This chapter references “Babysitting Pippin” and “A Day in the Life”.
 

Chapter 3

Merry retrieved the broom from the kitchenette and started down the tunnel to the foyer, tiptoeing past the bedroom door where he could hear Sam stammering for an explanation. That was to be expected, but as he neared the foyer he heard Frodo do something altogether unprecedented: raise his voice. His cousin’s sudden irate shout of “Sam!” was enough to make even Merry stop dead in his tracks and huddle against the curve of the wall for protection. He cringed with sympathy for his friend. Poor Sam! Merry had never thought his cousin capable of actually shouting at anyone. Not even when Merry once caused the Party Field to nearly be burned to a cinder did Frodo see fit to raise his voice.

Not knowing what else to do, Merry peeled himself off the wall and continued to the foyer. Even before he reached the foyer, he could feel the freezing air being blown into the smial. It swirled around him with chilling and violent wisps, stealing into his clothes to raise gooseflesh on his arms and misting his breath with each exhalation. Inside the foyer, the floor was buried by snow, piled high around the door and spreading out toward the threshold in many icy cold arms of slush. The walls and bench there were likewise covered in slush or icy water.

He swept out as much of it as he could and closed the door, sliding the bolt into place with a resounding ‘chink’. The towels for feet-wiping were now soaked or stiff with ice, so he tossed those into the hamper and fetched more from Frodo’s bathing room one door down. He tossed a handful onto the floor to absorb the snow and water that remained, then wiped down the walls and bench with another handful.

By the time he finished and tiptoed back toward the kitchen, he could hear no voices coming from the bedroom. The door was left open a crack and Merry peeped inside to find Sam alone, sniffling softly with his head hung low. Merry almost went in to comfort him, knowing how deeply Frodo’s lectures could cut. He imagined it must only be that much worse for Sam, who admired his cousin to a fault and never did anything that would cause Frodo harm or ire, at least not on purpose. He held back though, not knowing if Sam would want to be disturbed before he could pull himself back together.

Wondering where his cousin could be, Merry continued toward the kitchen and noticed a faint, flickering glow of a candle warming the floor outside the library just beyond the kitchen. More light could be seen inside the room. Merry passed the first kitchen entrance and stopped just beyond the second, at the library door on the other side of the tunnel, hanging back in the shadows so he couldn't be seen.

Inside, standing along the far wall and surrounded by shelves stuffed with books, tomes, ledgers and scrolls, he could see Frodo holding up a candle, his neck craned to read the spines of the books as he scanned the clustered shelves from side to side. Frodo’s shoulders were tense and the hand that held the candle was shaking ever so slightly. Merry could all but feel the ire and guilt that filled the space around his cousin and leaked out toward the tunnel, too immense to be contained by the cramped room. Frodo was feeling no better than Sam, that much he could tell. He wondered what exactly Frodo had said but knew that now was not the time to ask.

He went into the kitchen and put the broom away. Then he filled the kettle with more water and hung it over the fire. Seeing the bottle of brandy, he popped the stopper into place and put the bottle back on its shelf, then searched the cupboards for the bed tray and pulled it out. The food was lukewarm by now, so he banked up the fire in the oven and set his plate on the middle of the stove to let everything warm while he nibbled on a slice of bread and mulled things over.

Even if he had not seen them for himself, he would have known that both Frodo and Sam were upset. Frodo must be feeling wretched for losing his temper at Sam, especially in light of Sam’s injury. Sam would be feeling equally wretched for having betrayed Frodo’s trust, as unwitting as that had been, and he was likely continuing to berate himself now that Frodo had stopped. Merry wanted desperately to go to them and offer comfort, but if he did that, which one did he go to first? The decision tore at him and all he could do was continue to sit and stare blankly at the tabletop, his head held between his hands as if they were the only things keeping it from falling off his shoulders.

Frodo had told him once before that Sam could frustrate him beyond belief sometimes, that he too had his own problems when trying to relate to Sam as a friend rather than an employer or a ‘better’. Now that Merry had seen it for himself, he was more inclined to believe it and not think that Frodo was just trying to be make him feel better about Sam not trusting him. Frodo had clearly been at the end of his tether. Had something similar to this happened before? How many times had Sam held back from asking for help or accepting it when it was offered? Did Frodo usually push his hand like he had this morning in the garden, or let it be? Had Sam accepted their help this morning as friends, or as his betters whom he couldn’t say no to?

