Distractions

Chapter 1 – A Merry Ruse 

Forelithe 1419 SR

Minas Tirith

Aragorn was restless. While he covered his anxiety with practiced ease, anyone who knew him as well as the Fellowship did could see it. There was no grand feast tonight, just a private dinner for the Fellowship and their friends in the banquet hall of the King’s House. Aragorn should have been relaxed, sitting back in his chair, a glass of wine lazing in his hand as he jabbed at his plate heartily. Instead, he looked rather like he did at a formal supper or a grand feast, sitting upright and taking small bites of food in between conversation. The only sign he showed of not paying full attention to his speaking companion was a light roll of his fingertips against the arm of his chair. His mind was wandering, but it was anyone’s guess as to where. 

He was not the only one distracted. Frodo too had been having trouble staying in the present, though he was far less successful at hiding it. Under his friends’ watchful eyes he had dutifully eaten a full serving of the meal, but now he picked at his second serving. His eyes bulged ever so slightly, as though one more bite of food might just cause him to explode. His glass of wine remained untouched, and though he nodded along to the conversation going on around him, he only rarely participated. 

Sam, Merry and Pippin exchanged glances as dessert was offered. For the last several days, Frodo had been acting more and more cut off, feigning absorption in his book in which he hadn’t written in just as long. Then, two days before, Aragorn had started strolling along the courtyard of the citadel at odd hours, looking over the parapet beyond the reaches of the city as though his life depended on what he might see there. Something had to be done about this, but far be it for them to figure out what.

Dessert was a tart custard on a biscuit-like crust that the cooks called a lemon bar. Sprinkled with a thin layer of caramel flambéed to a crisp but gooey topping, it was easily one of the hobbits’ most favorite new foods to eat in Gondor. Even Frodo gobbled them down, and his friends were heartened when he reached for one without any prompting on their part. True, he grabbed a smaller square and only nibbled at it, but at least he was still eating. Aragorn also took a square, but he placed it on his plate and proceeded to eat it with his fork.

Sam sighed. Really, this was getting out of hand.

Merry and Pippin raised their eyebrows at him, eyes questioning. Sam shrugged, his hands spread apart in a gesture of helplessness. Merry and Pippin shrugged at each other in agitation, prompting the other to do something already. 

It was Faramir, though, who finally gave them the help they needed. He wiped the crumbs of the lemon bar off his hands and turned to his king and friend. “So, My Lord Aragorn, do you find your apartments to your liking?” he asked.

The King’s House was located just behind the White Tower in the very center of the citadel. Three stories high it stood. At nearly four times the length and width of any of the other homes surrounding it, with the exception of the Halls of Feast, it was the largest section of the citadel. It commanded a full view of all of Minas Tirith, including the fields and mountain surrounding the city. 

Kept up regularly during the king’s long absence, it had nonetheless fallen into minor disrepair during the final years of the war against Mordor. With the return of their king, the house had been polished, mopped, dusted, swept and washed from ceiling to floor during the intervening month between the Enemy’s defeat and the King’s coronation. Furniture held in storage had been brought out and polished to a new shine, and suitable mattresses had been taken from the surrounding buildings that were not in use; as new mattresses could be made, the borrowed ones would be returned to their original dwellings. The Head Mistress was currently interviewing artists who could touch up the various paintings that belonged in the house; they had faded much during the nearly 1,000 years since the last king sat on the throne.

The hobbits had been nothing but astounded that the house had been kept up at all. When they first visited the house a few weeks before, they had been expecting cobwebs, layers of dust, tarnished candelabra and piles of vermin droppings. Faramir had been offended at the mere suggestion.

“We might have long ago given up any hope of a king returning,” he had said, “but that would hardly be reason to let the house fall into dilapidation. The King's House commands a large staff; it was easy enough to see that appropriate personnel were appointed to the keeping of the house. Besides, it lowers the likelihood of infestation.”

“Infestation?” Merry had asked. “There’s… rats?” He had looked about nervously, as though expecting one of the little brown rodents to come skittering in his direction, mouth watering for the taste of hobbit flesh.

Aragorn had moved into the house immediately upon his coronation, and if he had found anything lacking he had not said so. Now he looked about the long banquet hall in which he sat, as though this one room encompassed all the house surrounding it. 

“It is more than suitable,” he answered. “I have not had much time to explore it, in truth. I’ve occupied only a handful of the rooms, after the tour Head Mistress Porcia gave me upon my return to the City. I doubt I could even tell you where is the kitchen.”

“Just through the butler’s pantry,” the hobbits chimed, pointing to the doorway behind Aragorn’s seat.

“Trust a hobbit to know the way to any kitchen,” Gandalf said, chuckling softly. “It’s the first room they learn in any dwelling they enter.”

“Well, naturally,” Pippin said. “It’s the most important room in the house.”

Faramir smiled at his little friends but kept his attention on Aragorn. “It is of course tradition for the new king to redecorate the house to his own liking, or so it used to be. Have the furniture reupholstered, the walls painted, the curtains changed, that sort of thing. Mistress Porcia has been expecting your orders in this matter. She is still somewhat intimidated to speak to you directly, given her time in the service of my father, so she asked that I mention it to you when next we meet.” Faramir frowned slightly at the mention of his father but he smoothed his features easily. 

