Chapter 12

(12/14)

Finally all the bowls and plates and pots were emptied with not so much as a bread crumb left. The 'tasty pastry' -- as Pippin would refer to it from this day on -- had disappeared under the table. And it was a good thing that Sam had chosen the good tablecloth, because it was large and long and hid a lot.

"I swear I won't eat another bite for a good, good while," Merry announced, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his arms.

"And I swear I won't eat another bite before tomorrow morning at least," Pippin added and huddled up in his seat. He was ready to shuffle away into Frodo's cozy little living room and curl up on the sofa to have a little nap. Maybe Frodo could tell them a story before they all went to sleep.

"Yes, yes," Frodo said, as slow and placid as his two cousins. "The only bad thing is the cleaning up. It's a shame that a good meal is almost always connected with washing dishes."

"Well, I'm too round and heavy to move right now," Merry declared, "and I don't think any physical work will do at all."

"But someone will have to," Frodo sighed, "or we can do it all together."

"Master Pippin could do it," a shy suggestions came from the other side of the table. Three heads turned towards Sam in unified surprise. The gardener blushed a little, but nonetheless carried on.

"Well, since you told me you watched him doing laundry, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, "I thought maybe Master Pippin would have grown a liking for washing things."

Pippin opened his mouth for an anxious protest, but Frodo was quicker.

"Yes, Pippin, as we mention it," Frodo asked curiously, "why were you doing laundry today?"

"I . . ." Pippin began, then looked at Merry. But there was no support from this corner, only a silent warning to not let out their secret.

"I . . ." Pippin directed his glance towards Sam, but in the gardener's eyes he could read nothing at all. So finally Pippin lowered his head and mumbled in defeat: "I have grown a liking for washing things."

"You have?" Frodo asked, secretly deciding he would never be able to see into his young cousin.

"Aye."

"So you will do the washing up?" Frodo asked.

Pippin lifted his head and looked pleadingly at Merry. "Yes," the young Took said miserably, "you don't have to do it. It's your birthday, after all." His green eyes turned pleading again. "But maybe someone could help me?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to bring in the flowers I have not planted today," Sam apologised.

"Yes, you better do that," Frodo agreed, "it would be a shame to expose them to the chill. Merry and I can have our pipes in the living room and you two can join us there later?" Sam nodded and all three elder hobbits stood up, with Frodo already going for his pipe on the mantelpiece.

Pippin also rose, looking at each of them with begging eyes. "But . . . but . . I . . ."

"Be a good lad, Pippin," Merry said, smiling, and retrieved his own pipe. "I'll come later and help you. Just let me have a pipe first." But while he spoke he patted the Pipeweed bag Frodo had gifted him and Pippin knew it would be a long and leisurely enjoyed pipe. A pipe that could well be smoked until all the dishes and forks and spoons lay shiny and cleaned in the shelves again.

"Oh, and Pippin?" Merry said. "Don't forget the soap."

***

The sound of water splashing came dubiously loud from the kitchen. While Merry, his legs comfortably stretched out and his hand gently curled around his pipe, sat in the big armchair in front of the open fireplace in the big living room, Frodo glanced warily into the direction of the sounds. He didn't seem quite as at ease with the situation as Merry was.

"Merry, are you sure this was a good idea? Maybe we really should go and help him?" Inwardly, he already feared his best porcelain diminishing into a pile of remains.

Merry lazily watched the smoke undulate and disappear into the room, and just winked at his older cousin. "Leave him for a while. It'll do him good."

"But will it do me good, I wonder?" Frodo murmured.

Merry chuckled softly. "Have a little faith in your family and friends, dear cousin."

Frodo raised an eyebrow, but decided to not reply anything.

Yet he flinched when another clatter sounded from the kitchen. "Merry, I can't say that this puts me at ease. You know Peregrin's habit of breaking things."

"Frodo!" Merry interrupted him. "Hush now, just for a moment. Enjoy the night and the quiet." As if to mock his words, the next loud noise emitted from the kitchen. "That meal was remarkable, don't you think?" Merry continued as though he had never heard a thing.

***

This could not be happening. Pippin decided that this had to be a bad dream, and he would soon be woken by the wonderful smell of fried tomatoes, eggs and nice, crispy bacon.

Still, why he dreamed up such a wonderful evening with such a terrible ending was beyond his comprehension.

The plates were clean, although many of them had been in great peril in the progress of becoming clean. More than once he had almost dropped the slippery porcelain. Now, there shouldn't be all that much left, he realised with a relieved sigh.

Until he looked up.

There was flatware and bowls, cups and glasses, pans and pots. All waiting for him.

He would never make it until they had finished their pipes. And he would miss Frodo's stories. And the tea. And the Old Winyard.

He let out a most pitiful sigh. This was not how this evening was supposed to end. Or this dream. Or anything. Not even a story.

When he looked up at the pile of dishes again, he beheld a shy, round face, hair slightly ruffled from the strong breeze outside. "Begging your pardon, sir," Samwise Gamgee said, his face mirroring the pity he saw on Pippin's features. "But maybe this'll be back in the shelves quicker if we do that bit of work together?"

Pippin narrowed his eyes. He had learned a lot about Bag End's gardener during this day. And there was more to this hobbit than met the eye. But upon looking into Sam's kind face, he knew that he had no more shenanigans to fear.

"All's well that ends well, ain't it, Master Pippin?" Sam asked when he reached for one of the big pots. Soon the pile of dishes grew smaller and smaller under the practised hands, and much faster than Pippin would have thought possible.

Pippin nodded, his smile finally back in place. "Aye, Sam. It is."

***

TBC