Merry smacked his lips and exhaled contentedly. "So Pip, what're you looking forward to the most this evening?"

Pippin mused over his mug of ale. "Dunno. The food, I suppose, though it'll be nice to see all those people again."

Merry settled down into his chair even more, stretching his feet out and sinking into the seat. "Me, I think it'll be a time for catching up with old acquaintances. Take that layabout Frodo Baggins, for example. It's been far too long since I've seen the rascal. Only hope old Bilbo hasn't corrupted him beyond repair."

A commotion attracted Pip's attention. "Eh, what's this now?" He set his mug between his feet and peered into the crowd. A smile broke across his face. "Merry! Speak of the devil! There's Frodo Baggins right now! "

Merry sat up and shielded his eyes against the sun. "By crikey, so it is! But who's he riding with?" He stared a few moments more. "Pippin... is that... Gandalf?"

"Ooo! I think it is!" He grinned. "I haven't seen aught of him since I was wee! D'you think he'll do tricks for us tonight?"

But his cousin was not paying attention to him: his gaze was fixed on Gandalf's cart. "What's beneath that tarp, I wonder," he murmured.

"What's that?"

Merry lowered his hand and squinted. "There's something in his cart." He chewed his lower lip pensively. "I've got to know!" He rose up on his toes for a moment. "Where d'you s'pose he's headed?"

Pippin shrugged. "Bag End, most likely." He raised the ale to his lips again.

Merry's hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked the mug away. Pippin sputtered, and ale spilled all down the front of his new jacket. "Hey, steady on--!" he cried.

But Merry was already moving. "Well what're we waiting for then?" he exclaimed, and dashed off through the yard.

Hamfast Gamgee was riding high. As self-appointed overseer to the preparations for Mr. Bilbo's party, he was in his element, directing tables, approving banners, and generally asserting his own authority. He was so busy -- good thing he had his youngest son Samwise to run his errands for him. Sam was just returning from delivering a message to the cakemakers when the Gaffer spotted something he didn't like. His brow darkened. "Oh me," he growled. "Here comes trouble."

Two young figures were meandering their way through the workers -- a Took and a Brandybuck by the looks of them. They had no good written all over their step. "Sam," he grunted, "d'you know which ones those are?"

The young hobbit straightened quickly, having been bent double from exertion. Obediently he studied the pair, and then answered, "Looks to be Mr. Frodo's cousins, sir."

"He's got lots of cousins, boy -- which ones are these?"

"Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, I think, sir."

The Gaffer snorted. "How our Mr. Frodo could ever be related to such a set of miscreants, search me. But as I say, a thrush can't help it's got jackdaws and rooks in the fam'ly, all of them having wings and feathers and beaks and such. Just because some of them--"

"Dad!" Sam hissed urgently. "Here they come!"

Indeed, the Took and the Brandybuck were bounding over towards the Gamgees. Hamfast steeled himself, and affected his most dignified air. Sam averted his eyes and hung awkwardly in the background. "Good day to ye, lads," the Gaffer said curtly upon their arrival. "Anything I can help you sirs with?"

The slighter of the two piped up. "Yes, actually! We'd like to know if you know anything about what Gandaaoow!"

The other broke in smoothly, his heel still ground in the first's toes. "We were just wonderin' where we could find Frodo. It's been ages since we saw him, and we just wanted to catch up a little before the festivities got really underway."

The Gaffer narrowed his eyes, but Sam cut him off from behind. "Oh Mr. Frodo's out. We haven't seen him since luncheon, when he went off to do a spot of reading." He shot a meaningful look at his father. The Brandybuck nodded, staring at Sam intently. "Riiight. D'you know where we might find him?"

The Took broke in. "Might we find him at Bag End?"

"There'll be no talk of disturbing Mr. Frodo or Mr. Bilbo up at Bag End now!" the Gaffer burst out. "Now off you lot, shoo! There isn't supposed to be nobody here, not unless they're on strict official party business! So unless you want my Samwise to eskert you out, I'd kindly beg you to find the gates and hold off 'till this evening when everything's ready!" Sam looked alarmed and discomfited by this last statement. Hamfast crossed his arms over his still brawny chest and planted his feet.

After a brief staredown, the taller hobbit conceded defeat. "Come on, Pippin," he muttered, and the two took their leave of the Gamgees. Once they were gone, Sam rounded on his father, astonished.