Only one thing was certain. If Sam truly was this way with Frodo, then Merry’s own miscommunications with the gardener couldn’t all be because of Sam not trusting him. While Merry still suspected that trust did at least have some part to play in it, he now saw that much of it was just Sam’s natural habits and behaviors. Even though he knew he shouldn’t be, Merry felt greatly relieved by this for it took considerable pressure off of himself. There was, in the end, only so much he could do. With this new-found understanding, he vowed to not be so pushy or worry so much about his seeming lack of progress with Sam as a friend. He would just be his usual self, minus the pranks as he had promised, and let things fall as they may.

With that decision made, Merry stood and checked the food. Deciding it was warm enough, he put his plate on one side of the bed tray and retrieved Frodo’s plate from the table to fill with seconds. He pulled a third plate from the cupboard, one of the yellow ones with the painting of the flower field in the middle and blue birds along the edges, and heaped it high with food for Sam as the gardener had yet to eat.

He heard more than saw when Frodo came into the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder to find Frodo carrying two volumes of herbals, one large and heavy with a cracked spine, the pages frayed at the corners; the other small but thick, the pages just beginning to yellow along the edges but in good condition otherwise. Frodo sat at the table with a thump and set the volumes on the table with a smack that somehow sounded as demoralized and self-deprecating as Frodo’s shrunken-in form made him look. With a heavy sigh, Frodo opened the older, larger herbal and began to leaf through it. Merry didn’t have to see his face to know his expression was tight and pent-up.

“Frodo?” Merry started.

“I know, Merry,” Frodo said, sounding resigned. He sighed again. “I know. I shouldn’t have become cross with Sam. I just wish sometimes that he wouldn’t always put everyone else before himself, that he wouldn’t always put me before himself. If this had happened at the Cotton farm, he wouldn’t have hesitated to call out for help.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The only way we’d know that is if it did happen at the Cotton farm,” Merry said. “If Sam always does put everyone before himself, then I don’t think it would have happened any differently, except that maybe some of the Cottons would have been out there with him. He wouldn’t have needed to call for help.”

“I know,” Frodo muttered, sounding even more defeated if that were possible. He flipped through the pages one by one, scanning them with such an intensity Merry wondered how the pages didn’t welt. “They wouldn’t have left him out there alone.”

“Well no. It’s their land,” Merry said.

“And this is mine,” Frodo said.

“So what’s really upsetting you, Frodo? That Sam fell and didn’t call for help, or that he was alone when he fell?” Merry sat next to Frodo and placed a comforting hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Sam’s been alone in the garden plenty of times. It’s rather his job to be, actually.”

“It was snowing, and the only reason he stayed behind was because we got sloppy with the last few bushes.” Frodo shrugged Merry’s hand away and commenced browsing through the herbal. Finally, he found the page he was looking for and stopped to scan the text as he thought out loud. “Here it is. Sprains and strains. If the ankle’s broken, there isn’t much we can do about that. I’m fairly positive that it is sprained though. Willow bark is good for pain. I’m fairly certain I have some in one of the pantries, though I can’t be sure of its freshness or potency. Here, now. This says that chamomile and rosemary teas are good for muscle tension and cramps. It also says that we should put ice on it for 20 minutes right away, and then again for twenty minutes every hour or so, or as often as needed. That will reduce the chance of swelling and bruising and help to dull the pain.”

“I think Sam rather took care of that already,” Merry pointed out, pleased to see Frodo smile despite himself. “You see, Frodo. Sam was simply sparing you a trip down to the cold cellar. Why spend all that time breaking up ice when he had some near at hand?” Frodo’s smile widened into a grin and he favored Merry with a wry glance. “You’re being rather silly, you know. This isn’t your fault in any way. Sam said it himself, he stepped off the path.”

“And he didn’t call for help,” Frodo said, sobering. “He was out there for a half-hour while we were sitting in here eating. I should have noticed sooner that he never came in.”

Merry wasn’t sure how to respond to this at first. He sat back and let his cousin mope as he tried to think of way to make Frodo see that he wasn’t entirely to blame. Finally, he said, “Well, I was in here too and didn’t notice. Do you blame me?”

“No.”