“I am disheartened to hear that she fears me,” Aragorn said. “I have tried my best to put all the servants at their ease. I appreciate your efforts to help, but it might be best if you encourage her to come to me directly with such requests.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Faramir said with an incline of his head.

“As for her request, I fear I have no touch for decoration. A ranger has no need for such luxuries after all. I will have to take Porcia with me, so she can tell me of her recommendations,” Aragorn said. “Perhaps that will help her to feel more at her ease in my presence, though I do not know when I shall for it.”

“But,” Pippin chirped, and everyone turned their attention to him. He grinned uncertainly, but Merry and Sam could see an idea forming in his eyes. “But we could do that for you, Strider.”

“We could?” Merry, Frodo and Sam rightly asked.

Pippin nodded eagerly. “It would be fun!”

“Explain how this would be fun,” Merry challenged.

“Well, it would be like excavating an old hole or exploring the Mathom-house in Michel Delving,” Pippin suggested. “Remember that time we went, during the Free Fair?”

“Was that the year you streaked?” Frodo asked.

Pippin pinked under the gaze of his now very-attentive audience. “Erm, no, it was an Overlithe year. We went into the Mathom-house; it was fun to wander through there and explore all the corners and alcoves. Pervinca and Everard were with us, but then they started bickering and got us thrown out.”

Merry nodded slowly. “I remember, though I’m still not equating that with how much fun it would be to redecorate a house that hasn’t been used in nearly a thousand years.”

“We could set up a museum here of all the old things we have to get rid of!” Pippin suggested.

“A museum? Where would they put this museum, and who would go to it?” Frodo asked.

“I’m sure if they built it, people would come,” Pippin said. “The same holds true for golf courses.”

“No,” Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf said as one.

“I doubt anyone would be interested in going to such a museum here,” Frodo replied before Pippin could get too fixated on the golf course again. He had been after Faramir to give him a tour of the surrounding countryside, in order to look for a proper place to lay down a greenway, ever since Sam had entertained them all with his Ode to Rivendell poem three days ago.

“That’s because it’s not built yet. You can’t know if they’ll come until it’s built,” Pippin countered, giving his friends pause. They couldn’t very well argue against such logic.

“What is streaking?” Beregond asked suddenly. He had learned that if he wanted to have his own questions answered, he had to take advantage of any lull in the conversation to sneak them in. 

Beside him, Bergil leaned forward with interest. This was a new expression to him as well. Faramir also was looking at the hobbits with expectation. He might not know what streaking was, but he had the very distinct feeling he was about to be greatly entertained.

The hobbits paused again and glanced amongst themselves, debating with their eyes who would have the honor of answering that question. Gimli saved them the trouble. 

“It is when you remove all your clothes and run naked through a crowd,” he said, eyes twinkling. “As I understand it, it is preferable to do this during a great celebration or large gathering.”

All eyes turned to Pippin, who giggled nervously and blushed crimson. 

“You did this?” Beregond asked, incredulous. He had great difficultly believing the Ernil i Pheriannath capable of such foolery, and yet clearly it was true. Anborn and Imrahil were finding it equally difficult to imagine the stout little knight behaving in such a manor. Elladan and Elrohir on the other hand could picture it only too well.

“Yes, well,” Pippin mumbled, doing his best to ignore his friends’ wide grins. “I was only six, mind, and I only did it because Merry did it too!” He sat back, arms crossed, and smirked in triumph as all eyes swiveled towards Merry.

Legolas quirked an eyebrow. “If Pippin was six, then Merry would have been fourteen?” he said. 

Bergil laughed into his hands. “You were fourteen, Sir Meriadoc?” he asked. That was older than himself, and even he would never do something so foolish as that!

Now it was Merry’s turn to be embarrassed. “No, I was four when I streaked,” he said with what dignity he could muster. “And I only did it because Frodo told me that my cousin Berilac had a record of streaking through the Summer Feast. I used to be a bit competitive back in those days…”

“What do you mean you used to be?” Gandalf and Aragorn asked.

Merry glared at the wizard and ranger, then returned the gazes of his audience. Well, he had wanted Frodo and Aragorn distracted from their wool-gathering. Perhaps he could make this work to their advantage. 

“I mean,” he began, a meager plan quickly taking form. He shot a furtive glance at Pippin and Sam. “I mean, that Berry was always better than I was at everything, being two years older. So Frodo, being the kind and benevolent cousin that he is, encouraged me to break his streaking record. So I did, and I had so clearly annihilated Berry’s record that no one ever even mentioned his streak run again.” 

He smiled admiringly at Frodo, just like he used to when he was little and Frodo had been his hero. Well, he supposed Frodo was still his hero, though for very different reasons.

“Good old Frodo was always looking after me,” Merry continued, and quietly rejoiced when he saw Frodo begin to squirm. The rest of the Fellowship was watching them with interest. They knew something was coming from this, but they didn’t know what. The others simply sat back and listened, unaware of any havoc about to be released upon them.