"What call was there for that, Dad? They come from older and better fam'lies than us, they could make trouble!"

The Gaffer shook his head. "Son, we've got the name of Baggins on our side, and that kind of respectability will get you far in the Shire. Mr. Bilbo specifically told me to keep out any intruders, and I'm sure he'll warm to the fact that I was just doin' my job." Sam looked at him apprehensively, but said nothing. Hamfast watched the two retreating figures hop over the fence and begin strolling down the road. "Those two're up to something," he muttered. "I can feel it in my bones."

Sam sighed. "Think I'll go an' check on those ales again," he said, and left the Gaffer alone with his suspicions.

"Hoi! Wouldn't yeh know it, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took! C'mon over here and catch up with us!" The two could hardly refuse Fredegar Bolger's offer of a drink and a chat, and so they found themselves in the company of Iris Hornblower, Diamond Longcleave, Bill Cotton, Estella Bolger, and Freddy himself.

"How've you been, lads?" Estella asked as she handed Merry a mug of ale. "Have a rough trip to Hobbiton?"

"Ay me, 'twas a nightmare!" Pippin proclaimed before anyone could stop him. "I nearly lost my shirt coming through the wilds of Tuckborough."

Freddy raised one eyebrow. Diamond caught Estella's eye and giggled suddenly into her hands. Bill Cotton, who did not know Pippin well, scooted forward in his seat and asked what happened. Merry snorted and chuckled into his drink. "Now you're in for it," he murmured. Pippin perched himself atop the table and grinned.

"Well, it just so happens as I was out this morning, picking some apples as a good-bye present for my mother--"

Merry scoffed. "A likely story," he interjected wryly. Freddy elbowed him in the rib and nodded at Pippin expectantly.

"I'll see to it he's quiet. Keep goin'."

The irrepressible Took straightened to his full and not very considerable height. "Right then! As I was saying, I was gathering some apples to console my mother over my leavin' b'fore breakfast, when bam! out from the bushes there pops this troll." He suddenly hunched his shoulders and furrowed his brow to the point of absurdity. He dropped his voice to a menacing baritone unlikely in so young a hobbit. "'Filchin' my apples, Pippin?' he says. 'Dear me no sir, not I!' I replied. He narrows his eyes and fixes me with a glare. 'It certainly don't look like you're up to no good, Took.' But I soon set him straight. 'Eh! I was just preparin' to do my good luck mead dance!'

"Here the troll stops a moment, and scratches his head. He looks at me and goes, 'Good luck mead dance? I en't never heard of that before.'"

Pippin's audience snickered, partially at the story and partly at the amazing dexterity with which he switched between the troll's dull, sluggish voice and his own lively brogue. The hobbit widened his eyes theatrically.

"'Mercy! Where've you been, lad?' I asks him. 'Ev'rybody knows the mead'll turn out best if you do this old jig b'fore you make it. An' my friend Merry, his fam'ly's got a brewery, see, and seein' as how we Tooks are generally regarded as the best dancers in the Shire, I thought I'd do him a favor before I left for Mr. Bilbo's party.'

"'What's this party on about?' he asks, and he sorta squinches up his face like this--" He demonstrated. Iris Hornblower nearly spat out her drink laughing.

Pippin cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrows, as he was wont to do when explaining the obvious. "'Och! He's turnin' eleventy-one, you know. It's to be very exciting, I imagine. Everybody's been invited.'

"Now Troll gets all surly. 'I didn't get no invite,' he says, crossin' his arms in front of his chest and pouting.

"'Ay me! poor thing, it must've gotten lost in the post! Such a pity -- it'll be ever so much fun!'" He lost his momentum for a instant as the party-goers burst out in guffaws, but he grinned and continued, silencing them. "'D'you think I can get me an invite?' he asks, and bless him, his poor ugly mug looked so hopeful it was all I could do to keep from laughing. I shake my head and tell him all solemn-like, 'Ah, sorry to say, but there's so many comin' you've got to have your invite to get in.'" He paused to take a swig of ale. "Now here's where it gets really good! I didn't want to let the poor brute think he had no chance atall, so I tell him, 'But, since you're a pal of mine, I might be able to get you in.'

"'Really, Pip?" he says, and he sits down on a rock and listens. 'Aye!' says I, and I told him. 'Hobbits will overlook just about any little thing like a missing invite if you bring 'em a gift. Have you got any mead, perhaps? I know for a fact Mr. Bilbo has a certain fondness for the real stuff.'

