Chapter 7

(7/14)

***

His cousin stood right before him and yet it was only the familiar voice that made it possible for Pippin to recognise him. What had formerly been Frodo's best weskit now was a mess of sticky water-weed and oozy mud. Water dripped from the jet-black locks and only the sky-blue eyes peered out from a mask of mire.

"Frodo?" Pippin repeated, "what the . . ."

"Don't say a word," Frodo stopped him miserably. "I know."

"But how did you . . ."

"Pippin!" Frodo lifted a hand, sending a bow of droplets spraying onto the lawn. "Please."

Pressing his lips together, Pippin stared at his feet. "So . . ." he ventured finally, "you got the rose back?"

"Yes," Frodo answered tersely, lifting the regained flowerpot for Pippin to see. "But it was the hardest trade ever."

"Was Lobelia such a hard task?" Pippin asked, feigning compassion.

"Not Lobelia," Frodo said, and his face contorted with bad, bad memories, "the child." Shaking his head, Frodo looked at the rose and muttered under his breath, "This surely is the first present bought back with a frog."

"A . . ."

"Don't ask."

In the meantime, Rosie and Margy had became aware of the strange meeting at the brook. They approached. Frodo instantly ducked his head, holding onto the flowerpot for dear life.

"Don't pay attention to them," Pippin grumbled. "And don't tell them anything. They chatter like geese."

"Yes," Frodo said, slightly amused by the younger hobbit's pouting expression. Indeed the high voices of the lasses resembled those of geese.

Cocking an eyebrow, Frodo began to brood. Geese . . . geese . . . now what did that remind him of? Then like a flash it hit him.

"Goose!" he cried out, making Pippin jump an inch from the ground. Frodo's face went pale under the layer of mud. Heavens! He still had the bird over the fire! Without a further word he whirled around and spurted up the slope.

Pippin was left behind, staring speechlessly after his cousin. Then he understood what soon would happen and his heart began to pound ferociously. After all the nightmares they had went through -- it would all be spoiled if Frodo reached the Hill before Sam was finished and out of the kitchen. Pippin wordlessly threw the freshly washed clothes at the lasses' feet, then he dashed away as fast as his legs could carry him.

***

The door almost shattered under the force of the knock, and Merry choked on the tea he was just sipping, the cup almost flying from his hands.

"MERRY!"

A small, devilish grin played around Merry's lips when he

set the cup down, rose and walked to the locked door.

"I'm taking it that my reputation is restored now? Does Rosie have her garments back?"

Outside, he could hear Pippin gasping for breath. Goodness, he couldn't be that hungry, now could he? Surely not hungry enough to run all the way from Bywater pool up to Bag End?

"Merry, open up!"

"I don't think I heard the magic word. Besides, if you want food, I don't think there is ..."

A short stream of rather interesting, colourful metaphors carried inside the room on the young Took's clear, lilting voice.

"Open the door NOW!" Then, after a final desperate hammering on the door, Pippin added: "Frodo is coming!"

At that, a flurry of motion broke out at the front door of Bag End. Merry unlocked the door, Pippin bolted into the room and shut the door behind him, and Merry raced back into the kitchen to tell Sam, who had already heard Pippin's loud proclamation.

The gardener started a perfectly choreographed dance of pans, copper tins and bowls, of spoons, knifes and herbs, of flour, milk and cups. Somehow, all of this had to be out of sight by the time Mr. Frodo returned. Just how, HOW was he going to manage this?

"Where did you see him? When? Why is he coming now? He was busy the last time I saw him ... Pippin, what did YOU DO?"

Merry's voice had risen to a crescendo which was insulting to any well-mannered hobbit ear and Sam ducked back into the cupboard.

"ME?" Pippin shot back, incredulously. Small hands propped up on his hips, he glared at Merry, who stood beside the open fireplace. "Could we please remember who sent me down to the Cottons' home? And besides, if I hadn't been down there, you two never would have seen him coming!"

