These characters are not my own, they belong to JRR Tolkien.
The pony ride to Hobbiton had not been as long as expected, at least not by Merry Brandybuck who was excited at no end to visit cousins and dear friends, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins. Riding in front of him, his father, Saradoc, routinely hollered back to keep up. September was just opening and the colored leaves were falling right on cue. The sun shone more golden through the canopy of autumn foliage and the winds swirled the summer breezes with the crisp of cooler temperatures abound. Autumn, Merry declared, was indeed the best season, but then added summer and spring to his "favorites" list. Saradoc shook his head at the scattered logic paying more mind to the path ahead while his son, with his head in the trees, wandered in the direction his pony wanted to go, mainly towards tasty shrubs. More than four times did Merry redirect 'Lily Blossom' back on their course.
The fading of the bright season into the falling season translated into more visits from Saradoc an administrator for the Master of Buckland to Hobbiton and Michel Delving. Business visits that is, concerning trades, hobbit relations and other issues upon the Master's agenda. Merry tagged along as often as his father would allow, staying with his cousins while Saradoc continued on to Michel Delving to meet the mayor and others sorts, then on the pass through back retrieved his only child.
At last they arrived at the smial under the Hill greeted by cheerful Frodo Baggins and hurried inside by the mention of the tea getting cold. Frodo collected their outer coats and hats, hanging them properly on the hooks adjacent to the front door. Their night bags he placed neatly in the hall leading to their rooms. "We won't wait for Bilbo any longer," Frodo said escorting them to the kitchen. "I have been patient long enough to have tea and my stomach is paying the price. I'm glad you arrived at the time you did, the old hobbit can't be angry with me with company visiting," he ended in a smile.
They sat down to a well-dressed table and at the head of it, an empty place setting obviously awaiting Bilbo's return. The generous host offered the finest cheese and bread newly baked that morning. Piled a top a small dish was a mound of sweet cookies, perfect for soaking in the bitter tea. Dipping although not proper tea etiquette, was most enjoyed by Bilbo and his adopted nephew who displayed no qualms in its practice no matter the guest present. Nonetheless, both Brandybuck's were quite used to the routine and joined in the habit only when visiting the Bagginses, of course.
"Where is Bilbo?" Saradoc asked after taking a long sip of tea. "Off on an adventure?" He joked lightly.
"Bilbo is capable of nothing less than adventure," replied Frodo. "Where he's gone to is a mystery. Off since lunch, shouting away at me from a distance when I ran out the door to ask where he is going."
Five minutes in to their discussion had not yet passed when Frodo suddenly realized Merry chewing on the last of his cookies and toast washing it down with a hurried gulp of tea. "Merry, this isn't a race." Frodo chortled, "though if it was you can declare yourself a winner."
"You can't imagine how much I can eat, Frodo." The back of his sleeve made nice for a napkin. Saradoc glared him a warning. "My father says and our household will hardly keep stock for winter with my fierce appetite."
"As I see," Frodo said laughing. "Bilbo's lateness will be his downfall this tea time. I will let you have his share. As long as you chew and not inhale it," he said serving Merry an extra helping of each item.
Just then a clamor came in the door. It was Bilbo, excitedly removing his coat but being careful in handling some loose papers and his Book. With a rushed wave and pleasant apologies he disappeared to a side room but his voice echoed as he continued talking and soon emerged walking in to the kitchen, no book in hand. "Again, again, I must express by deepest apologies to my fine guests. Time slips away faster then I realize it's gone and then I am late. In the hands of good Frodo you've been received. The best decision I ever made was to bring this lad to Bag End to stay with me," Bilbo placed both hands on his nephew's broadening shoulders.
He came round the table to shake the hand of Saradoc who greeted him standing up. They spoke the usual pleasantries ending always in a chuckle and a sigh. Merry playfully pestered Bilbo missing a better part of afternoon tea as he was taking the last bite and sip. "Nonsense, my lad, there is more from where that came from!" Bilbo flapped both his hands at him. "On that queer evening when thirteen dwarves came knocking at my door I have since kept my pantry and cupboards in great supply on the chance of a repeating occasion."
Merry's eyes widened as large as his stomach. "That will hardly feed my son for supper!" Bolted Saradoc catching a glimpse of Merry's excitement at the potential to eat the food stores Bilbo was so quick to boast.
Afternoon tea settled as the last of the sun disappeared calling out to light the lamps in Bilbo's home. The four of them finished another plate of cookies and a kettle of tea for dipping and on went the conversations. As they cleaned up they made ready for dinner, replacing teacups and saucers for bowls, plates and mugs.
"You are our guests, Master Brandybucks. Make yourselves comfortable and leave us the work." Bilbo shooed them away fanning the back of his hands.
Saradoc and Merry nodded kindly and found their way to their rooms, unpacking what they needed from their bags. In front of the hearth they both retreated, keeping warm, taking their bit of rest in silence. Merry snorted and discovered he fell asleep as his father roused him lightly. The finished stew seeped from the kitchen and Merry watched Bilbo filling the bowls from where he sat. Frodo was slicing the browned hens and arranging the pieces on plates next to a healthy serving of mixed vegetables. Convinced all the sights were not a dream, Merry threw off his blanket and rushed to the tableside. As he sat, a tall mug of ale welcomed him and he thanked Bilbo for the generous servings.