"By now Troll's lookin' fair despondent. 'No I haven't. All's I got is my ol' club here," and he holds up this massive ex-tree trunk. I shake my head at it. 'Tsk tsk, Mr. Bilbo'd have no use for that. He could barely lift it -- lookit the size of it!'

"Here old Troll starts bawling and wailing. 'Whatever shall I do, Pippin? I wants so dearly to go to this party of yours! If only my invite wasn't lost!' I patted his kneecaps (which was just about all I could reach) and said, 'There there, I'm sure we'll think of something.' Then I get an even better idea. 'Troll!' I exclaim. 'You could dress up like a hobbit! There's going to be so many of them I bet they'd never notice an extra one.'

"He stops sniffling, and looks down at me. 'But where will I get hobbit clothes?'

"'Here!' says I -- and this just goes to show how gallant I am -- 'let me give you my shirt! It's a good color for you, I'd say.' He tries to put it on and oh! I coulda laughed ten years outta me! He finally gets these two great fat fingers into each armhole, and so he's standing there with his arms stickin' out above his head like he's trying to snag passing birds in his hands. I give him this real appraising eye--" which he demonstrated on Freddy, "and I give him my evaluation." He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips seriously. "'Hmmm, it's good, but it's not good enough. You'll have to pass as a Took is if you're wearing Took's clothing, and Gaffer Gamgee is hard to get past."

"Mercy!" Estella shrieked, and doubled over with laughter. She sagged against Merry's shoulder, who was also chuckling heartily.

"'I know!'" Pippin crowed above the roars of mirth at the table. "'Say if you're dancing when you come in through the gate -- that's sure to give old Hamfast proof enough you're a guest!'

"Now Troll gets all crestfallen again. 'But Pip, I don't know any dancin' steps! All we trolls ever do it stalk around in the forest and knock things over.' 'Well here!' I said. 'Let me show you!'" He promptly leaped to his feet and performed a lively jig atop the table. By this point, the Took had attracted dozens of eyes, and a good segment of Bilbo's guests were watching him with a mixture of profound amusement and profound disapproval.

Among those hobbits not in hysterics was Gaffer Gamgee himself. Indignantly he pushed his way to the tweeners' table and gestured angrily at Pippin. "You there! Stop that this instant!" The guilty party turned to regard him. The Gaffer narrowed his eyes and set his arms akimbo, doing a more perfect imitation of Pippin's troll than he knew. "Peregrin Took, is it?" The said hobbit opened his mouth as if to defend himself, and then decided to study his feet. The Gaffer grunted, and suddenly rounded on Merry. "And I suppose you have something to do with this too!" He tapped his temple threateningly. "I've got my eye on you two. That's twice I've had to say something. If I catch you making any more disturbances for Mr. Bilbo..." He trailed off, satisfied with the menace in his tone, and swaggered off.

The group of young hobbits watched him go, shocked and indignant; then Estella made a mutinous face at the Gaffer's back and snorted, "Stuffy old coot. You just keep on telling your story, Pippin: I want to hear the end to this one!"

They all relaxed a little, though Merry threw a cautious glance over each shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot. Pippin cleared his throat importantly, and tried to recapture the mood of his tale. "Right, so here we have this troll, prancing around the orchard like a Gamgee in a temper (and just about as graceful too), and we have me doin' me best not to get stepped on, and let me tell you, that was a task in and of itself! Especially with him yelling 'Lookit, Pippin, look! I'm doin' it, aren't I! Aren't I?' And I'm scampering about underfoot, going 'Yes! yes! You'll surely pass as an invited guest with feet like that!'"

"He's describin' it pretty good, isn't he," Merry remarked dryly to Freddy, inclining his head toward the dance floor.

"Oh, be nice," Diamond insisted.

Pippin crossed his arms and regarded his distracted audience imperiously. "Well, if you're going to be all like that, then I'm not going to tell you how it ended."

All at once, the six others clamped their jaws shut and locked their gazes on him. A half-grin twisted its way across Pippin's face. "Well, how else could a caper like that end? Th'troll got so enthusiastic that he quite didn't look where he was going. Either that or he decided he'd try and partner up with a particularly hefty tree -- the end result is he practically throws himself against a branch and knocks himself out cold.