“Then stop blaming yourself,” Merry said. “There’s no way either us of could have guessed that something was wrong. Even if Sam hadn’t been hurt, he could have been doing something else. You know how he can be at times.”

“I know, but-”

“No, Frodo. You are always blaming yourself for things you can’t prevent or that aren’t your fault. Stop it,” Merry ordered. Knowing however that Frodo wouldn't be able to do that until he spoke with Sam again, he slid the herbal away from Frodo and continued, “Now, I’ll get the herbs and get them seeping in the tea. You need to talk to Sam again before he can give himself too many lashings. Take the tray so he can start eating. I’ll be in as soon as the tea is finished.”

“Thank you, Merry,” Frodo said. He stood and kissed the top of Merry’s curly head before gathering up the tray and returning to the room. Merry rose after him and searched the larder for the required herbs.   

“Sam?” Frodo said cautiously when he entered the room. He carried the tray of food in front of him as a peace offering, knowing how inadequate it was. This was confirmed when he heard Sam sniffle. The gardener turned his face away and quickly reached up to wipe the tears off his cheeks as Frodo approached the bed. Frodo put the tray on the bedside table and sat next to Sam.

“Sam?” he repeated, reaching over to turn Sam’s face toward him. “I’m so sorry Sam. I should not have been cross. What I should have been was more vigilant. I should have noticed sooner that you hadn’t come in yet. I was angry with myself for leaving you out there alone to fix our work.”

Sam sniffled again, his brow creasing in confusion. “There was no work as needed fixing,” he said. “I did check the bindings just to be sure, that’s true, but I’d’ve done it had you been there or not.”

“Then why did you send us away?” Frodo asked. “We could have helped.”

“Well it was starting to snow,” Sam said, then they both laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Dearest Sam,” Frodo muttered and shook his head. He dropped his hand to cover Sam’s, which was resting on the coverlet. “You know I don’t like to give orders, so I want you to promise me that you won’t hesitate to ask for my help when you need it. I want you to understand that you can rely on me.”

“I know I can, sir,” Sam said then nodded. “I promise I’ll not do something so foolish as this ever again. I never meant to hurt your feelings, Mr. Frodo, honest.”

“I know you didn’t, but you scared me. What if you had frozen out there and I was sitting within helping distance? I would have noticed eventually that you never came for your food, but by then it could have been too late. It nearly was too late as it is,” Frodo explained.

“I never thought of that,” Sam said, paling at the thought. “I guess we both got lucky.”

“That we did,” Frodo agreed, gracing Sam with a smile that put all worries aside. Still, he had to ask, “Am I forgiven? For losing my temper and yelling at you and for being so negligent?”

“Now, Mr. Frodo, you don’t got a negligent bone in your body. I’ve been plenty later’n that coming in to bid you good night before, bad weather or no. Tisn’t your fault I got clumsy. There’s naught you need to be apologizing for,” Sam assured, “but I’ll forgive you if you think you need it. Am I forgiven for being such a numbskull?” But he smirked as he said it.

Frodo laughed. “You are no such thing, Samwise Gamgee, though you did come rather close to being numb!”

“I did at that, didn’t I?” Sam agreed, laughing also.

Frodo indicated the tray and stood to pick it up. “Now, you must be hungry. Merry’s fixing your tea, but you can start with your meal now. After all, you missed the first serving, so you have some catching up to do. Are you warm enough now? Do you need me to bank the fire some more?”

“I’m fine, Master, thank you. I just hope Goldie’s managing on her own,” Sam said, raising his arms as his master slid the bed tray over his lap and removed the two extra plates. Frodo and Merry would have to eat balancing the plates on their knees.

Sam pulled off a bit of bread and nibbled on that while they waited for Merry. He was starving, he couldn’t deny it, but he also didn’t feel right about eating until Merry was there with them. Common hobbit manners wouldn’t allow it.

“Your sister is a smart lass. I’m sure she and your father are managing just fine,” Frodo assured. “If the blizzard’s passed by the morning, I’ll stop by Number Three and let them know what happened when I go to get the healer.”

“You’re not going alone, are you Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked.

“Someone needs to stay here in case you need something,” Frodo replied smoothly. “I’ll be careful.”

“Is it safe to come in yet?” Merry asked, popping his head into the doorway and watching both hobbits carefully.

