The Cooking Conspiracy

by Eretria & Murron

 

Chapter 4

 

"A silken ribbon?"

"No."

"A pretty glass pearl, perhaps?"

"No."

"A cake?"

"No."

Frodo sat back on his heels, being at his wit’s very end. His face must have been a clearly mirrored plea, even to a child as young as this one, but the little lass changed neither her statement nor her mind.

"Look, lassie," he said, "what’s your name?"

"Daisy," she answered earnestly, closing her little arms closer around the flowerpot.

"Look, Daisy," Frodo tried once more, "this rose really is very precious to me. Is there nothing you would take for it?"

"No."

With a thoroughly frustrated sound coming from deep inside him, Frodo lowered his head between his knees. This must be a bad dream. A nightmare. Not for the first time he wished he had stayed in bed this morning, with the quilt over his head and the blinds shut tight. Sleeping through his birthday -- next year he would certainly do that. Bagginses were known for being untraditional. . . . Well, he would be untraditional and give himself a birthday gift next year by not taking one step out from under his covers.

"Nothing at all?" he muttered from between his knees. A short silence followed.

Then the lass answered, somewhat hesitantly. "Perhaps I would."

Frodo’s head jerked up and he met the innocent eyes of the child.

"You want to trade?" he asked, hardly believing it. She nodded. Frodo sighed heavily. Now they finally seemed to be getting somewhere. "For what?" he asked, ready to give away Bag End’s whole inventory only to get it over and done with. "What do you want?"

The lass tilted up her head and said rather calmly: "A frog."

***

Merry knew quite well that he looked strange. He had gotten rid of Rosie’s skirts, apron and bodice as soon as she had walked out of sight, but Pippin had taken his shirt and weskit along with him, so he was left to walk back to Bag End in naught but his breeches. It was pure luck that the day was still warm for September. Little insects were buzzing over the well-trodden path along the Bywater pool. Yet the air already smelled of the looming autumn, a sharp clearness that refreshed the senses and promised a rich harvest.

"Oi, Brandybuck!"

Merry was startled out of his pleasant thoughts and was hard pressed to stop himself from cringing. What had made him think he would get back to Bag End unnoticed? Why were his usually lucky stars hating him so much today? Why?

When he came to Bag End, he would kill Pippin. And then he would kill Sam. And afterwards he would eat all the food they had prepared. Every bite.

Merry walked on, raising his gaze calmly from the ground. He would not give Ted Sandyman the satisfaction of seeing him blush. But neither would he give the unpleasant miller’s son the pleasure to see the Master of Buckland's son looking down, unable to meet Ted's eyes. He simply refused to ...

"Brandybuck! Isn’t it a bit cold to be going out without a shirt on? Or can’t the Master of Buckland afford to dress his son properly?"

‘Don’t listen. Walk on.’

Oh yes. All the food. Or maybe ... maybe he shouldn’t kill them after all. At least not right away. Maybe he should tie them both to chairs and eat all the food in front of their noses, making them watch. One mushroom after the other ...

The plump body of the miller’s son suddenly appeared before Merry’s eyes and interrupted his sweet thoughts of revenge.

"What is it, Master Meriadoc? Has your infamously big mouth suddenly stopped working? Can’t you give me an answer?"

Merry breathed deeply, set his jaw and gave his best impression of a forced smile.

‘Every single mushroom. And the custard. I will eat all of Pippin’s beloved custard. And I will drink Sam’s beer. Oh yes.’

What he didn’t know was that to Ted Sandyman, it looked dangerously as though the young Brandybuck was baring his teeth.

"Did you want something specific, Ted Sandyman?"

Ted looked at Merry from head to toe with his own false smile on his lips. "You won’t win any lassie’s heart like that."

So that was what this was all about. The young Brandybuck knew that the lasses found him quite irresistible and Merry didn’t even try to stop the grin from spreading over his features. "Is that so?" He glanced directly at the miller’s son’s swollen belly and his short, plump arms and legs, and raised an eyebrow. "I do think I have a better chance than you have, Sandyman."

Ted Sandyman’s mouth fell open in an incredibly ridiculous expression of disbelief.

"Have a nice afternoon," said Merry, puffing his chest and walking briskly up the Hill towards Bag End.

If only he didn’t meet anyone else along the way, this could end as a fine day, after all.

He had barely walked ten steps when Ted Sandyman’s voice called after him: "Oi, Brandybuck! Meant to tell you ... nice bonnet you have there."

Merry stopped dead in his tracks. His hand went to his head. He felt the soft material of Rosie Cotton’s white bonnet still riding upon his curly hair.

‘Why,’ he wondered, feelings strangely calm when he heard the roaring laughter of the miller’s son. ‘Why did I ever let myself get talked into this?’

His plan for revenge was standing clearly in front of his inner eye. Pippin would suffer. Oh yes ...

***

A ... frog you say?"

The lass nodded earnestly.

"A toy frog?"

"No."

"One made of cake, then?" Frodo almost sprained his brain, trying to come up with more things which maybe would make the lass reconsider. He knew quite well what she meant. But he simply refused to acknowledge it.

The lass was slowly becoming bored by the older one’s utter lack of understanding. She shook her head vigorously, making her curls gleam like they were made of pure fire.

Her green eyes sparkled, and her freckled face showed resolute determination. "A real frog."

"Real."

"Uh-huh."

"Real." Frodo suddenly had the urge to hit his head against the next available tree trunk. Hard. He could have given her anything she wanted. But what did she want? A frog. A real frog. Where was Pippin when he truly needed him?

"Are you sure?"

The lass chewed on her bottom lip, and scrutinised the potted rose in her hand. She seemed to ponder if she really wanted to let go of it.

‘Not good,’ thought Frodo. Why did he have to make her doubt? Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now he would have to get her the frog, and quickly, before she reconsidered and decided to keep the rose after all.

‘Oh Sam. If I didn’t like you so much ...’

"Come on, then. A real frog it shall be." Frodo reached for the lass’ hand and the small fingers were almost swallowed by his palm. "Why don’t you sing me a song on the way down to the pool? I’m thinking you must have a beautiful voice."

The lass nodded and started a song.

Seconds later, Frodo wished he would learn to keep his mouth shut.

***

A gasping Merry rushed into Bag End’s round door and quickly shut it behind him, leaning his back against the wood. Slowly, he slumped to the floor and laid his head on his knees, breathing heavily. He had made it!

He was quickly joined by Pippin, whose round, inquisitive eyes were the first thing he saw when he finally he lifted his head. Perspiration matted Merry’s already unruly brown curls.

"What’s the matter? Merry? ... Merry?" It was good to hear that Pippin at least sounded a little worried. Maybe he would kill him later, if his cousin kept being nice.

Still. There was something that needed to be said. Right now.

"My dearest Peregrin," he began, "I regret to inform you that this is the inglorious end of my once brilliant career of constant mischief-making."

Pippin opened his mouth in shock, and didn’t seem to be able to close it. His eyes grew even bigger. A look of dismay and disbelief replaced his concern. "Wh-What?" was the only word he finally managed to squeak out.

 

***

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