"And that's how our story ends! I calmly approached the fallen brute, extricated my shirt from his fingers, dusted it off and filled it with apples, none the worse for my adventures." He winked, raised his mug, and took a draft.

"Cheers, Pippin!" Estella chortled, applauding.

"Oh yes, very dashing!" Diamond added quickly, her face beaming.

Bill Cotton still looked confused. "Where'd a troll--"

But his question went unanswered: at that very moment, a shrill whistle rent the air. An instant later, a boom every partier felt to the core of their rib cage reverberated around the field. Startled, to a hobbit they all ducked a little, but their consternation changed to delight when they recognized the torrent of sparks drifting down from the night sky.

Merry did not move after the others had breathed relief and resumed the banter. He sat frozen to the bench, his neck craned, and his jaw slack with wonder. "Fireworks," he breathed. "Gandalf's got fireworks!"

Only Pippin recognized the symptoms of something truly dangerous pooling in his cousin's eyes. He nudged him slightly, to get his attention. "What's that you're thinkin', now?"

Unexpectedly, Merry stood up. "Pippin, your story has suddenly put me in a terrible hunger for apples!" he declared. "Let's say we go find some, shall we?" Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off through the crowd.

Pippin blinked, and tried to decide which would be more enjoyable, a captivated audience or finding out what Merry had planned.

He hopped off the bench, excused himself, and followed his cousin.

Hamfast Gamgee shook out his coat collar and tried again to relax and enjoy the fÍte he'd put together. Much as he wanted to concentrate on the gossip and the ale-talk and the dancing and the food, however. the nagging image of that Brandybuck's eyes haunted him. The Gaffer knew that look: Just watch me, that's what it said. He'd issued a challenge and that Meriadoc had taken it up. His stomach began churning, and Ham knew he was in trouble. Always trust your gut when your other faculties fail you he'd told his children often enough, and presently his was growling like a wary dog.

Disgruntled, he eased himself onto a bench with a mug of beer and a half-eaten raspberry cream tart. Beneath his bushy brow, his eyes were restless, seeking out potential disturbances as faithfully as any hound. All seemed quiet, as far as quiet meant for a gathering such as this: no brawls, no lasses weeping over a scorned dance, no Tooks performing jigs atop the tables--

Hamfast sat bolt upright. He locked his gaze on the group he'd just settled a few minutes ago and counted: five. Two were missing. His eyes darted to the left just in time to catch sight of two heads bobbing stealthily behind one of the tents; one with frenzied brown curls, the other sporting a mop of distinctive yellow hair. With a grim line to his jaw, Ham set down his drink and pastry and got to his feet, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow.

The Took and the Brandybuck were a sly quarry: the Gaffer had quite a time dodging and weaving through partiers, tents, and tables. But he was still nimble on his feet, and trailed them all the way to the massive kegs of ale being kept in reserve near the back of the field. They were hidden behind the bulky barrels, conversing swiftly in a hushed and urgent tone. Hamfast crouched down out of sight, within earshot. He had to strain to understand what they were saying, but he was patient.

"Right, we're gonna try for the biggest you can get your hands on."

"So I'm to be the one who gets it, then?"

"Yes. You're smaller than me, and easier to slip in and out quickly. That's the way it always works, Pippin!"

"Aye, right... we're going to need something to set it off with. Have you got anything?"

The Brandybuck paused: there was the sound of some movement. "Not in my coat," he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Well, let's have a look in your pants then."

Ham'sjaw dropped, and he clapped a hand to his mouth to stop from gasping too audibly. He'd always heard about the strange tendencies of these rich old families -- indeed, he'd even had his suspicions about why Mr. Bilbo had never taken a lass to wife -- but he never thought they'd be so brash and brazen as to do anything in public.

"You've got to find out what they're up to," he told himself stoically. "If they're aiming to go disrupting the party, then you've got to put a stop to it now." He bounced on his soles for a moment, bracing himself for the sight of any number of improper acts. Finally, he straightened up a little and peeped over the top of the keg: all he could see was the Brandybuck, twisted to one side and shuffling through his clothes (in what manner, Hamfast cringed to think of). The Took suddenly popped up into view, panting and breathless.

"No luck," he said ruefully. "Well, maybe Frodo can help."

"There you go." Hamfast choked. The Brandybuck patted his pockets thoughtfully. "I always knew cousins were good for something."

"I'm a cousin," the Took interjected indignantly.

"Yeah, and you're lots of help, Pip!"

