Chapter 10

(10/14)

***

"Oh, Master Pippin, you're back already?" Sam announced when he saw the young Took slinking up the Hill.

"I don't know what you see in her, honestly," Pippin exclaimed, emphatically. Sam muttered something unintelligible under his breath and stooped low to retrieve some more logs and hide his fierce blush.

"If she wasn't a lass, I'd say she has beaten me. And Sam ..." Pippin narrowed his eyes and stepped next to the gardener. "If you ever tell her I said this, or in fact, if you ever tell anyone, I will have to ask Gandalf to turn you into a nice, spotty toad."

Sam blanched, a surprising contrast to his formerly red cheeks. "I swear, Master Pippin, I will not utter a word."

Pippin stared at him a little longer, then he nodded. "Good. And please don't forget it. Remember, Gandalf is a good friend to all the Tooks ..."

"Oh, Peregrin Took, stop being so melodramatic. You know Gandalf would never do anything like that ... unless I asked, him, of course." Merry grinned broadly at his cousin.

Then he took in the worried features of Bag End's gardener, and nudged Pippin lightly in the shoulder. "Stop scaring poor Samwise like that. He's the reason behind the whole conspiracy, after all."

Pippin grinned at Sam, who smiled warily back at him. Then suddenly, as though his words had only now registered in his mind, Merry turned to face Sam.

"Wait a moment. YOU are the reason behind this. That means YOU are responsible for me wearing skirts?" Merry's eyebrows knitted together dangerously.

"And for me washing lasses' skirts?" added Pippin.

Sam gulped. Visibly. Then he muttered softly: "It was only for Mr. Frodo's birthday." He hugged the bundle of logs closer to his body, as if it could protect him from the combined wrath of Brandybuck and Took.

He didn't fear any yelling, or Pippin actually speaking to Gandalf. But he feared, more than anything, the glint in both of the young lads' eyes.

"There was something Miss Rosie said when I was finally done washing her skirts." Pippin cast a sideways glance at Merry, silently reproaching his cousin for creating so many grass stains on the skirt.

A feeling of dread crept up Samwise Gamgee's spine. "Sh-she did?"

"She told me to give you something."

"Me?!" There was no use in trying to keep water form rushing down a stream. Sam blushed a nice, fiery red.

"Yes, indeed. Although, why she wanted to give it to you, and not to somebody else, I don't understand." The glint in Pippin's eyes grew.

Sam shuddered.

"Well, give it to him, then," urged Merry, seriously curious as to what his cousin was up to.

"This isn't for your ears to hear, Meriadoc." He motioned for Sam to come closer. "This is for Sam alone."

"Well, if it's so important," Merry huffed indignantly.

"It is," Pippin reassured. "Come closer, Sam. I don't bite."

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Warily still, he walked a step closer.

He could barely give as much as a surprised yelp when Pippin reached for his chin with one hand. The young Took scrunched up his face, turned Sam lightly and then placed a huge kiss on the gardener's cheek.

"Miss Rosie wishes you a nice party, Sam."

Sam dropped his logs, pulled his sleeves over his hands and scrubbed almost violently at the place where Pippin's sloppy kiss had landed.

This, of course, sent Pippin sprawling on the grass, holding his stomach from laughing so hard. Merry soon joined him.

And poor Samwise Gamgee, humiliated to the tips of his very pink ears, fled into Bag End's back door, only to come back and retrieve the logs.

Then the door fell shut, and he wondered if any of those two had deserved Mr. Frodo's dinner.

***

Holding onto the logs for dear life, Sam hurried into Bag End's cozy dining room. There he quickly unloaded them into the open fire place, trying to concentrate strictly on his work and not on what had just happened. Indeed he was so mesmerized by stacking wood that he didn't hear the approaching steps and so nearly screamed when someone dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, it's me," Frodo said quickly, surprised by the other's reaction .

"Oh, Mr. Frodo . . ." Sam stammered, "you . . . are you finished with your bath?"

"As you can see," Frodo said with a smile, indicating his fresh clothes. "No mud, no flour," he added, "and I'd prefer it to stay this way for the rest of the evening."

Sam nodded numbly.

"So is everything fine with the table?" Frodo asked.

"Yes, all's set," Sam replied and forced himself to look up. 'Get a hold on yourself, Sam Gamgee,' he told himself. 'You won't spoil the whole thing, now, will you?'

"Then everything is prepared," Frodo sighed, "at last."

"It is," Sam assured him, thinking of his great-grandmother's recipe for delicious custard. "I suppose I'll go and clean my gardening tools then."

"But that surely can wait until tomorrow," Frodo remarked, "lest you won't be in time for our dinner."

Sam raised both eyebrows in surprise. "But I thought it was a birthday meal for you and your friends only?"

"And what makes you think that this excludes you?" Frodo asked with a frown.

The look in the humble gardener's eyes was heart-touching. "You mean . . ."

"Oh Sam," Frodo shook his head with a little laugh and gently squeezed the other's shoulder, "of course you are welcomed to dine with us. I had counted you to my guest list all along. That is, if you are brave enough to try what I cooked."

He risked a glance at the large table loaded with bowls and dishes. Some candles stood nicely between all the food and somehow Sam had managed to add a little bunch of flowers.

"Well, at least it looks nice," Frodo said carefully.

"So it does," Sam agreed and for a moment both hobbits stared quietly at the set table. Then Frodo tilted his chin and clapped his hands soundly. "So let's get it over and done with," he announced, looking around with freshly fueled confidence. "What about our guests? I thought I heard someone laughing in the garden. I suppose Merry and Pippin are already here?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, they are," Sam answered quietly, denying the urge to wipe at his cheek once more.

"I wonder what they were up to today," Frodo mused. "At least Pippin was behaving rather queer." He didn't notice Sam's eyes widening at his idle words but instead went on: "I met him near the Cottons' home, you know. It's strange but . . . it looked to me as if he was doing someone's laundry. But that cannot be, can it?"

At this, Sam had to lower his head quickly and bite his lip to keep from chuckling. Frodo didn't notice, though.

"I only hope they didn't get anyone into serious trouble," Frodo said and eventually made up his mind to get to the last stage of his birthday adventure.

"Come on, let's see them in, what do you say?" he proposed and no sooner said than done, he left the dining room by the round passageway.

Sam merely nodded, actually not being in any condition to say anything. Still fighting the fits of laughter, he went after his master. In between all the excitement of realising that he was invited and keeping up their little charade, Sam hadn't notice the pastry at the far end of the table. He also didn't realise that Mr. Frodo must have filled said pastry by himself.

***

TBC

Right. Folks? This is supposed to be a fun story. And Murron and I (please don't forget that we wrote this TOGETHER, so please give her credit as well) are not happy to see people getting into fights. Settle this, please.

Thank you.