A/N: I’ve read many fics that place the hobbits’ home in Minas Tirith on the sixth circle, but being unable to find anything in canon to back this up, I decided to move their home down one level.

Chapter 2 – Many Meetings

“So, are we really going to prank Frodo?” Pippin asked the following morning. 

He and Merry were in the kitchen, helping Sam clean and put away the breakfast dishes. The rest of the Fellowship were either getting ready for the day ahead or already out the door on whatever business they had to conduct.

The walk back from the Citadel to their home on the fifth circle the night before had been tranquil enough. Everyone seemed to have forgotten the call to war between Frodo and Merry and had instead enjoyed Legolas’s recitation of the constellations overhead. When they arrived at the house, everyone had quietly gone to their rooms and bedded down for the night, too tired and full to do much else. 

The morning had brought no further mention of the previous night’s confrontation until now. They had woken and enjoyed a peaceful breakfast. Then Legolas and Gimli had gone to meet Aragorn on the first circle to inspect the repairs being made and lend their hands where they could. Gandalf had gone to the stables to check on Shadowfax and take the restless stallion on a ride through the Pelennor; he needed to check on the progress of the returning refugees there anyway. 

Frodo had been talked into a bath, after much persistence by Sam. Understandably, Frodo did not want to leave Merry and Pippin alone for too long, but he had to admit that he had been craving a good long soak for the last several days. At length, he agreed to the bath despite his worries, which could not even be relieved by the fact that at least Sam would be with his cousins. Sam had joined in one conspiracy against him, and there was nothing to prevent him from doing so again, especially if he felt it was in Frodo’s best interest. Frodo even doubted that a direct order would do any good at this point; Sam didn’t exactly take such orders so readily anymore, though he might pretend to for propriety’s sake.

As it turned out, he had good reason to be suspicious. No sooner were Merry, Pippin and Sam alone than Pippin asked his question. He had been mulling over the situation since last night, and no matter which way he looked at it, he kept coming to the same conclusion. He simply couldn’t see how Merry could get away with this hair-brained idea of his and said as much.

“I’m going to have to prank him though,” Merry said with a shrug. “He’s expecting it, and it will have to be adequate enough to properly repay him for tricking me into streaking.”

“Repay him how?” Pippin asked. “You can’t exactly de-pants the Ring-bearer in the middle of the market square.”

“Well, no, I can’t at that,” Merry agreed, frowning as he dried the cups and put them away. “Public pranks are off limits anyway, remember?”

“Quite,” Pippin said.

“Just why exactly are you wanting to do this anyhow, Mr. Merry?” Sam asked. “You had to have known long afore now as Mr. Frodo had tricked you.”

“Of course I’ve known. I figured it out when I asked Berilac if he was upset that I broke his record and he had no clue what I was talking about,” Merry revealed. 

“You’ve always known then?” Pippin asked in amazement.

Merry nodded. “I didn’t mind at the time though, as I still had done something that Berry couldn’t do. It wasn’t until I came into my tweens that I started to get embarrassed with it all, but by then it was too late to do anything about it.”

“So then why are you doing something now?” Sam rightly asked again as he scrubbed the bottom of an iron pot.

“Because it was a hair-brained idea, as Pippin said,” Merry answered. “And because I think it will be good for Frodo. He’s been brooding. He needs to get out of the house and get to know some of the people here. A little fresh air and sunshine is just what the healer ordered. Not only that, but Aragorn’s been agitated lately as well. There’s something on his mind, and far be it for me to figure out why he hasn’t come to us about it. I doubt there’s much we can do for him, but we won’t know until we find out what it is.”

Sam and Pippin exchanged dubious looks. They were both thinking the same thing: how exactly was pulling a prank on Frodo supposed to accomplish all of this? They turned their look on Merry and waited.

“I don’t know, all right?” Merry answered at length. “I didn’t exactly have time to think this through.”

They fell into silence and finished the dishes. Then they began to clean the counters and table. As they were hanging the washcloths to dry, Pippin spoke. “Pervinca always says that the best prank is the one they never know about,” he stated.

“Vinca was a mastermind in her own right,” Merry agreed. “We should have taken more heed of her when we had the chance. I’m afraid we’re on our own now.”

“Do give me some credit, Merry,” Pippin said, wiping his hands dry on a fresh towel. “I didn’t live with her across the hall my whole life and survive it from pure luck, you know.”

“I know that,” Merry said, taking the towel from him and wiping his own hands before passing it to Sam. “Are you saying you know of something then?”

“I might,” Pippin said, thinking hard. “She did it once to Everard and it drove him mad to no end. I think with some alterations, we could make it work for us now.”

“Go on,” Merry and Sam said.