Ham nearly passed out as the two threw themselves on each other -- and only exhaled when he realized they were locked in a good-natured scuffle. He dared to stand up a little more. Just in case, he pretended to be checking the taps on the keg. He strained to hear what they were saying.

"Hamfast Gamgee! Just the hobbit I was looking for!"

The Gaffer jumped, for quite a different voice had suddenly blown his cover. He whirled around, his back pressed against the keg, and found himself cornered by none other than the dread Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She had a prim, dissatisfied tightness to her face. He faltered, and touched a hand to his forehead in greeting. "G'd'eve'ning, marm," he stammered. "And h-how're you enjoyin' the party?"

Lobelia tossed her head and hmph!ed. She eyed the ale beadily. "I suppose you are the one responsible for all this. Bilbo always put an unnatural amount of trust in your folk."

His pride at stake, the Gaffer drew himself up to his full height. "I've had a bit of a hand in it, yes."

She curled her lip. "Utterly crass and disgraceful! That Bilbo has no right to call himself a Baggins -- no respectable Baggins would ever entertain such a gathering as this! All the riff-raff from every corner of the Shire is tramping about this field. How are you going to keep them under control, with all your music and dancing and loose alcohol?"

Over her shoulder, Hamfast caught a glimpse of two curly heads slipping back into the crowd. His heart sank. "I'm not sure, marm," he winced, speaking more to himself than her. An instant later, he wheeled on her with a glare. "But if I wasn't stuck here talking with you, I'd be off doin' a much finer service to Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo, so if you'll excuse me--" He tried to step around her. Lobelia's eyes flared, and she grabbed his wrist, though she could barely wrap her fingers round Hamfast's hefty arm.

"Not so fast," she huffed, and gleefully launched into a tirade against the goings-on of everything within twenty miles of Bag End. The Gaffer felt his stomach shrivel up with worry and despair: for in the time it had taken to bandy words with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, he had lost all track of the Brandybuck and the Took.

Frodo Baggins flopped down on a bench, flush-faced and breathless from dancing. He'd barely had time to reach for a sip of cider when a pair of his cousins landed on either side of him.

"Hello Frodo!" Pippin chirped.

"We were wond'rin' if you could do us a favor," Merry explained by way of a greeting. Frodo looked between them, panting, and smiled wryly.

"Well hello to you two as well. What would this favor entail, and what sort of trouble is going to come out of it?"

Merry and Pippin exchanged glances.

"We need a match."

"A match? For what?"

"Our lantern at our table's gone out."

"So go ask Ham Gamgee. He's got them."

"The Gaffer doesn't like us, and besides, we haven't seen him all night."

Frodo raised one eyebrow. "Oh haven't you?" Merry made no reply, though Pippin smirked a little. "Come on, what do you really need it for?"

"For our pipes! What d'you think we need them for?"

"Why don't you have matches with your pipes?"

"We left them in our bags."

"And you're carrying your pipes around?" Frodo asked skeptically.

"Well, no, Folco Boffin's holding on to them for us."

"Folco? I just saw him retreat into the bushes with Elma Proudfoot."

"Did he?" Merry frowned, and tried to act irritated.

Frodo shook his head. "Look Merry, I've known you long enough not to be fooled by any of those alibis you think you've perfected." He gave them a careful glance. "What's going to happen if I tell you where they can be found?"

Pippin affected an attitude of injured innocence. "We are going to sit down and enjoy a pinch of Old Toby, which Merry found and acquired especially for the occasion of this party!"

Frodo studied them a moment more, and then said hesitantly, "We've got a sort of general supply tent over near the crest of the hill. There ought to be a box of matches in there. But don't go telling anyone this--!"

His two cousins swooped down and simultaneously planted exaggerated kisses on each cheek.. "Thank you ever so much, dear cos!" Merry winked, and patted him heartily on the back. The next instant, they had vanished, leaving Frodo, in a state of bewilderment, to wonder vaguely whether or not he'd done the right thing.

Gaffer Gamgee struggled through the mess of hobbits in varying states of giddiness and intoxication, searching wildly for the two miscreants he was tracking. He found Sam again, hunched over an ale and nervously looking over his shoulder every once in a while. He collapsed beside him briefly, watching the dancers. Sam jumped like a nervous cat, but relaxed once he recognized his father. "Oh, sorry Dad, thought you were Ro--" He gulped. "Thought you were someone else."

