Chapter 13

(13/14)

***

The window of the hole was wide open and a light breeze brought in the smells of the cool autumn night. Merry closed his eyes, letting his mind wander over the lake down there, listening to the faint noises of the sea of grass that was Hobbiton. This was how it was supposed to be. A wonderful dinner (with small exceptions) a good pipe, hopefully, soon some of the Old Winyard and, most of all, friends.

However, he was disturbed in his thoughts when he heard weary feet stepping into the living room, and a small grunt of the chair, when a certain young hobbit with a very well-fed belly dropped into it.

"There, see?" said Merry, pulling on his pipe and opening his eyes to look at Frodo. "I told you he would do it quite nicely." He smiled innocently at his cousin, who shot him a positively lethal glance.

But enough was enough. This was going to end a pleasant night, Merry decided, suddenly feeling a small amount of pity for his cousin. He gave Pippin his pipe, and offered the younger one some of his new pipeweed. Soon, all three hobbits were smoking in comfortable silence. The fire began to burn more quietly and the first, incandescent log sank into the heat with a sigh, causing crackling sparks to rise and go out like tiny falling stars in the dimly lit room.

"What do you say we open one of the bottles of .. . ."

"Old Winyard?" Pippin burst out, eager hope in his voice. Merry shot him a wry glance. "That is, if you want to, of course," the young Took back-pedalled slightly.

Frodo smiled and rose from the comfortable chair. On his way down one of the smials leading to the cellar, he beheld Sam still standing in the kitchen, stocking the shelves anew.

Frodo entered the cool room and was greeted with the typical smell of a wine cellar. He retrieved a bottle he had reserved for a special occasion and then made his way back to the living room. In front of the kitchen door, he halted. Sam sat on the slim bench next to the table, staring into the fire.

"Sam?" he questioned, peering around the door frame.

The gardener jumped up. "Yes, sir, begging your pardon, sir, I was just resting a little after ..."

Frodo held up a hand to stop the apology, which seemed grossly uncalled for to him. "I can see that." Sam looked at him, unhappy at being caught. "And you have done your fair share of work today. Especially with all those dishes Master Peregrin surely would have managed to drop."

Sam Gamgee blushed. "I almost did naught, Mr. Frodo, Master Pippin has ..."

"Has washed dishes the last time at Bilbo's 111th birthday party. I am glad you came to help. I feared the worst for my good porcelain."

The gardener gave a little lopsided smile. "It would have been a shame. It's such pretty porcelain."

"Yes, indeed."

There was a moment of silence. The fire in the hearth crackled and gave the only light in the kitchen.

"Why are you not coming into the living room, Sam?" Frodo asked while he went in search of the wine glasses.

"Mr. Frodo, sir! I can't do that, begging your pardon."

"Well, why not?" Frodo queried, looking rather surprised at the gardener's answer. "I invited you as a guest to my birthday party. And that isn't quite over yet, if I interpret those two thirsty faces in there correctly."

Sam hung his head. "You really oughtn't be doing this, Mr. Frodo," he said softly. "I know my place. And it is not among your guests."

Frodo set the bottle and the glasses onto the table and pulled Sam into the brightest spot in front of the fire. "Yes, dear Sam. It is. Today more than ever." His eyes shone brightly in the flickering firelight. His lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks. But his face showed determination not to let the matter drop. "This is a party for my friends. And you are my friend, are you not?"

"Yes, sir," Sam answered, enthusiastically. "At least I hope I am, sir."

Frodo's features shaped into a winning smile. "Well, then stop hiding in here and come along."

***

"It was a nice evening, don't you think?" Merry said, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "That Sam is a wizard at plots, he certainly is." But there was no answer from Pippin, no agreement, not even a sound. Sudden concern welled up in Merry and he wondered if his cousin was still angry because of the whole washing affair. Had Merry gone too far with his teasing? With a touch of uneasiness, Merry let his pipe sink down. He shifted slightly in his chair and cast an apprehensive look to where his cousin had sat down earlier. The sight he beheld made Merry smile and immediately freed him of his bad conscience.

In Frodo's great armchair -- an heirloom of Bilbo's great-grandfather -- lay little Pippin Took, curled up in the cushions. His tousled hair wriggled over his pointed ears and his mouth was slightly open. Right that moment a little snore escaped the half-opened lips and Pippin wiggled comfortably in his sleep. Merry had to bite his tongue to stifle a chuckle. Forgotten were all the troubles he had faced during the day. Even if Pippin had made him wear those skirts at Hobbiton's Fair Day, Merry would have remembered none of it by now. Or at least, he wouldn't have cared, simply because it was impossible to not forgive Peregrin Took. Laying his pipe aside, Merry rose from his chair and walked over to the sofa where a blanket lay neatly folded in one corner. With said blanket in his hand, Merry returned to Pippin and knelt down beside the sleeping hobbit. Carefully, so as not to waken the other, Merry wrapped the blanket around his cousin. He had tugged the blanket safely under Pippin's chin when Sam and Frodo re-entered the living room. The master of Bag End went over to a low table, placing the bottle and glasses on it. Then something curious happened. Merry, who had thought Pippin fast asleep, watched how the little Took shifted. First, one eye opened, slowly, then the second. Pippin blinked, looked over to Frodo, and suddenly jolted up in his seat.

"Wine!" he cheered and there was not the smallest sign of sleepiness in his eyes. Merry, at his side, struggled for balance, but was toppled to the floor by surprise and Pippin's rash movement. There the overwhelmed Brandybuck remained, laughing until tears coursed down his cheeks. Finally he was helped up by Sam, and Frodo handed him a glass of wine, which quieted him, at least for a while.

Some time later, the echoes of sprightly chatter and tinkling glasses drifted down the smials. The living room with its friendly crackling fire was filled with the sound of voices, one deep and almost mature, one high, almost tweenager-like, and two others, talking like old friends. And as a little more time went by, a little tune was begun and now the voices carried on the melody: two tenors, one baritone and a bass, rising up in song.

Forgotten was the toil of the day, forgotten the frog and the fear and Lobelia.

Just then, in the middle of perfect serenity and peace, there was a tremendous knock on the door. "Frodo! Frodo Baggins!"

Sam flinched. Merry choked on his sip of wine, almost spraying droplets of it over the beautiful carpet. Frodo nearly dropped his glass. Pippin gave a terrified squeak.

"My dear hobbits," Frodo said, looking at the other three in the room with wide, pleading blue eyes. "Please tell me that I am not hearing what I'm hearing.

"Erm ..." began Merry.

"Well ..." offered Pippin.

"Hear?" Sam suddenly piped up. The banging on the door was enough the make it rattle in its hinges and the familiar voice was as shrill as ever. "I don't know about you, Mr. Frodo, but I for my part don't hear naught. Do you?"

Three pairs of eyes looked at him, astonished, while Sam comfortably leaned back and sipped at his wine, as though there was nothing but the night breeze to be heard outside.

"Erm ..." Frodo began.

"Well ..." Merry offered.

"Uh ... you're right." Pippin, who had had his share of the gardener's special sense of humour today, leaned back as well. "I agree with good old Samwise. I don't hear a thing. Maybe a mockingbird outside?"

This time, it was Frodo's turn to choke on his wine, not from shock, though, but from laughter.

"A ... mockingbird?!"

Sam grinned. Pippin and Frodo laughed so hard that they almost fell off their chairs. Merry shook his head in disbelief and then joined them.

And outside, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins trudged away, finally understanding that she had lost.

Today.

But there was always tomorrow.

Finis

See the appendix to find out what Bilbo's cookbook said.