Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc . I have written this short story purely for my own enjoyment.

Much Ado about Mushrooms

Chapter 3

Several hours later

The warm Spring afternoon was a welcome relief after the bustle of the cooks’ tent, which Farlibar had just left to get some ‘fresh air’. Spotting a convenient rock near the edge of the field, he headed for it with his pipe and some Old Toby, not wanting to mix with anyone else - Man or Hobbit. He was alarmed at the thought of encountering the Big Folk (again) and his own kind made him want to throw plates at someone. (not that they had many plates left - curse those half-giants!).

After the Master of Disaster and the Pain of the Shire had left, his fellow cooks had regarded him - him! - with shock at his uncharacteristic tirade and had actually (he seethed at the thought) told him off for speaking to His Betters in such a manner - no matter what they’d done. He’d attempted to defend himself by explaining their disgraceful behaviour towards him earlier, but no! ‘Allowances had to be made‘! ‘Gentry could do what they liked as long as they didn’t hurt anyone’ and ‘those particular two were Friends of the King‘!

Farlibar lit his pipe and puffed away furiously, mentally cursing the idiots he had to work with. No wonder he kept himself to himself! ‘Gentry could do what they liked as long as they didn’t hurt anyone’ - what nonsense! Why, if gentlehobbits were allowed free rein, they’d eat all the food in the Shire and everyone else would have to make do with porridge! At least Gammer Gummage could finally be grateful for her toothless mouth - she’d not need gnashers to slurp on the bland foodstuff.

As for the so-called ’gentry’; they’d waddle through the streets hunting for renowned cooks like him to chain to a stove - and force them to produce endless dishes to appease their outrageous appetites on threat of banishment to the Outside! Perhaps even reopen those accursed Lockholes to imprison rebellious cooks until they relented!

He grimaced at the thought of leaving his dear, kind employer to slave away for some uppity landowner. Knowing his luck, the two horrors he’d been inflicted with earlier would squabble over him and he’d have to spend the rest of his life fulfilling their every culinary desire at either Brandy Hall or the Great Smials - while they lorded over him like overdressed Ruffians!

That his fellow workers could be so blind to the twin blights boggled his mind. They hadn’t even acknowledged it was their fault in smashing over twenty plates! Oh no, that was apparently his fault for provoking them! He fumed at the unfairness of it all.

And spotting the Shames of the Shire at the King’s table during afternoon tea (in pretty, new clothes), laughing and joking with Royalty while he delivered spiced loaf to the table had almost driven him over the edge (just like his doomed dishes).

Laughing and joking! Without a care in the world! He’d been so vexed at the sight, he’d seriously considered pouring their tea over their heads - despite the grand company - and would have done so too, if he hadn’t caught sight of the most beautiful creature he’d ever beheld.

Farlibar’s tight grip on the pipe eased slightly as he remembered the vision of loveliness sitting to the King’s right at the top of the table. An Elf! He’d seen a real, live Elf! Beauty beyond even his best meringues! Glowing skin and ruby lips. Stars for eyes. Stars! And she was the Queen. No wonder the King was smiling!

Unfortunately, he’d been so caught up in his admiration for the Star Queen that he hadn’t paid attention to his footing and tripped over an errant Gamgee lad, sending his delicious loaf sailing through the air until it landed at the feet of the Steward. Farlibar’s face burned as he remembered the shame of it. When he’d picked himself up (although he would have preferred to remain forever stuck to the grass - he was mortified at having made a spectacle of himself before such grand folk!), the Buffoon of Buckland and the Great Crook had been rocking with laughter - even the King had been hard pressed to hide his amusement!

Only the kindly Steward had taken pity on him, rescuing the loaf and returning it to its creator. But Farlibar had been so embarrassed he’d just grabbed it and ran out the Royal Pavilion before thanking him. What must the Great Man think of him?

It seemed to be his lot in life to suffer and he was feeling exceptionally sorry for himself as he dwelled on one of the worst days he’d ever lived through: a lonely figure sitting on a rock at the edge of the field, shunned by the other cooks and isolated by his own shame. He was so immersed in his own melancholy that he didn’t hear the approach of two sets of feet until they were upon him and nearly coughed up his lungs on the pipe-smoke when a friendly voice bid him hello.