"I need your help, son," the Gaffer implored, his chest heaving. Sam turned wide, shining eyes on him: Ham could see he'd had just a touch too much to drink, but said nothing.

"What is it, Dad?" he asked thickly.

Hamfast pursed his lips and scanned the revelers again. "I'm looking for those two cousins of Mr. Frodo's, the ones that were here earlier today."

Sam blinked, and turned to face his father a little more. "What, you mean Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin?"

"I think those're the ones, aye." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands a little.

Sam ground a knuckle into one eye and sighed. "They were here just a moment ago, talkin' with Mr. Frodo. Don't think they could have gone too far. What d'you need 'em for?"

Hamfast got to his feet again and patted his son on the shoulder. "Don't you worry your head about them, Samwise. I've got it all taken care of."

His youngest turned back to his mug. Ham thought he heard a mutter of "If you say so," but he couldn't have told for sure.

The pair peered around the edge of the tent. "D'you think that's it?" Pippin whispered.

Merry nodded, his eyes flashing. "I'm sure of it."

Pippin frowned. "It doesn't look so big, does it. Would Gandalf's cart be--"

"Shh!" Merry yanked him back behind the tent again as he heard hushed voices approach. After a tense silence, he relaxed again. "Right. I'll help you up into the cart, and you grab the biggest one you can find, and then we'll make a dash for this tent again."

His younger cousin nodded intently, his gaze fixed on the cart. "Right." A moment's pause, and the two of them scampered forward. The area around their target was well-shadowed, giving them ample opportunity to slip away should anyone trouble them. With motions made fluid by long years of practice, Pippin hopped up on his cousin's linked hands and flung himself into the cart. A muffled "Owch!" threatened to betray them. Merry stood on tiptoe by the back wheel. "What is it?" he hissed, though fully realizing it must be a bit uncomfortable to land on a bed of fireworks.

Two large, round objects flew out of the cart. Merry jumped, but caught both of them by instinct. He blinked. Pippin hefted himself to his feet and climbed over the back of the cart, giving the Brandybuck a skeptical eyebrow. "Apples," he said flatly. "Merry, it's a food wagon." He leaned against the backboard and crossed his arms over his chest, the expression on his face reminiscent of that he'd given the troll earlier that day.

Merry furrowed his brow, staring at the apples in each hand. His jaw moved up and down for a moment. "But I could have sworn..."

What he could have sworn, Pippin never found out. Because at that moment, Merry's arms were yanked back and pinned behind him, and an elbow was suddenly wrapped around his throat. He dropped the apples in shock as someone laid her head on his shoulder and chuckled.

"Pinching apples, lads?"

Pippin watched with an expression of abject terror as Estella Bolger clamped her hand over Merry's mouth, and Diamond Longcleave emerged from the shadows of the surrounding tents, her face close to bursting with suppressed giggles. Estella raised one eyebrow and smiled disarmingly. "Why hello, Pippin, fancy seeing you here."

Pippin uttered a noise something akin to "Whuttryudoigstel?"

He shuddered at the way her grin widened. "Why, Diamond and I were just so impressed by the gallantry in your tale, Pip, we wanted a little piece of it ourselves." Her eyes glittered. "After all, aren't Tooks reckoned to be the best dancers in the Shire? We didn't see you out there with the others, and we feared we'd have to go without a demonstration."

Merry began to struggle. Estella playfully poked him in the side, an exceedingly ticklish spot, and he doubled over, bug-eyed. Pippin seemed to find his voice again, and he stammered dumbly, "Wh-what do you want?"

Diamond began giggling furiously again. Estella laughed. "A reenactment, then, if you will. That 'battle' of yours with that troll was so inspiring. " She paused meaningfully. "I don't intend to let him go without a tribute, you know. So let's have it. Dance for us, Took."

Pippin looked helplessly to Merry: his cousin had the bad luck of being held fast by a Bolger, who were usually several inches taller and a good deal stronger than Brandybucks. Merry widened his eyes and indicated furiously for him to go ahead and do it. Pippin gulped, and unsteadily hopped off the cart.

It was only pure luck that the Gaffer picked up their trail again. In despair, he had sulked off to the supply tent to try and find a match for his pipe, which he kept in the inner pocket of his coat. As he'd been shuffling around through the spare silverware and emergency tablecloths, a shadow appeared on the other side of the canvas. Hamfast had frozen: the shadow had spoken, and while he couldn't quite understand the words, there was no mistaking that piping Tookish voice.

