out of here RIGHT NOW!”

“Oh, and let me tell you about how I learned to make apple crumble,” Frodo went on, oblivious to the fact that his guests were now only picking at their food while simultaneously hoping that they could hurry up and finish so they could leave. “That’s one of Esme’s receipts also, and it’s not only Pippin’s favorite, but my own as well. Two reasons to learn how to make that.”

“Merry? Frodo?” Master Pippin’s uncertain voice called out. “You’re not eating without me are you?”

Jolly and Tom fidgeted in their seats, while Sam just felt horrified. What was his master thinking, keeping his cousins from coming to table? “Master,” he managed.

“More wine?” Frodo reached over and poured more wine into Sam’s goblet, though it was still half full. He nodded with satisfaction and continued with his story. “You see, it was just after the Lithe days and we were all at Whitwell, as is customary of Aunt Tina to have a family gathering there at that time. They were going to make apple crumble, and since Merry and Pippin were off by themselves playing, I went in to help them.”

“FRODO! When Father hears about this, he will not be pleased!” Master Merry’s temper was only getting worse. “Let me out of here or… or… I’ll tell Sam about that time you kissed his sister!”

Sam, Tom and Jolly shot their heads up and turned to look at Frodo. Sam was thinking hard. “That time at the Free Fair?” he asked.

“It wasn’t Marigold?” Tom asked.

“No it was Daisy,” Frodo answered. “She and her friends were playing ‘Truth or Consequences’ and I just happened to be the next lad to walk past them. … It was ten years ago.”

“Oh.”

Merry pounded on the door until his fists turned red. He screamed and hollered, and he was certain there were times when he could hear Pippin doing the same at the other end of the smial. He screamed until his voice went hoarse, then he finally gave up and slumped onto the bathing room floor.

He couldn’t believe this! His own cousin, his Frodo, denying him food! It was unheard of for anyone to use food as a form of punishment. He was sure there must be a law against this in the books in Michel Delving. This was… it was… inconceivable! It was just wrong! Was there no end to Frodo’s diabolical ways?

Pippin was in a similar position. He hadn’t beaten his fist to a pulp or cried his voice out, but after at least a dozen attempts to call for help, he realized no one was coming. Frodo must have locked the door somehow and he wasn’t going to let him out until he was ready to. Pippin’s dreams of apple crumble topped with whipped cream melting in his mouth were shattered. He sighed and lay down on the floor, ready to make bed there for the night if need be. Why did he always listen to Merry and his hair-brained ideas?

Frodo finished off his meal with a flourish. “And that’s how I learned to make apple crumble, and as you can plainly see, the flaming bunt cake was in no way my fault, though Merry will likely tell you otherwise,” he finished his story at the same time. “Are you lads not hungry?”

For Sam, Tom and Jolly had hardly touched their food. Even after the protests had died down, they could still imagine Master Merry and Master Pippin trapped in their baths, hungry and anxious to eat. It didn’t seem right somehow to eat when the young masters weren’t able to. Yet now that Mr. Frodo was done with his story-telling and watching them, they would have to finish eating or risk insulting the Master. They set to it, hardly chewing their food in their rush to finish, and insisted that one serving would make do. They did the same with dessert and quickly rose to their feet as one before Mr. Frodo could serve them more.

“Leaving so soon?” Mr. Frodo asked, baffled. “There’s plenty more.”

“We best be going, Mr. Baggins,” Tom said. “We’ve still to fetch our sister and we’ve got to be getting home afore our parents start to worry.”

“And I’ve got to be getting Goldie and May home also, and we’ve got to hurry to get dinner of our own made,” Sam said. “Gaffer gets grouchy when his food’s not to table on time.”

“Very well,” Mr. Frodo conceded. He followed his guests to the back door and waited while Sam retrieved his things. “Thank so much for your help today. It’s much appreciated.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Baggins. Anything to help Sam,” Tom said with a respectful bow. Jolly bowed next and together the brothers backed out of the smial.

Sam nodded to his master. “Night, sir,” was all he could think to say.

“Good night Sam. Take care. See you in the morning.”

“Aye sir.”

He followed his cousins down the path and through the garden, and not until the door clicked to behind them did they let out collective sighs of relief. They let themselves out the gate and trotted down the lane, faster than was necessary. When Bag End was no longer in sight, Tom let out a low whistle.

“I don’t mean no disrespect by you and yours, Sam, but I do believe your master’s finally cracked,” he said.

And for once in his life, Sam couldn’t disagree.
 

9:00 PM

Frodo untied the ropes that secured the bathing room doors and, one by one, gently nudged his cousins awake. “Come eat,” he whispered, handing them each a fresh pair of night gowns in their turn. “Then off to bed.”

Pippin woke with a yawn and shuffled out the door, bumping into things as he went along. He sat at the table and groggily dug into his reheated food. Merry didn’t fully awaken until he was sitting at the table, supported by Frodo. He brushed his cousin off and glared up at him.

“I’m not even going to bother getting back at you for this,” he said. “While I have my limits, you’re obviously willing to do anything to make your point. I’ll never be able to win.”

“You’re not just saying that so I’ll be off my guard, are you?” Frodo said.

“Maybe.” But what he really meant was, ‘Maybe not to today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, Frodo Baggins, when you least suspect it.’
 
 

The End.
 

* - from The Adventures of Tom Bombadil.
 

GF 1/13/06