“We were just waiting for you to start eating,” Frodo said and moved to one of the chairs.

Merry came in with the tea tray, which was laden with two mugs of ale, a teacup, the teapot, a bowl of sugar and jar of honey. He handed Frodo his mug, then poured Sam some tea. “Sugar or honey?” he asked.

“Honey,” Sam said. “Two spoons, but I can do that myself.”

“Nonsense,” Merry said. “It’s not often that we have you at our mercy Sam, and we fully intend to take advantage of the situation to smother you with comfort and care. Though you know, if you wanted to stay the night, you could have just asked.” He poured two spoons of honey into the tea and stirred it briskly. When he finished, he tapped the spoon against the rim of the teacup and handed the cup to Sam. Then he sat down to his own food.

Sam ate heartily now that he was no longer waiting for anyone. He was as close to ravenous as he had ever been and he could not eat fast enough. He felt a little bad about being so impatient but short of Frodo ordering him to slow down, he did not think anything could keep him from shoveling in one mouthful after the other. After his sharpest hunger pains were assuaged, he took a swig of his tea and sighed with relief.

When he picked up his fork again, it was to eat more courteously and he made sure to compliment Frodo on his cooking. This wasn’t the first time that Frodo had served him dinner, but it was certainly the first time his master had been made to go through so much trouble to do so. Sam would have to make it up to him as soon as he was healed and back on his feet, maybe make him some of that blackberry sweet bread with icing that he loved so much. Next to mushrooms, it was the only other dish always guaranteed to delight his master and be devoured in a blink of an eye.

He wondered what it would be like having his master and Merry wait on him and tried not to feel too uncomfortable at the notion. He wasn’t too keen on the idea but considering the circumstance he couldn’t rightly complain over the arrangement. Besides, after their earlier conversation, Sam was hesitant to say anything that Frodo might interpret as a lack of faith in Frodo’s ability to care for him. He would simply have to be as little bother to his master as he could be until he was healed enough to go home. When that would be was anyone’s guess, but he knew that Frodo was not about to let him out of the smial anytime soon and possibly not until the snow melted. He supposed it was just as well. With Goldie having her hands full with the Gaffer, she hardly needed another invalid to look after.

Frodo and Merry let Sam fill his stomach. They had been tired earlier and both had been contemplating turning in after dinner, but the shock of finding Sam injured and nearly frozen had revived them. Neither of them could fathom going to sleep now and they were eager to assure themselves that Sam was indeed whole and warm. Frodo also wanted to see if the tea would work. He hoped Merry didn’t put too much of the willow bark in it, since neither of them knew what the proper dosage should be; the herbal had not mentioned it.

“You didn’t have any problems making the tea?” Frodo asked now.

Merry shook his head. “No. I decided to put in the regular amount of chamomile and a couple of sprigs of rosemary. I only put a pinch of the willow bark since you weren’t sure how strong it was and healers are always saying how easy it is to misuse it. I figure if it’s not strong enough, we could add more for the next dose, which the book says should be every two hours, or as often as needed. How’s the tea Sam?”

Sam took a more liberal drink than before, expecting to taste the bitter willow bark, but instead he tasted the rosemary and honey most, with a hint of the chamomile. The willow bark was hardly discernible at all. “Well, either the healers should learn to make the tea like you do, or you didn’t put enough of the willow bark in,” he assessed. “We’ll find out soon enough I suppose.”

“We will at that,” Merry agreed, taking a sip of his ale.

“Is the ankle any better?” Frodo asked.

Sam was still for a moment, considering the injury. Then he attempted to move the ankle, wincing at the pain that erupted up his leg at the slight movement. “Not so much,” he admitted. “Still, it’s bearable.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Frodo asked.

“I’ve slept with injuries before this Mr. Frodo, and without no help of a draught either,” Sam said. “I’ll manage it.”

“When have you been injured before?” Merry asked. He could never remember seeing Sam injured or hearing of him having to miss work because of an injury.

“Oh, it was naught so serious as this, Mr. Merry,” Sam said. “I pulled a hamstring real good a few summers back during the branding. I don’t know at exactly what point it happened, cause I was working on it all day without any problems, wrestling with bulls and heifers, and clambering up the stairs into the hayloft, helping the Cotton lads pull hay bales up all afternoon. It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning and couldn’t hardly move my leg that I realized what I’d done. It smarted something awful that first week, and even after I could walk on it again, it was another week until it was completely healed. No one would let me do anything more strenuous than lift a bag of sugar. I never felt so useless afore.”