"It doesn't look so big, does it--" The Brandybuck cut him off, and following a cautious pause their conversation became hushed and muffled. Now, after a few minutes more, a giggling female voice had entered into the dialogue. Astonished, Hamfast listened through the tent flap as she alternated between squeals and deep-throated purrs. It obviously wasn't enough for the pair of them to be making advances on each other: they had to corrupt a young lady and bring her into the mix as well! Now he feared what he might see on the other side of the tent even more than back at the spare kegs.

He sat down on the ground, and began debating with himself what to do. Right, Hamfast Gamgee, you've a duty to do, obviously: these folks are makin' trouble for Mr. Bilbo's party. And toying with a lass's honor no less!

But what're you to do, Gaffer? How are you going to stop them?

Well, depends what they're doing, obviously.

He shuddered to himself.

Well, you're going to have to have a peek for yourself in the end, aren't you, so you'd best get it done and out of the way before things can get much worse than they have.

Right then. Here we go.

Slowly, he drew away the tent flap. His face fell: his jaw dropped to within an inch of the ground.

The Brandybuck had Estella Bolger slithering over him like a hungry cat, and judging from the noises coming out of the both of them, neither was objecting too harshly. Young Diamond of Long Cleeve was standing a little ways back, watching it all, her hands against her mouth.

And the Took--

The Took was prancing about in the moonlight, kicking up his heels like some maddened hare. Shirtless.

Aghast, Ham Gamgee staggered to his feet.

Pippin had never been so scared in his whole life, not even when he'd fallen twenty feet from a tree branch into the rushing Brandywine River. "When is she going to let him go?" he thought desperately, as every instant he regretted sharing that stupid story in Estella's presence. And Diamond, just standing there oogling in the background! Pippin swore in the back of his head that if he ever heard another female giggle in his entire life, so help him he was going to do something rash and drastic to stop it.

"Oi!" he finally cried. "Have ye had enough, then?!!"

The next instant, several things happened at once.

Gaffer Gamgee exploded from the tent unexpectedly, roaring like an angry bull.

Estella was so startled she let go of Merry, who dropped to the ground, gasping.

Diamond emitted a small shriek, and tore off through the tents away to safety.

Merry grabbed the two fallen apples at Estella's feet and sprang up. He threw an arm back and lobbed an apple at the charging Gamgee. It collided with his forehead with a resounding thwack! and split into pieces which scattered about him like fleshy fireworks.

The Gaffer stood dazed for a moment, and then woozily fell to the ground.

Pippin was frozen in his tracks, watching it all play out with horror. But his senses finally grabbed hold of him and shook him by the shoulders: he scooped up his discarded clothing and tore off for the nearest tent. He could hear Merry's feet pounding behind him: thankfully the noise of the entire affair seemed to have been covered up by one of Gandalf's explosions.

He practically tripped into the first shelter he got to, a tent filled with casks of ale and tables of pitchers. Panting hard, he bent double for a moment, catching his breath. His head and shoulders were dripping with sweat, and he almost didn't want to put his shirt back on. He shook himself and tried to wipe his face down a little. He slipped his hands into the armholes and shrugged the shirt on. His fingers, still giddy with adrenaline, stumbled as they fastened his buttons. He had just finished straightening his vest and tucking his shirt into his trousers in when someone hit the side of the tent.

He looked to his right: silhouetted against the glow of the party lanterns stood Merry. Pippin tossed aside the flap and ducked outside. Merry didn't look at him: his gaze was locked on the towering cart in front of them. Pippin glanced at his cousin's face, and suddenly his eyes sparked as well.

The back of the cart was filled to the brim with fireworks.

Hamfast Gamgee came to surrounded by chunks of apple flesh, much to his disconcertion. He blinked, and tried to sit up, but his head hurt too much, and groaning, he lay flat on his back again. He raised a throbbing hand to his forehead and gingerly touched his temple: it ached, but not too badly. What had happened? he thought in a daze. He had been in the tent, and then he'd opened it, and seen--

Nearby, a shriek rent through the air, followed by a bone-shattering explosion. Ham leaped to his feet in terror. He craned his neck, and a moan of disbelief escaped him. Just before he fainted again, as the dragon swooped down over the party field, one final thought occurred to him:

The Brandybuck and the Took.