Recovering his breath he stood up hastily and almost collapsed at the sight of the Great Steward Who Must Think Him Ungrateful and the Hobbit That Kings Bowed Before.

“Oh! Eh, your…your erm…” He panicked. How did one address a Steward? “Your Royal Stewardness, Mayor Sam, sir…” He wanted to disappear! The Steward had probably been hunting for him for the last hour to tell him off because he didn’t show proper gratitude for his assistance! Running off like a naughty hobbit-lad! What had he been thinking? But that was exactly the problem: he hadn’t been thinking. He’d just wanted to get away from the grand company he’d made a fool of himself in front of and nothing else had mattered!

And the man had now brought Mayor Sam along - in his position as a Shire Dignitary no doubt - to make sure he was properly reprimanded! Farlibar had a sudden urgent need to visit a privy…

“Do you mind if we join you, Master Farlibar?” came the gentle request of the Steward.

What? He knew his name? The cook swallowed hard.

“Erm…no, your Royal Magnificence.” He looked at the rock and cringed at the thought of such a lordly figure being offered a seat on it, but the Great Man and the Princely Hobbit Who Inspired Kings merely said ‘thank you’ and took a place to each side of him.

He was trapped! They had hunted him down and trapped him on a rock far from the rest of the company and were going to give him A Telling Off He’d Never Forget! If Mistress Goodenough got wind of this, she’d die of the shame of it! She’d given him particular instructions to be a good - what was that word she used? Amassaber? Ambadoser? - a Very Good Hobbit, and he’d gone and ruined it all; brought disrepute to the good name of the Floating Log and its proprietress by fleeing from his rescuer, like the two Dark Lords had fled from the cooks’ tent!

Mayor Sam took out his own pipe and began to stuff it with Longbottom Leaf as the dark-haired Steward surveyed all the busy happenings on the field before them. Hobbit children were playing, Big Folk were sitting with Shirefolk listening to songs and tales of derring-do from Fatty Bolger (who was jumping about wildly for a hobbit of such girth) and soldiers were discreetly patrolling the edge of the field (or it would have been discreetly if young Faramir-lad - trust a Took! - hadn’t been chasing after them with some of the Mayor’s sons).

And then, inevitably, the Steward spoke. “I have been most anxious to meet you, Master Farlibar, for I have heard much of you this day.”

Farlibar almost swooned with dread. Anxious to meet him? Heard much of him? He’d bet his most tender loin of pork he’d ‘heard much of him’! A plague on those Bucklanders and Tooks! May their ventures fail and their hair fall out!

The Steward continued. “My good friend Sam here has informed me you are one of the finest cooks in the Shire - and from what I have tasted so far, I would have to agree with him.”

The only child of Dandelion Barleyburn looked up in surprise to find the smiling countenance of the visitor facing him. What? Where was the reprimand he was expecting? He turned to look at the Mayor, who was nodding his head as if in agreement with his lordly friend.

“I particularly enjoyed the spiced loaf,” continued the Steward With Excellent Taste and Farlibar turned crimson as he recalled their last encounter.

He knew it was too good to be true! The Great Man was just too honourable to come right out and tell him off proper-like, so he went about it in a round-about way - waiting for Farlibar’s good manners to take hold and apologise first, instead of waggling his finger at him like Better Folk normally do. Farlibar didn’t know whether to start bowing and scraping or thank him for being so generous.

He decided to go with the former. “I’m…eh...I’m right sorry-like, your Magnificent Greatness, for… I mean for running off like that. I oughtn’t to’ve been so silly about it - I meant no offence, your Worship, sir! I was just…that is, I‘m not very good with folks normally and then I fell and they were laughing so hard…” In his agitation to apologise properly (and therefore save his kind employer’s fine reputation) he had stood up, dropping his lit pipe on the grass, and was currently hopping about on his feet. But the Steward placed a hand on his shoulder (while the Mayor hastily retrieved his pipe) and Farlibar looked up to see sparkling grey eyes regard him with definite warmth.

