Title: With The Best Of Intentions
Author: AshLight
Summary: Anger a hobbit at your peril. Series of five mini ficlets; featuring Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Sam and Gandalf, with a dash of Aragorn and Legolas; ranging from pre to post-Quest.
Category: General/Humour
Rating: G. Nothing more serious than occasional hobbit starvation
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Sweet Vengeance
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"Frodo Baggins, this isn't funny!"
"See the trick is," Frodo's voice managed to raise over his cousins' wails and pounds against the door, while still remaining as calm and light-hearted as it ever was, "to bake the pie just long enough for them to smell it being made, and then to take it out of hands reach. Teaches them the value of patience."
"Fro! Fro, I want some to eat!"
"Of course, it helps if you have somewhere handy to hide behind as well," the young hobbit admitted, slipping behind his desk and leaning his back against it, eyeing the study door with some doubt. It had been locked, but then you never could tell with a pair of half-starved, half-crazed hobbits. "Have a slice, Sam?"
The young gardener eyed the steaming mushroom pie with some trepidation. His master's famous buttered mushroom pie was enough to send the most moderate of hobbits' drooling where they stood, but – well, eating it within smelling distance of the young masters, now that was plain brutal. No wonder they were both currently crouching behind Master Frodo's desk.
"FRODO BAGGINS, LET US IN RIGHT NOW!"
"What is it Sam?" His master's eyes were wide with concern. "You don't want any to eat?"
Sam hastily shook his head, so vigorously that for one moment he was afraid that it might come off. "Oh no sir, nothing like that, but – you don't think it's just a mite cruel to your cousins?"
"FRO I'M HUNGRY!"
Frodo's lips merely twitched. "Of course not Sam – after the mess they made of your flowerbeds, it's only fair they receive some comeuppance." The knife dug down into the pie, splitting the pastry wide open and releasing a cacophony of mouth-watering scents. "Besides, I am not unkind."
"FRODO, I SWEAR TO ALL THE STARS – "
"I left them a mushroom on the kitchen table." Sam had never seen his master's eyes sparkle quite so wickedly. "One. They can fight to share it."
" – THIS IS BEYOND ANY JOKE!"
Sam accepted his slice of pie with delight, if not some worry. One meagre little mushroom, for two growing lads to scrap over. His master had indeed picked up some odd ideas down in Buckland and no mistake.
-o-
Green-Eyed Monster
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"PEREGRIN TOOK, YOU EVIL, LOW, LYING, CHEATING, STINKING SWINE!"
The small, rapidly moving blur that was the future Thain of the Shire darted through the ever-crowded main hallway of the Great Smials, scattering servants and gentlehobbits equitably as it went. Papers flew, cushions were scattered; a particularly prized bowl full to the brim of strawberry flavoured sweetbreads was knocked untimely from the hands of its unfortunate owner. Indignant yelps wound their way throughout the winding maze of tunnels and burrows, echoing as they went.
From inside his own, adopted bedroom, Merry glanced up from his book to glance with idle interest at the gasping heap that had just collapsed on his bedroom rug. "Having fun?"
Pippin glowered up at the smirking, self-contented face of his cousin. His arms and legs were currently curled up about his body, in a valiant effort to make himself as small as he possibly could. "Curse that lass and her temper."
"Diamond North-Took is a lass, Pip, not a target to rain your experiments down upon from on high. I thought it was odd, you volunteering to tidy her room before she arrived."
"Thank-you for your faith in me, cousin."
"Not at all. The bucket of water over the door. The ants in her bureau. Filling the pillow with pudding. Really Pip-squeak, I've taught you well."
"Thanks."
"And then leading the pig into her room – a muddy pig! – without being seen. A stroke of genius."
"Would you expect anything less?"
"But," and here Merry's eyes turned mockingly stern, "leading the poor lass outside when Drado Hunter was just arriving, that was a little cruel."
The hobbit-lad shrugged, eyes a-sparkle. "I thought it was quite ingenious, actually."
"Oh, ingenious yes. A work of pure brilliance. But cruel nonetheless. You know she's sweet on him."
Pippin flicked the collar of his jacket up. If Merry squinted, he was sure that the hint of a blush was beginning to spread over his best friend's face and neck. "Who says that wasn't the reason I did it?"
Struggling to keep a straight face, Merry nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. Jealousy will get you nowhere, Pippin."
"No. But a large bucket of paint tipped over Drado's head certainly will."
A grin spread over both their faces. "Lead on, cousin."
-o-
The Best of Intentions…
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Sam was crouching in the flowerbed when he found him. Or cowering, one might say, and grasping the hoe with a slightly stricken look on his face, as if sensing the need to wield it while defending his person from the maddened Master of Bag End.
"Afternoon Sam." The gardener glanced up, without much surprise, and merely shuffled over to allow Merry to cringe amongst the dahlais beside him. "What was your crime?"
Blushing right to the roots of his sandy-light curls, the young Gamgee lad glanced down at the earth and shuffled his feet bashfully, the tips of his ears as pink as any sunset. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. "I…well, I weren't thinking as it would do any harm, Master Merry," he mumbled directly to his toes, clutching the hoe all the more carefully. "But…well, I know how Mister Frodo's been having some awful bouts of stomach gripes lately, and I didn't want him to make himself any worse." The blush merely deepened, until the entirety of Samwise's head just looked like another giant, crimson dahlia blooming in the sun. "So this morning when Mister Frodo woke up, I plumb well stood there and said he wasn't to be having any breakfast, or second breakfast come to that."