“Now, you would think Berry would want his record back,” Merry went on, “but after my successful run at the Summer Feast, he must have known it would be useless to attempt it again. I was clearly the better in this particular sport. He was undoubtedly humiliated, but being the stout and loyal cousin that he is, so much like my Frodo really, he took it all with good grace. Except, he never did congratulate me on besting him, which I found to be rather rude. Wouldn’t you agree, Frodo?”

Now everyone turned to Frodo, who was blushing hotly and looking quite uncomfortable. “Erm, well, actually,” he spluttered, then took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Surely, you should have figured it out by now.”

“Figured what out, dear Frodo?” Merry asked.

“Think about it, Merry,” Frodo said. “Don’t you think it’s rather odd that no one ever had any anecdotes about Berry streaking through the Summer Feast?”

“I did, but I didn’t worry about it, for I knew that he had done so. You told me so and you would never lie to a four-year old,” Merry replied, the hero-worship so clear in his eyes that Sam and Pippin had to look away to keep themselves from laughing.  

All eyes returned to Frodo, who was gaping at Merry as though he had lost all sense. “Of course I lied to you!” he said, exasperated. “Just as you’re lying to me and everyone else in this room by pretending you didn’t know.”

“You… You lied to me? Berry never streaked?” Merry asked, appearing to be in such a state of disbelief that he hardly knew what to do with himself. Indeed, he looked so crushed and disheartened that Pippin had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from howling. 

“No, he did streak,” Frodo amended, not buying Merry’s act for a moment. “Just not at the Summer Feast, not in front of all the Brandybucks, and not multiple times. It was once down the tunnel from the bathing rooms to Cousin Mac’s apartment, and it was rather early in the morning actually. I don’t think very many people were up yet, except for servants.” He ended his confession with a little shrug. “It was the only way I could think to end your constant competition with Berilac, and it was quite successful.”

“Hm-mm,” Merry hummed. He slanted his eyes at his cousin in deep contemplation. When next he spoke, the ire was all but dripping off his tongue. “Yes, well, it was a long time ago. It’s not as if I’ve had to hear about it at every single Summer Feast ever since then, nor have I had to endure endless teasing from nearly every lass in Bucklebury whispering just loud enough for me to hear how they wished I would streak again so they could properly imagine my bared rump, and other unmentionables, waggling though the tent flap.”

Pippin’s efforts at a straight face were failing miserably. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, and it didn’t help when he noticed that Bergil had broken down entirely, hiding his giggles behind his hands. Sam was doing much better, distracting himself from laughing by surreptitiously pinching himself on the leg under the table. The others weren’t even bothering to hide their reaction, their smiles wide and their eyes sparkling with mirth.

Frodo narrowed his eyes at Merry, who was glaring at him most convincingly. “Indeed. I’m glad you’re not too angry about it, since you never mentioned it before?” he asked hopefully, suddenly unsure if this truly was a ruse or not. “I was only thinking of you, after all.”

“Oh, no, I’m not angry at all. I’m planning my retribution, but in a happy way,” Merry replied, smiling wanly. Underneath the table, he kicked at Pippin’s foot.

Pippin straightened his features instantly. Of course, Merry would expect his help in this fool’s errand. He sighed and glanced at Frodo with sympathy and apology. “I apologize in advance for anything he talks me into doing while seeking his retribution,” he told Frodo.

“I forgive you in advance.”

“I think I’ll have to be defending your honor in advance, sir,” Sam said to Frodo, then looked pointedly at Merry. ‘What are you up to?’

“Sorry, Sam, but Brandybuck honor is at risk. I have to do what I can to regain my dignity,” Merry said.

“The last time you tried to regain your dignity, you wound up locked in a bathing room with no dinner,” Sam reminded him. “Don’t you think you’ve rather outgrown such foolishness, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You can outgrow many things, Sam, but foolishness isn’t one of them,” Merry said.

“So I gather,” Sam muttered. “You and I will just have to keep on our toes, sir.”

“That we will, but don’t worry, Sam,” Frodo said, reaching over to pat his friend on the shoulder. He tipped Sam a wink. “Even as he plans his retribution, I’m planning my retaliation. So even if he scores a point or two, he’ll lose in the end.” He and Merry bowed their heads politely at each other, the challenge accepted, then Frodo went back to his lemon bar.

The remainder of the Fellowship simply sat in silence, trying to figure out what had just happened. Far from becoming the spitting match they had expected, the hobbits had instead jumped straight to drawing their swords for a duel. However they came to the point, though, the other members of the Fellowship had experience enough to know to stay clear of the hobbits as much as possible until this match was ended. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t necessarily be an option they could employ to full advantage. The rest of their companions were at a complete loss as to guessing the danger they were in, and so perhaps the happier when they left the King’s House an hour later.

To be continued…

GF 11/27/08

* - The story about Merry’s streak run can be found in “In a Flash”, and the tale of Merry’s last attempt at retaliation can be read in “A Day in the Life”. Pippin's streaking adventure can be read in the drabble “Cheeky Took”.