“Be at peace, Master Farlibar. I meant no slight on your earlier behaviour. I was merely attempting to lighten your concerns but alas! I see I have only compounded them.”

Farlibar stopped hopping and stared at the Kindest Person He’d Ever Met (except for Mistress Goodenough) hopefully. “You mean you’re not here to tell me off, your Highliness?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“’Course he’s not,” came the solid, comforting hobbit tone of the Second Best Cook In The Shire. Farlibar was so relieved he could have hugged them both! But that wouldn’t’ve been seemly, so he controlled himself and accepted his pipe back from Mayor Sam.

“Please, do sit down and enjoy your pipe, my good hobbit,” said the Steward and Farlibar resumed his seat. He didn’t smoke his pipe though, it didn’t seem right for him to do so with such grand company - even though Mayor Sam carried on puffing away without a care in the world.

“I myself have never been enamoured of pipes, but the King has been known to enjoy some Old Toby now and again,” offered the Steward when he caught Farlibar extinguishing his.

“That’s because old Strider has good taste, for a Man,” replied the Mayor and Farlibar wondered who ‘old Strider’ was while the Prince Among Men laughed at his friend’s remark.

He may have been relieved at not being in any bother, but he was still aware of who exactly was sitting with him and wondered what would bring such important people out to see a simple cook, if it wasn‘t to tell him off. Surely not just to say they enjoyed their afternoon tea? So he sat quietly while they enjoyed the good weather and the happy sound of hobbit children laughing for a few minutes more.

“We understand that you have had a rather adventurous afternoon with Masters Brandybuck and Took?” began the Steward and Farlibar’s face darkened at the mention of their names. But he knew the gentlehobbits were friends to his present companions and didn’t want to incur their wrath by speaking badly of them, so he tried to compose himself before speaking.

Mayor Sam, however, spoke first. Or rather, snorted. “’Adventurous‘, my hat! I’ll bet they were making his life a misery! I‘ll bet that most of what the cooks told us was their fault. Ruining a perfectly good sack of flour and smashing good dishes!”

What??

Farlibar looked at the Mayor in astonishment. He knew they were scoundrels as well! The cook was not alone in thinking them the spawn of a Bree-lander! The Shire’s Best Mayor Ever had the courage to expose the unpleasant baggage! He was fearless! No wonder the King loved him!

The much-admired gardener caught Farlibar’s wide-eyed gaze and grinned at him. “Don’t misunderstand me now, Master Farlibar. They’re like me own family to me. But I know as they can be a right pair of rascals at times.”

But Farlibar wasn’t paying full attention. He’d focussed on one word and temporarily forgot the rest. He was vindicated! Rascals - yes, that’s exactly what they were. Oh, but Mayor Sam had a right good way with words! All at once he felt very much better in the grand company he was keeping, especially when the grey-eyed Man voiced his agreement.

“Yes, indeed. They may be two of the best hobbits I know, but they can be rather…mischievous, when the mood takes them.”

Farlibar was speechless with emotion. Hah! The Finest Man He’d Ever Known agreed as well. He said they were mischievous! He said ...

Best Hobbits? The cook frowned as he contemplated this surprising statement. And had Mayor Sam said they were like his own family?

The Gondorian dignitary caught his look of confusion and asked: “Are you familiar with the history of the two gentlehobbits?”

The cook shook his head. Familiar with their history? How would he, a simple cook, be familiar with the history of two such annoying creatures? He was just glad of his modest station in life! If he were some grand hobbit himself, he might have to see them more often! It was not an appealing thought.

Mayor Sam finished his pipe and started a new one while he spoke to him. “Let me tell you a story of what they did on our travels outside the Shire.”

Farlibar had no choice but to remain where he was and listen to a narrative on some of the (truly alarming) travels and grand (if they were to be believed) deeds of his foes. Surely they hadn’t actually talked to trees? And fought with goblins (obviously mistaking them for their own reflections)? Slew a Troll?