A definite, explosive snort erupted from Merry's lips. Oh, Frodo would have loved that.
"I know!" Sam wailed, looking equally torn between the horror of cheeking his beloved master, and the fear for his own person when said master eventually caught up with him. "I know, it were dreadful cheek me telling him that an' all; but a body's stomach can only cope with so much, and I thought it'd only be for the best…"
"Now Sam," the younger tween smiled, reaching over to pat the trembling gardener on the shoulder, "Really, I won't be having with any of this. You were absolutely right of course – Frodo's ill, and needs to spare his stomach. Of course, I can't imagine any hobbit being happy with the verdict, but my cousin can just like it or lump it."
Sam gave what suspiciously looked like a sniff, before glancing back up. "So what are you doin' out here with me, if you don't mind my asking, Master Merry?"
It was Merry's turn to blush; a glorious, brilliant red. "I…well, I came upon him trying to fix his luncheon," he admitted, focussing his own attention on the sky above. "And…well, I remembered what Pa said about Frodo being ill, and giving his stomach a rest, so I…well, I took his luncheon away."
The gardener's mouth was as wide as an open gate.
"He…well, he got a little upset." Started chasing him around Bad End with a frying pan, cursing in dwarvish, actually – but Sam didn't need to know that. "Just as long as no-one else gives him the chance to have any food…"
Both lads paused, and then exchanged horror-filled looks as a familiar voice filtered through the open window.
"Frodo? Frodo, isn't it a glorious day? Have you seen Merry? Have you seen all these sweets Da got me from the Fair, just for me? Frodo? Fro…why are you looking at me like that, Frodo?"
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For They are Subtle, and Quick to Anger
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"You're going to have to stop hiding in there sooner or later sir."
"Confound it, Samwise Gamgee," The voice was dignified, or at least as dignified as it could be when coming from a wizard currently hiding behind an ornately designed bookshelf, "I assure you that I am not hiding. Far from it. I am merely…carrying out some research required for our journey."
The young hobbit's hands were jammed down sharply on his hips; a stern look in his dark brown eyes. "Beggin' your pardon sir, but you're hiding. And I should think so too, after all the havoc you've been putting Mister Frodo and Mister Merry through! Why, give me one good reason why I shouldn't tell them where you are right this very minute?"
One beady eye focussed itself at Sam from between two books filled with elven script. "Because you wouldn't want another little accident plaguing your master, would you Samwise?"
Sam only raised his chin defiantly, although his eyes were carefully flickering left and right to check that any number of their elven hosts – although he was coming to think of them more as witnesses – were in Rivendell's library, keeping a close watch on him. "Now then, sir," he began carefully. "I won't be having that, not when Mister Frodo's already so angry with you. And Mister Merry's fair fit to be tied. What were you even thinking?"
"A wizard's ways are mysterious and not to be questioned, Samwise."
"Meanin' you weren't; beggin' your pardon."
"Meaning nothing of the kind, impudent young hobbit-scoundrel!" The tip of a staff rose for a second over the edge of the bookcase, waving threateningly for a second; before Gandalf subsided reluctantly. "It…could have been that I allowed my…temper and pride to get the better of me for a mere second."
If the light in the library could be trusted, it was just possible to see the hint – just a hint – of a smirk dancing around Sam's lips. "Can't say as I'll be complaining all that much. It'll be quieter around here for a couple of hours, even if he is Mister Frodo's own kin." The brown eyes narrowed warningly again. "But you will set this to rights, won't you sir?"
"I will indeed…in a couple of hours."
A small smile on the faces of both wizard and hobbit was interrupted by a veritable explosion from the far end of the library. "GANDALF!"
Sam made a small face of horror. "I'd best be off, sir." The young hobbit had made it about three paces, before turning back and sticking his hands in his pockets, drawing out a small, bright green frog. "But afore that; what am I to do with Master Pippin?"
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Noble Visitors (or: If they ever visited the Shire…)
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"It's entirely possible…" Merry gasped as soon as he reached the far side of Bywater Pool, "that we may have gone just a smidgen too far."
"Nonsense," his cousin panted. The young heir to be Thane of the Shire was currently bent over double, clutching a stitch in his side. "A childish prank, little more."
Merry fixed him with a pointed glare.
"Oh, alright," Pippin shrugged. "I may be willing to concede that we tested the boundaries of friendship, not to mention loyalty toward my liege lord, in tipping the High King of Gondor – "
"And the Prince of Mirkwood."
"- And, as you say, the Prince of Mirkwood – into Bywater Pool."
Merry risked a look over towards the other side of the silver lake, it's glassy surface still undulating with ripple upon ripple. Upon the bank, two sodden, dripping figures were beginning to emerge, to be attended by another, frantically flapping and significantly smaller figure.
"Frodo's not going to be too happy, is he?"
"Not too happy at all. But then he did say the legendary hospitality of the Baggins' would be tarnished ever so slightly if I were permitted to drown the son of the elven king in Bywater Pool." There was the merest hint of a pout as Pippin jammed his hands down deep into his pockets. "That's not fair! I didn't try to drown Legolas. I merely wanted to…push him in."
"In front of Diamond."
"Oh, as if you were enjoying the way Estella was mooning over Strider!"
Another sulky look flitted over Merry's face. Upon the other side of the lake, the small figure was beginning to pace around the diameter of the pool, coming towards them. Directly towards them.
"Run?"
"Oh, I think so."
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