Chapter 9

(9/14)

***

Outside, Merry had finally succeeded in calming Pippin. When there came no more sound out of Bag End or from Pippin's mouth, Merry dared retrieve his hand. Letting out a long breath he sat back on the grass and momentarily closed his eyes. A little adventure per day was fine with him, but the last few hours had been decidedly too exciting. Even for his taste.

"Well, this is the strangest day I ever came to see," Rosie said in wonder as she slowly stood up, brushing grass seeds from her skirt.

"And you haven't seen even the half of it," Merry added darkly, and joined her.

"I don't believe you took all this upon you just so that Frodo can have his birthday feast unspoiled." Rosie looked at Merry and he saw something new in her eyes, wonder, maybe. As for her words, he didn't really know what to say to that, so he just left it with a shrug.

"Really," Rosie muttered quietly, "I didn't think you could care so much for anything."

"He's our friend," Pippin said simply, also rising from the ground.

"That much I understood," Rosie replied.

"Then you also understand how important it is for Frodo to stay oblivious to all this?" Merry asked, new eagerness stressing his words.

"I do," Rosie said firmly. She let her glance wander from Merry to Pippin and back again. Finally she heaved a deep sigh. "The strangest day and no question to that." She cast a friendly smile at Merry and now he finally knew what Sam saw in her. "All right, Meriadoc," she said, "I'll keep your venture a dead secret. " With a friendly wink she added: "And I will also not speak of your little charade."

A load as heavy as Ted Sandyman's great millstone slipped from Merry's heart. Impulsively, he took hold of Rosie's hands and smacked a hearty kiss on her fingers.

"Thank you, dearest, dearest Rosie. I just fell in love with you."

"Meriadoc Brandybuck!" Rosie scolded, but although she blushed, she did smile as well.

At that very instant, Sam appeared at the window, his friendly eyes shining with relief. Quickly he was joined by the waiting trio.

"He didn't notice," Sam said and at least two tensed faces relaxed. Pippin let out a relieved puff of breath.

"Well, that means we did it well, after all," he said. When silence was his only answer he cast a quick glance at Merry, mild fear returning to his eyes. "Didn't we?"

Merry looked at him quite sternly. "I will call it a success when we all sit around that table and only then. I don't trust this day."

"Neither do I, " added Rosie, "nor will I ever believe I know any of you. Even Sam has surprised me today." She smiled warmly at the gardener, who once again tried to be a match for his gaffer's tomatoes, or so it seemed. Rosie crossed her arms in front of her chest, taking a close look at each of the three. "But I doubt. All I know is that Frodo could have worse friends than you. Indeed I believe you would go straight to the end of the world if he were up to it."

This time the whole trio blushed in union. Rosie cast swift glance at Bag End's round door and smiled. "I also doubt he would be aware of his followers until you step on his large feet." This, of course, made Pippin chuckle. Which maybe he shouldn't have done.

"As for you, Master Pippin," Rosie said and retrieved a large, white handkerchief. Without hesitation she wetted it with her tongue, then took a good grip on Pippin's chin, sweeping the broad trail of soap from his cheek. Pippin made a face and tried to escape, but Rosie wouldn't let him go until she was satisfied with his outlook. "There." She nodded and put her handkerchief away. With that, she took one step back and mustered the youngest of the company. "We two still have a bargain, I hope you remember."

"What!" Pippin exclaimed, which earned him a hard nudge in the shoulder.

"You promised to do my laundry," Rosie insisted.

"But I thought . . ." Pippin stammered, then turned to Merry for support.

"You heard her," Merry said, his eyes sparkling despite of the dry tone in his voice. "Don't you agree, Sam?"

The gardener looked down at his hands, strictly avoiding eye contact with Rosie. Nevertheless he answered: "A promise is a promise, I'd say."

"Sam?" Pippin wailed in disbelief. "Even you?"

Merry smiled mildly at his younger cousin and comradely squeezed his shoulder. "It could have been worse, cousin."

"That's what you say," Pippin murmured, gloomily. "This was the last time I make a proposal, I swear."

Rosie's clear laughter did nothing to brighten his features. "You better write this down, so we can all remind you of it," she teased. Then she adjusted her bonnet (which made Merry inevitably flinch) and smoothed her apron. "I guess this is the right time to say goodbye. I hope the rest of your little birthday conspiracy will work well."

"So do we," Merry assured her, "believe me, so do we." He quickly took Pippin by the arm and shoved him forward. The young Took glared at him, but Merry went on, unimpressed. "Why don't you see Miss Rosie to the gate?" he proposed, gaining a deadly glance from his cousin. "You can talk about the details of your bargain on the way."

"Merry, I swear . . ." Pippin began, but Merry cut him short with a broad grin.

"Shhh, Pip, swearing is not nice."

Pressing his lips together in a firm, white line, Pippin turned his back on Merry and walked over to Rosie. He still had the wits to offer her his arm and like this he guided her down the properly trimmed lawn.

Merry looked after them and secretly decided that this was enough punishment for a little Took. Smiling, he turned towards Sam.

"All's ending well, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes," replied Sam, honest gladness mirrored on his face, "very well."

With a relieved sigh, Merry propped his arm on the sill and confidently leaned on it. "Sam? Please make sure there'll be a good plate full of your dessert left for Pippin."

He didn't notice Sam's concerned glance in Pippin's and Rosie's direction.

***

He had only half an hour left. He knew he could do it. The bath had revitalised him properly, and the Old Winyard had done its own to help restore his lost faith in himself.

Maybe he wasn't the best cook on Hobbiton. But whatever he was, he surely wasn't the worst, either.

Frodo stood on tiptoes to reach for the chandelier. Bits of dust snowed down on him and he shook his head. No. He wouldn't take this as a sign to stop the whole party from unfolding itself.

He would dish up a good dinner. This day had been hard enough, and he was not going to stop now.

Outside, he heard Sam rummaging through the wood to find the perfect logs for the open fireplace.

The sun had sunk low by now, and last deep red rays were lazily falling into the open window. The fresh scent of autumn surged in, and Frodo breathed deeply, letting his eyes slip shut for only a few moments. This was all he needed. Fresh air, sunlight, a good meal and friends.

Nothing could go wrong anymore.

He only had to fill the pastry.

Frodo eyed the entrance to the kitchen warily. Nothing?

While strolling hesitantly, almost fearfully into the kitchen, he knocked on the wooden frame. Three times.

***

TBC

Thank you for the feedback, folks, it is most lovingly cherished.

And: Talking Hawk? This is a no-slash story, indeed.

And please don't hit Pippin anymore, or I shall have to come over and defend him. You wouldn't want that, do you? :o)