And his greatest enemy - that water-loving Brandybuck - had apparently helped to finish off a Witchking! Farlibar wasn’t entirely surprised at the Bucklander’s impudence in facing a King, but he was somewhat puzzled by part of this tale. How could a King be a Witch? Kings were lads and Witches were lasses. It must have been a Wizardking that Mayor Sam was talking about. But the Mayor was on his third pipe by this time, so Farlibar shrugged it off as too much leaf going to his head and listened with (albeit grudging) fascination as the Steward took up the tale at this point.

“My own beloved wife was in much danger at the time,” he began, but Farlibar (much to his own surprise) dared to ask:

“Your wife, sir? I thought the Master of Buckland was on a battlefield outside your city?”

The Steward nodded. “That he was. But the White Lady - we had not met at that time - was dressed as a soldier of her people, the noble Riders of Rohan, and fought as one of them on the Pelennor Field next to her kin.”

Farlibar was astonished. A lass? In breeches! Fighting like a lad, with a sword and everything! Whoever heard tell of such a thing? He made a mental note that if he ever did a Mad Baggins, he would avoid this wild Rohan country. Lasses in breeches! He blushed at the thought.

But he was beginning to see that perhaps there was more to the two miscreants than he’d encountered: saving the good Steward (may he feast like a hobbit for the rest of his life) and coming to the aid of a Rohan Lass That Dressed All Queer-Like (obviously Brandybuck blood flowed somewhere in the land of the mighty warrior-race).

Perhaps the annoying pair weren’t so bad if they were willing to go to such lengths to make the foreign skies turn blue again? And they had been leaders in routing those horrible Ruffians when he was a lad (though he hadn’t recognised them for that, being too young at the time to have witnessed it).

The Great Man continued with his fascinating tale. “She stood before the Witchking (the Steward called him Witchking, too?) as he told her that no man could slay him. And he raised his mighty weapon to smite her when Merry plunged his sword into the creature’s leg - distracting him long enough for Eowyn to declare that no man was she! Then she raised her own weapon and forever rid Middle Earth of the Curse of Angmar!”

Against his better judgement, Farlibar was impressed. The Brandybuck and a lass slaying a terrible King! Good heavens! He’d never have believed that dandy Bucklander would do such a thing!

Of course, maybe the Scary Lady With The Sword hadn’t been aiming at the Wizardking at all (he would not give a lad a lass’s title, no matter how naughty he‘d been)? Perhaps the bothersome Brandybuck (he couldn’t forgive him entirely just because of a few impressive stories) had been pestering her like he’d pestered him and she’d had enough? Perhaps she’d meant to separate his head from his shoulders (he knew how fond Big Folk were of that particular punishment) and had swung too high (even the cloud-hugging Bucklander was still only a hobbit), hitting the unfortunate Wizardking by mistake?

That sounded highly plausible to Farlibar, who saw the lovestruck Steward’s face shining with pride and adoration. But he didn’t want to upset the kindly Lord with this theory so he held his tongue.

Suddenly, he felt a very strong kinship with the Bravest Lass He’d Never Met. Why, that was probably why she never cleared up the misunderstanding! She’d met her handsome Prince soon afterwards and didn’t want to ruin his good opinion of her! So she went along with everyone’s explanation (and Farlibar did not dispute the fact that she’d been exceedingly courageous to slay the terrible creature - whether she’d meant to or not) and had refrained from hacking at the cheeky Master ever since, seeing as how her husband was so fond of him and all!

He might be able to find it in his good heart to forgive both of them for some of their actions after hearing these astonishing stories from such decent people (even if one of them wasn’t a hobbit). After all, if the Thain could slay a Troll ten times his size and the Bucklander rescued such a fine (if fierce and queer) maiden, they must truly be decent hobbits at heart!

It must be just him they didn't like!

No matter. He could live with their dislike if they would at least mind their manners from now on. He’d do it for his new friends, the Steward and Mayor Sam.

“So, you see, Master Farlibar, although they can be right terrors when they’ve a mind to, they’re actually good at heart,” finished Mayor Sam. “They don’t mean to be nasty or such - they just sometimes forget to act their age.”

“If you say so Mayor Sam, sir,” he responded thoughtfully. “Even if they did give me the fright of my life - twice - I’ll take you and the good Steward at your words ‘cos I know your both honourable gentry, sirs.”