"And would you remember why I sent you down there? I was in this ridiculous disguise for more than two hours, and now ... now that we had him out of reach long enough for Sam to prepare everything, you lead him back here. What did you say?"

Pippin squared his shoulders defiantly. "Nothing."

"Peregrin Took, the day on which you say nothing hasn't been invented yet."

"You ..."

"What did you SAY?! And think strawberry dessert. And custard. Think!"

That last sentence had the desired success. Pippin blanched. If Merry hadn't known better, he could have sworn anxious tears were forming in the younger one's eyes at the thought of an already eaten dessert.

"I ... I didn't tell him anything! He was just looking all dirty and muddy and kept talking about a frog and a lass and then I told him that he shouldn't mind Rose and Margy because they chattered like geese. Then he suddenly bolted up the hill." He halted and grinned at Merry, rather proud of himself. "You can be glad that I'm a faster runner than he is."

Merry couldn't help but smile at the boyish innocence on his cousin's face. Then suddenly, he remembered something. "How far was he behind you?"

"Oh, FAR," said Pippin, ready to boast.

Merry peered around the curtains down Bagshot Row. "Oh, yes? Far?" He grabbed for Pippin's weskit and pulled him to the window. "Terribly far, isn't he?"

Outside, just a few hurried steps away, was the nearing disaster. Frodo came up the hill, panting. The mud wasn't flying from his hair anymore, but it had dried in places and made him look as though he had aged a hundred years. His weskit, breeches and shirt, however, were still dripping wet. He had a flowerpot in his hands. In a death-grip, by the looks of it. His face was contorted in a mixture of lethal determination and utter panic.

"What do we do now?!" Pippin screeched, letting go of the curtain.

"Sam? SAM! He's HERE!"

A soft "oomph" sounded from the kitchen. Merry looked at Pippin, who peered through the curtain, then at Frodo, then at the kitchen door. Together, they finally raced there, fearing the worst.

The smiling, round face of Sam Gamgee greeted them. "All set."

The kitchen looked perfect. Just the way it had been before Frodo had left it. But how ...

"Sam, how ..." Merry started, but Sam interrupted him by pulling him out of the kitchen door.

"I don' rightly think we have the time for a natter now, Mr. Merry. I will tell you later."

"But ..." Pippin stared at the place where the bowl with custard had been standing, just before he had left. His eyes widened in shock. "Sam, where is everything?"

"Later, Master Pippin, later!"

He pulled the excited young Took with him, and they managed to leave through the back door just in time.

Inside, they heard Frodo cry: "I'm coming, bird!"

Merry looked at Sam. Sam looked at Pippin. Pippin looked at the kitchen window, from which the soft, hushing words towards the goose over the fire were coming.

A smile spread over the fae, Tookish features. Widened into a grin. He could feel the beginnings of a hearty laughter bubbling up. He would never be able to stop it.

And then, before he knew what was happening, two pairs of hands clamped over Pippin's mouth and held him down.

***

Frodo placed the so-bitterly reclaimed flowerpot onto the table. Thick droplets of mud slid from his arms and fell onto the white tablecloth, spoiling it.

A heavy sigh moved his chest. Birthdays. Who needed them, anyway?

Maybe he should just forget the whole day, leave the bird to fly free and retreat into a nice, steaming bath for the rest of the day.

Let the bird fly free? The mud must have oozed its way right from his ears into his brain. Like it would ever fly with all those apples and plums and mushrooms in its belly.

Still, a bath sounded inviting. And after all, he couldn't welcome his guests looking the way he did, now could he?

At the thought of the warm water, a smile spread over his features. Instantaneously, the dried mud cracked up and Frodo felt his face do strange things. What if he couldn't stop smiling now? What if he stayed like this forever?

He tried to calm himself. To no avail. He needed help. Now. The cry rose from the depth of his soul: "SAM!"

***

TBC