“Well, get ready to feel useless again,” Frodo said pointedly, but his smile was kind. Sam could do nothing else but nod.

“Was that also your right leg?” Merry asked.

“No, it was the left.”

“So now they’re even.”

Sam laughed. “Aye, I guess they are at that.”

“Was this before or after May married?” Frodo asked, trying to remember.

“Oh, it’d have to be after, as it were just Marigold at home,” Sam said. “That’d be when Dandy and Randy came up to help Dad with the garden. Not the best of substitutes, but they managed well enough.”

“How are your sisters? And your brothers?” Merry asked. “How many nieces and nephews do you have now?”

“Well, Hamson and Carmen’ve got three now, they’d be Young Hamfast, Rowan and Fern,” Sam said, counting them off on his fingers as he named them. “Daisy and Harman’ve got the one lass, Bell. She’s named for our ma.”

“How old is Bell now?” Frodo asked, smiling as he thought of the lively faunt he had seen at Sam’s birthday last year.

“She just turned three last month. She’s a charmer, that one. Likes to run and dig, and she talks a blue streak. Gaffer says she looks just like Ma.”

“She must be the apple of your Gaffer’s eye,” Merry guessed.

Sam smirked. “You have no idea. She’s got Gaffer wrapped right ‘round her little fingers. She doesn’t even get a chance to cry when she’s with us acause he hardly ever puts her down and he don’t deny her nothing.”

Merry and Frodo laughed. Frodo had noticed at the party that the Gaffer seemed to gravitate toward little Bell whenever he got the chance.

Merry finished up his second helping and set the plate on the bedside table, settling back into his chair to nurse his ale. “What about May and Halfred? Do they have little ones yet?”

“May and Elson’ve got a boy and they’re expecting another. Erling’s four, or will be. Their next is due in the summer. They’re hoping for a girl this time around.”

“Have they picked names yet?”

“Elton, if it’s a boy, for Elson’s pa. If it’s a maid-child they’re going to name it Jasmine, for May’s best friend, the Twofoot’s lass.”

“Those are nice names. What is Erling like?”

“Deviant.” Sam smirked again and winked at Merry. “Dad says he’s like me.”

“You’re not deviant,” Merry laughed in disbelief, looking to Frodo for back up. The day Sam defied his father, or anyone else for that matter, would be Highday the first. Frodo just smiled. “When have you ever disobeyed anyone?” Merry asked.

“Two Springs ago,” Sam answered, catching Merry off guard, despite Frodo’s subtle warning. “Gaffer didn’t think as I should go with you and Master Pippin to look for Mr. Frodo when he was late coming back from his walking trip. He said it weren’t my place.”

“Really?” Merry asked, shocked by this news. Sam had never given any indication that he had argued with his father. Or perhaps there had been signs, and Merry just hadn’t known how to read them. “What happened next?”

“I told him my place was with Mr. Frodo and if he didn’t like it, I didn’t have to live at Bagshot Row no more.” He smirked again when Merry gaped at him. “I didn’t really mean it, about moving out, and neither did he, about Mr. Frodo. We were arguing about somewhat else.”

“Will wonders never cease?” Merry said, finding his voice again. He’d have to look at a calendar the next chance he got to see if Highday the first of Summerfilth had snuck onto it while he wasn’t looking. “What were you really arguing about then?”

Sam’s smirk widened and it was his turn to laugh. “I was in a bit of a tussle and I wouldn’t tell him who with or why.”

Sam? In a brawl? If not for the plate still held in his hand, Merry’s jaw would have dropped to the floor. “Now you’re just joking with me,” he stated but Sam shook his head. Frodo’s sage negation confirmed Sam’s denial. Merry struggled to recall that Spring, trying to remember if Sam had sported any marks of a fight at the time. He did seem to remember, if a bit fuzzily, that Sam’s lip had been healing from a split. Merry had just assumed that Sam had fallen over something. “My goodness Sam. What else have you been holding back?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sam replied.

“We should leave the shocking revelations to a minimum,” Frodo suggested. “There will be plenty of time to pepper Sam with questions over the next few days. As for now, why don’t you tell Merry how Halfred just made the Gaffer the most jubilant and relieved father in the Shire.”