"Bilbo," Frodo suddenly remembered, "where were you today that caused you to be late?"
After swallowing down his chewed meat he answered, "I had some personal business to tend to, a chief reason why Master Brandybuck came this way. Tomorrow we will leave for Michel Delving but I will return the same day." It was obvious Bilbo wanted not to discuss the meaning of his business so Frodo left it at that. Bilbo continued however, slightly off subject, "I will tell you why I was late: the confounded Sackville-Bagginses!"
The guests gave a laugh at the undertone of disgust whenever Bilbo mentioned that name, reserved exclusively for Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins. "I'll not subject you to the harshness and little mindedness the S-B's are infamous for. I'll leave it at this: that Lobelia could talk a pig out of eating if she had her mind to it. A hobbit needs iron stakes driven through his feet to stand up to her." Bilbo said pointing his fork to emphasize his point. "It's best to avoid them all together." In unison the whole table agreed.
Talk weaved from the S-B's to other Shire folk, to the latest news from Brandyhall and the happenings in Tuckborough as reported by Paladin to Saradoc in a meeting not a while back. Dinner spent the usual length topping off with a smoke on the front porch. Cleaning up Frodo remained inside whistling as Bilbo taught him, sometimes humming verses from supper songs and bed songs. The smoke talk dwindled to drier topics and Merry, finding himself quite bored of governing affairs, retreated inside to make more interesting conversation with a hobbit closer to his age.
"Ah, the youth," Bilbo squeezed his cheeks as he inhaled, "to have no worries except to wonder what there is next to eat."
Saradoc grinned unpleasantly, "He has little cares, it is true. And the trouble he finds himself in. Esmeralda and I can't imagine having another one of him. Not proper foundations for a Buckland Master."
Shaking the seriousness from the turn their conversation headed, Bilbo spat out a laugh, "Saradoc, my good hobbit, you are far too removed from your 'in between' years to remember your own antics at his age."
Slightly perturbed at the comment, Saradoc frowned as Bilbo rolled on in hysterics, rocking to and fro, slapping at his knees.
"You have grown into a fine Master candidate despite your misbehaviors. No prouder can your father be!" Bilbo relaxed from the laughter and spoke right into the eyes of his good friend. "The best is in age, my father would say about fine wines and so I say about young Merry. He will come into his own and you'll beaming with glorious pride." He said in exacting confidence.
"You feel the same about Frodo, don't you?"
"Yes, yes, I do. He is dearest to my heart like no other." Another puff of smoke and a grand smile reached across his face.
"And you intend to leave him all of Bag End?" Saradoc asked knowing the answer.
Bilbo nodded accordingly, "The arrangements are close to official. I picked up another bottle of red ink in town today and I'm shy only two more signatures, yours and old Will Whitfoot's. Tomorrow in Michel Delving, I'll have all required seven signatures in red ink and Bag End will forever be safe from those Sackville-Bagginses."
"They know of your plan then, to name Frodo your sole heir?" He turned to Bilbo hoping he could discuss about the S-B's encounter he cleverly evaded during dinner.
"No, no one but for the seven hands that left their mark on my will. Not even Frodo knows the lot of it. News in the Shire spreads like it has wings to fly from farthing to farthing." Bilbo released in a scowl. "After I purchased the ink I stopped to pick up my letters at the post-office. I stepped outside and a sudden burst of inspiration struck me and I sought out a lonely tree to rest against so I may jot some notes. How long I sat and wrote I can't quite remember, but I would have arrived in time for tea if the shrill calling of Lobelia hadn't halted me.
"We talked," Bilbo stopped himself then held up his palm shaking his head, "she talked for what seemed like an age. Otho and Lobelia, fresh from hearing news of my red ink at the post-office, raced down my path to search me out. The length of time was spent reminding me of my obligations to closer family relations and then reciting the items believed rightly belonging to them when I pass."
The bursting laugh could no longer contain itself--Saradoc had it out. Indeed he felt very sorry for Bilbo and suitably, with all other hobbits he would be furious at such uncouth remarks, but being as they were the Sackville-Bagginses, the pretentious demands were sadly expected yet comical.
With two plates in hand, Frodo appeared and fronted dessert to the pipe smokers outside. "I attempted my first quince and crab apple tart. It's split in two for the both of you to share." They happily took the plates on to their laps and thanked the young hobbit as he hurriedly turned to walk away.
Staring at his half tart, Bilbo asked confused, "Frodo? We bake tarts in fours. There should be enough to have a whole for each hobbit."
Refusing to face them he quickly muttered, "Merry had two and I had one."
Just as Frodo was about to close the door, the faint voice of Merry escaped, "Liar!" he called out, "we each had one and a half. It was Frodo's idea--"
Slam! went the door.