“We do a prank, an obvious one, so that Frodo will think the deed is over and drop his guard,” Pippin began. “Then we do the real prank, something that will get him out of the house and meeting people, as you said.”

“One prank to cover another,” Merry reiterated, with a newfound appreciation for Pervinca Took. “That could work.”

“What’s the real prank?” Sam asked, not sure if he liked this idea yet or not.

“Well, when Vinca did it, she kept having mail delivered to Everard by the name of E. Took, but none of it was for him. One was for our mother, Eglantine Took, another for Ermingard Took, or Emilbold Took, and so on. He could only know if it was for him or not by opening it, and then he was forced to give them back to a post messenger for delivery to the real recipients, none of whom had any idea what the letters were talking about or who they were from. She only did this a couple of times a week, but by the end of the second week, Everard was nearly fit to be tied, especially after one of the post messengers accused him of stealing the mail, and Da got word that Everard was tampering with the post and sending false letters. Poor Ev had to work in the Post House all during Foreyule,” Pippin explained.

“He never figured out it was Vinca?” Merry asked.

Pippin shook his head. “That’s the best part. Vinca can copy the hand of just about any Hobbit. Plus, she was in Budgeford visiting Estella the whole time, so it was a simple enough matter to make it appear that the mail was coming from all over the Shire. She even borrowed seals from the other guests at the manor or the neighbors, and she never used the same post messenger twice. The really brilliant part was that she had the post messenger deliver the letters to the Post House, rather than to Everard directly, so when he finally wizened up after the first two letters and interrogated the messenger who actually did deliver them to him, there was nothing to tell.”

“And he still wants to marry her?” Merry asked, baffled. “He’s a braver hobbit than I am.”

Pippin shrugged. “There’s no accounting for Tooks, or so my mother always says. I guess she was right. 

“Anyway, what I was thinking to do was this: there are all sorts of people who would like to meet Frodo. Strider, Faramir, Beregond, Bergil and just about everyone else I speak to always have a list of people who would like very much to entertain Frodo on a private level. And we’re always getting all sorts of packages and gifts delivered to us here.” He waved to the far wall in demonstration. Beneath the garden window sat a long table, cluttered with parcels of every shape and size imaginable. 

“So, what if we started getting mail that shouldn’t be coming here? What if the mail actually belonged to some of these people who would like to meet Frodo? What if we were all too busy to deliver the mail ourselves?” Pippin said.

“Then Frodo would have to?” Merry continued, thinking it through. He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t work. He would just tell the post messenger of the error the next time one came by.”

“So, we just tell the post messengers not to come by anymore,” Sam said, then grinned. “And since we don’t actually want to steal the mail, that means as we’ll need Strider’s help. I could put it forth to him, being as I’ll be the one trying to find out what’s eating at him anyway.”

“I don’t know. This is all quite complicated, and the more complicated the prank, the more likelihood there is for things to go wrong,” Merry said. “We don’t exactly have Pervinca’s advantage, nor her objective.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to have the folk send Frodo invitations to tea?” Sam asked.

“They don’t have tea here,” Merry said and they shook their heads sadly at this reminder. “Besides, Frodo could simply decline an invitation.”

“What if the folk just came here instead then?” Sam asked.

“Strider’s forbidden folk from stopping by, you know that,” Pippin said.

Sam nodded. “Aye, but we can still invite guests over. I think we should do a regular prank, like you said, and instead of all this running about behind his back, tell him simply that there are folk wanting to visit and so we’ve invited them.”

“How is that going to get him out of the house though?” Merry asked.

“From what I’ve gathered listening to folk talk at all these feasts we’ve been having, when someone comes over for tea, or what have you, then it’s only polite to return the favor and visit them at some later point, usually within a week or so,” Sam said. “Mr. Frodo can’t exactly be declining an invitation that he’s socially obligated to accept.”

“He might just start disappearing when he knows someone’s coming over,” Pippin said.

“He’ll still be out of the house then,” Merry pointed out. He considered the plan for a moment, then nodded. “I think that’s for the best. It’s certainly easier. We don’t exactly have the time to be planning such elaborate pranks.”

“Except we do still have to plan a prank,” Pippin said.

“And don’t forget that Mr. Frodo’s going to retaliate on whatever prank you decide to pull,” Sam reminded him. “We’ll have to be worriting about—”

Sam cut off suddenly, his ears pricking towards the bathing room.

“I heard the door open,” he whispered to his coconspirators. 

“Let’s think this over today and talk again tonight. Pippin, get some names of these people who want to meet Frodo and find out where they live. I’ll want to meet them first. Sam, try to find a way to speak with Strider tonight and ask around to see what is the protocol for inviting guests to … whatever meal it is they invite people to. I’ll try to think up some brilliant prank that will allow for the retaliation to leave us more or less intact,” Merry said and dissolved the meeting.