“In what manner did they give you such frights, Master Farlibar?” queried the Steward with a touch of concern.

Farlibar squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to tell tales on his Betters, especially after hearing of their Great Deeds (and despite the fact he’d surely be fertilising the flowers of Frogmorton five years before his natural time because of them). It wasn’t seemly.

But Mayor Sam recognised his reticence to talk and wouldn’t have him remaining silent, so he really had no choice but to explain the incident with the mushrooms (including his fear of an early grave), the flour, the ’ants’, the knife tumbling from the Took’s tunic and the loss of so many of Mistress Goodenough’s lovely plates.

He was hobbit enough to own up to his own part, for if he’d not made them chop onions with a spoon (the Steward grunted with laughter at this) or sang that shameful song (Mayor Sam was keen to learn the lyrics and made him repeat it twice), then the incidents with the flour and plates may have been avoided. He hoped his new friends didn’t think less of him for it, but the Steward merely said:

“Emotions were high, Master Farlibar and - as often happens when such is the case - we do things that we later regret. Do not trouble yourself over it now, for it is done and you are the wiser for it.”

Oh, but he was surely the Most Generous Man In All Middle Earth! The cook could not believe that such a wondrous person had made his particular acquaintance. Mistress Goodenough would be delighted! Dandelion-mum would be so proud! Gammer Gummage would…

Well, Gammer Gummage would only be impressed if the Steward didn’t run about throwing apples at folk!

“Well, Mr Faramir. I think it’s high time we had a word with old Strider, don’t you sir?” stated Mayor Sam after finishing his last pipe. “After all: brave or not, we can’t have those two running about causing mischief at their ages. We need to teach them a lesson!”

Farlibar was astounded! That Mayor Sam would see the light and punish the Rampaging Rapscallions even though they were his friends was a gift! He knew he shouldn’t take such delight at the misfortune of others (especially what with them being so brave and helping to Save Middle Earth and all), but, oh! His heart was beginning to feel so light and happy it was a good thing it was trapped in his chest or it might have flown off and deserted him.

A feeling which increased exponentially when the Steward voiced his agreement. “I quite agree, Master Gamgee. Do you have any particular lesson in mind?”

“Oh, I have an idea or two that Mr Strider might be interested in. Master Farlibar, you’ll need to come with us to the Royal Tent. I think the King would be very interested to have a nice, long chat with you.”

Farlibar nearly fainted at the thought of standing before the King again and admitting he’d not been able to keep the Scoundrels of the Shire under control. He’d met far too many dignitaries today as it was - enough for a lifetime. And if he met any more, his lifetime might be very short indeed if his nerves got the better of him!

But the other two had already risen and were staring at his pale, trembling form expectantly.

“Come, Master Farlibar. There is no need for apprehension. We shall be with you during your stay. His Majesty is a kind and wise King, he will not be too harsh with you - or them. He is aware of their rather adventurous natures and knows that they must be checked, when appropriate. And I, for one, am most curious to hear what our dear friend Sam’s ‘idea or two’ entails, are you not?”

Farlibar took great comfort from his words. Great comfort. Our dear friend! He’d said our dear friend. He was sure that the Steward was just being gentlemanly, but his kind words had made him feel like he may follow his own heart into flight!

He stood up, slightly more confident and nodded his head. “All right then, sirs. As long as he doesn’t punish them too badly, mind you. My old Dandelion-mum would not be pleased to know I got gentry into such bother - even if they are Bucklanders and Tooks.”

At that, the Greatest Steward In The Land covered his mouth to cough (very polite he is!) and the Mayor Whose Wisdom Was Endless answered for his friend.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout that. It’ll not be any more or less harsh than they deserve, you have my word on that - or my name’s not Sam Gamgee!”

Farlibar did not think it seemly to point out that he’d often heard him referred to as Sam Gardner, so held his tongue at that as together the three made their way to the Royal Tent. The Royal Tent!

He suddenly remembered something that made his previous happiness pale in comparison - he was going to see the Star Queen!

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Author’s Note: I know this was to be the last chapter, but, oh dear! I’ve done it again. Another alleged oneshot that’s spiralling out of my control.