Merry cocked an eyebrow at Sam, who was grinning proudly now. “Well, that would be more Astrid’s doing, giving us little Ashley and all, if you take my meaning,” he started.

“Gaffer was plenty relieved when Fred finally married about two years ago, at the ripe old age of 42. For the longest time, Gaffer was right worrit that Halfred would never get married, much less have children. Fred’s been saying all his life how he never wanted to settle with no lass, you see. Then he found out as our cousin Hale Goodchild was of a like mind, and they decided the only way to get away from hearing about how they should marry and settle down like proper lads was to get as far away from home as they could. Course, it’s only one of the reasons Fred took the ‘prenticeship way up in Little Smithy, but it’s the only one as Gaffer ever remembered and he’s been holding a right grudge against Ma’s folk since then. Leastways, he was up until Hale married some eight years back and Fred continued to refuse to set his cap on a lass.

“We’re still none too sure what happened as to change his mind, but he finally found himself a lass of his own a few years back. The rumor up there was that they got too close during a Harvest dance and he got her into a spot of trouble, if you take my meaning, but that couldn’t be further from the truth from what Fred told us. Why, they all but waited the usual year to marry and any sign of trouble would have shown itself in that amount of time.

“Anyway, Astrid’s a pretty lass, and she’s just as sweet as can be hoped for. Her folk are from Long Cleeve and she’d gone over to Little Smithy to work in the same shop as Fred. She paints the tiles and she’s a right talent for it too. She even has them set up the tiles temporary like so she can paint murals and such on them. She’s a good nine years younger’n Fred is and they set the wedding as close to her coming of age as her parents would allow – a month to the day. When we got the word in the post that Fred was getting married… I tell you, you never seen a hobbit so happy as the Gaffer was that day. He marched right down to The Ivy Bush and bought every hobbit there a round of drinks.

“But that weren’t the end of Gaffer’s worries. Like I said, Fred had his ‘no children’ rule and Gaffer was right worrit he’d stick to it. Turns out, they’d been trying for children right from the start, but they were having trouble. There’d been a couple of miscarriages, early on in the first term, afore they could tell anyone about them. They decided to just keep quiet until it looked like they got one as would stick. So finally last Winterfilth, we got another letter in the post saying they were expecting sometime around Afteryule. Gaffer marched right down to the Bush again and celebrated all the night through.

“When we got word that little Ashley was born last month, Gaffer wanted to pack up and go visiting right there and then, but we just didn’t have the means to at the time. Now he’s talking about going up as soon as Rethe, he’s that eager to see his newest granddaughter, and see for himself that Fred’s a father now. I don’t think he really fully believes it just yet. He’s just waiting for Fred to send word back saying how soon he can come.”

Sam finished his story and his food with a flourish and Merry rose to take his plate. “Would you like some more, Sam?”

“I could do with a bit more, if it’s not too much of a bother,” Sam admitted, still not comfortable with the idea of one of his betters doing for him, but he also knew that Frodo would never believe he was full after just one serving. Merry took Frodo’s plate also, put them on the tray and went to get more food for everyone.

When Merry returned, again having heaped more food on Sam’s plate than either his or Frodo’s, which only had a few bites of everything for filling the corners, they talked some more of family matters and the doings of their friends. Merry took careful note of everything Sam related. In the past, he had always dismissed what Sam said about his activities outside of Bag End’s garden, thinking he’d never have any need to know them. Now that they were friends again, he listened eagerly to everything Sam had to say and he learned much about the gardener. In return, he began to tell Sam about the various antics of the Brandybucks, explaining who was related to whom and where different places were located.

Sam learned much as well, not only about Merry but about Frodo, who he had always prided himself on knowing things that Merry and Pippin did not. Sam wasn’t sure why his master confided in him about his dark years spent in Buckland but it made him feel like he held a special and important place in his master’s life. As a result, much of the shared experiences that Merry told him now he had already heard, but he happily listened again since Merry often had a different way of remembering things.

“Remember that time we took Mother to the River and you splashed her when she wasn’t looking?” Merry said.

“I was splashing you and you ducked,” Frodo said.

“You winked and nodded your head at Mother, and so I ducked,” Merry corrected.