An hour later, the hobbits were making their way to the citadel. Pippin was dressed in his livery, as he would be performing his duties as esquire today and would be standing for Aragorn once he returned from the Gate to hold court. The others were dressed in their everyday clothes, including Merry, who unfortunately did not have Pippin’s excuse. As Éomer and Éowyn had left the previous month to return to Edoras, Merry’s only duty was a weekly rotation to guard the House of Kings in the Hallows where the body of Théoden lay awaiting his funeral escort; he would not have to stand guard again for another four days.

They were going to the King’s House to fulfill Pippin’s promise to help Aragorn begin plans for the redecoration of his apartments. The fact that neither Pippin nor Aragorn would be there was a sore point.

“This is the very definition of irony,” Merry said for what was easily the tenth time since leaving their house.

“Don’t be silly, Merry,” Pippin said. “Definitions are never this specific. At best, this is an adequate example for the definition of irony.”

“Don’t push it, Pip,” Merry warned. “I still fail to see how this is going to be fun.”

“Have other plans, do you?” Frodo asked innocently.

“No, but…” Merry began but let the matter fall. He figured it was better for Frodo to think him irritated for being delayed of his prank than merely being annoyed at Pippin for ditching them with this project.

At length, they reached the citadel and headed towards the White Tower and the King’s House behind it. Pippin bid them farewell when they reached the Tower and entered through the north door that led to the conference rooms and buttery of the Guard of the Tower. The others were greeted by the Head Mistress, Porcia, at the door of the King’s House. She led them into the reception parlor, where two guards stood waiting, dressed in full livery but unarmed. 

“Homey,” Merry whispered. Frodo and Sam smirked. 

Porcia, a heavy-set woman with a perpetual scowl, stopped in front of the guards and curtsied hurriedly. The guards began to bow when they saw who was trailing behind her, but she waved her hands in agitation. She had to get back to the kitchens and didn’t have time to dilly-dally over formalities. 

“This is the Ring-bearer, and his cousin Sir Meriadoc and servant Lord Samwise. They’re to come and go as they please, and you’re to listen to their orders, or you’ll be mucking out the stables with the grooms, and you won’t have a shovel.” She turned back to the hobbits. “These guards have been sent to help you. His Highness thought you might need help with the reordering. He has told you what he wants done?”

“No,” Frodo answered, looking around. 

They had been in the house only a few times, and while they had always been allowed to roam freely, they had not seen much more of the house than Aragorn has, with exception of the kitchen and pantries of course.

“He is supposed to come later today, after he holds court, and have a look around. Until then, I think we are just to explore the rooms and discover what will need to be replaced or renewed,” Frodo finished.

“Mmphm,” Porcia said. Whatever her thoughts were to this declaration, she wisely kept them to herself. She continued on, “I can have food sent to you, or you can eat in the banquet hall or sitting rooms, whichever you prefer. If there’s anything else you require, have one of the guards find me and I’ll get it for you right off. Is there anything you’re needing at the moment?”

“No, not at the moment,” Frodo answered cordially, “and we will take our food in the kitchen. We don’t want to put you out by having to dress the dining table just for the three of us. Five of us, rather.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Lord Frodo, though if that is what you wish, so it will be,” Mistress Porcia replied just as cordially. She curtsied and excused herself, disappearing down the hall in a sweep of homespun skirts, her tight bun of hair catching the morning light from the windows in a burst of silver and sable. 

The hobbits looked up at their tall companions. The younger guard looked familiar, but the older guard they had not met before. 

“I suppose we’re to learn your names, if you’re to work with us,” Merry said.

The guards now bowed as they had been denied doing before. They bowed as all the guards did when greeting their King and the members of his court: closed right fist over their heart, their left hand behind their back, their heads declined towards the floor. The hobbits bowed back in their own fashion, hands to their sides, faces forward. 

The older guard, who looked to be no more than sixty or so, spoke as they came out of their bows. “My Lord Frodo, My Lord Samwise, Sir Meriadoc,” he said in a rich, rusty voice. “I am Amarlicus, son of Cyricus, and this is Adrik, son of Kirtis. Your servants, sirs.”

“Your servants,” the hobbits returned.

“Would you be able to give us the tour then?” Frodo asked.

“We have never been here before either, My Lord,” Adrik said, and blushed. His voice was deep but soft, and full of humble reverence for the Ring-bearer he was addressing. To imagine, that he of all the Guard had been chosen for this task! He could not quite believe his luck, even as he stared into those bottomless blue eyes.

“Well, then, we will have the pleasure of learning our way around together,” Merry said, grinning widely. “Let’s get started, shall we?” 

They turned together and stepped down the hall to the nearest room.

To be continued…

GF 12/8/08

Published 3/2/09