“I did not wink,” Frodo defended.

“You did so, you rascal, and you know it,” Merry insisted.

“I’m sure I just had something in my eye,” Frodo said, unperturbed.

“That is a weak defense,” Merry laughed. “The only thing in your eye was mischief!”

“A look you know all too well,” Frodo returned.

“Coming from you, yes I do. I’ve been the recipient of that mischief more times than I can count,” Merry went on.

“Dearest Merry, what have I ever done to you?” Frodo asked, feigning innocence and befuddlement.

“Plenty and don’t deny it! Why, even Sam here has been witness to his share, or need I remind you about the year I turned 25? You let me get drunk senseless at the Dragon just so you could put me in a dress in front of half the populace of Hobbiton and Bywater, and then you actually let me get on the carriage home dressed like that! Tell me, dearest cousin, how much coin did you slip into that driver’s hand so he wouldn’t pull over until we reached Frogmorton?”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam admonished, shocked that his master would do such a thing. Well, about the carriage driver at any rate. He had known about the dress of course.

“Merry, I assure you I did not pay off the driver,” Frodo said and he would have sounded sincere but for the laughter in his eyes. “He must not have heard you. As for the dress, that wasn’t entirely my idea.”

“Oh really? Then whose idea was it?” Merry asked, concentrating so hard on Frodo that he missed when Sam blushed and pretended to be studying the pattern on his teacup.

Frodo just shook his head. “I’ve told you before, Merry, it’s a Hobbiton-Bywater tradition. I had to go through it and so did Sam. So does every lad when they turn 25. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides, I did not put you in that dress. The Twofoot lads did.”

“What?!” Merry exclaimed. In all the years since that humiliating night, he had never fathomed that someone other than his cousin had played a hand in the prank. He was horrified anew to think that the Twofoot lads – who were they, did he even know them? – were the ones to do the dirty work. “Frodo! Of all the lying, scheming, devious—”

“I’m confused. Are you describing me or yourself?” Frodo asked with a laugh, ducking just in time to miss Merry’s not-so-playful swat.

“If I’m any of those things, then it was obviously to survive being raised with you,” Merry said, crossing his arms.

“You were only raised with me for seven years Merry. What’s your excuse for the last 25?”

“I think I was too kind with my revenge,” Merry said, ignoring Frodo’s attempt to change the subject. “I should have told the entire town you had some mysterious rash, and then let them make up their minds where it was and how you got it.”

This only made Frodo laugh harder and he was soon at the point of tears. “Oh Merry. No one even remembers that ridiculous rumor you started. Except Miss Willow. She asks about you sometimes, wanting to know if my darling little cousin has dreamt up any more pretend ailments to give you an excuse to talk to her.”

This caught Merry’s tongue. He blushed furiously and avoided Frodo’s teasing grin.

Miss Willow was one of Hobbiton’s two healers. She was a few years Merry’s senior and strikingly beautiful, with light brown hair that shined like golden silk in the sunlight and deep brown eyes that could pierce straight through him. Merry did still at times make up reasons (though no longer medical ones) to talk to her whenever he saw her in the marketplace. The fact that she knew what he was doing was more than he could bear. What a fool he’d made himself to be if she thought of him as ‘darling’ and ‘little’. He had always thought he acted suave and charming around her. He wondered what could have given him away. His tendency to sometimes stop mid-sentence to stare at her openly? His excessive hand-wiping? His palms did get rather sweaty while talking to her, especially when she smiled.

Sam decided it was time to step in and come to Merry’s rescue. “I’d not say she’s the only one as remembers that day, begging your pardon. Tom and Jolly ain’t stayed for dinner since.”

“Yes, well, it’s a long walk back to Bywater,” Frodo said as Merry took his turn to gloat. Frodo stood and gathered the empty plates on the tray. “Who wants afters?”

Merry and Sam waited until Frodo was in the kitchen, moving things about, to break into quiet laughter. “They really haven’t eaten here since?” Merry asked.

Sam shook his head. “I explained what happened, about your prank and all, but they reckon Mr. Frodo’s finally gone mad and there’s no talking them around it no how. They figure anyone who would force young hobbits to miss a meal must be a bit loose in the head, to put it kindly.”

“You know, I always did like the Cotton lads,” Merry said and they laughed heartily together until Frodo returned.

To be continued…