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The Taste of Home
He loved the Autumn. He couldn’t just decide why he loved that particular time of the year so much. Probably, it was because of the first rains, which always left that something in the air that smelled of clean and fresh.
“… you have to slice those carefully. If you make them thick, they won’t get done in the oven…”
Or probably it was because the days grew shorter each week and he could almost feel Winter coming up the Hill after him on those evenings, biting his heels with its chilly fingers when he came back home after a long stroll in the fields.
“… and then you have to mix it all in a bowl like this, but be careful, Folco, or you’re going to end with the stuff all over your breeks, and then your mother is going to kill me, because those stains never get out of that cloth, believe me, I know from experience, and why in the name of heaven are you wearing velvet on a night like this? Have you been helping Fatty in those? My, now I understand why he took that table on his shoulders almost by himself…”
Oh, but he loved the Shire in Autumn, with its golden fields, and its red and brown forests, and the sweet scent of wood and honey. The air felt different outdoors and smelled nicer indoors. But most of all, he decided, he loved his long walks over the Shire because, when he got back to his burrow, he felt more at home than ever. And this, this feeling of being away, of feeling homeless, made the feeling of coming home absolutely priceless.
“…but I don’t think Frodo would mind it terribly if we put some more sugar on it, wouldn’t he? Especially on a day like this. Oh, but you’re very much mistaken, cousin, because I know for sure that Frodo has a sweet spot for sugar, if you allow me saying so. And he loves honey, so give me those and I’ll be giving them a proper care while you put that cake in the oven, and has anybody asked Merry exactly where has he put the wine? This is the third time I ask, and it’s unfair, I tell you. Only because I’m the youngest, it doesn’t give you any right to keep it to yourselves, and me helping Folco and all…”
Home. It tasted like sweet wine and honey on a rainy afternoon. It tasted like… fresh water, like soft bread. It felt like a warm blanket on a chilly winter night, like the arms of a mother or a dear friend. It felt like something that Frodo had seldom experienced in all his life: belonging. Home was a place to belong, a place where he belonged, that was his and for him to share and to care for.
My, but he was going to miss it.
He felt like he was being shoved out his door. Just like Bilbo.
Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if Bilbo had felt the same way all those years ago, when he went away on his own Adventure. Surely not. Bilbo was an intrepid and courageous hobbit, and him… He wasn’t like Bilbo at all.
“Am I hearing it right? Are you saying that Folco is in the kitchen and you are helping him? And what exactly do you call help, Pip?”
Frodo blinked. Merry’s deep voice had cut sharp Pippin’s endless chatter and he sounded somewhat annoyed and alarmed at the same time, if that was possible. Frodo wondered if he should feel worried about the safety of the kitchen and/or that of their dinner, for that matter, and decided that no, he was not going to worry at all. Anyway, Bag End wasn’t his anymore, and its kitchen wasn’t his kitchen, so…
“Ah, there you are!” Pippin sounded very proud of himself and that was dangerous, not for himself, but for those unfortunate people who happened to be near him. When Pippin felt proud of himself about something, there was a disaster of some sort at hand. Frodo strained his ears.
“Where is the wine, Merry? You were not tasting it by yourself like the last time, were you? If I remember right, you broke half the bottles and drank the other half with your cousin Beri and we had to drink cider because of you. Well, where is it? I wanted to put some into the stew…”
“Pippin, that was an unfortunate accident. And you’re not putting Old Winyards into that…that…thing!” answered Merry, indignantly.
“Old Winyards?” Pippin’s high voice went higher with surprise.
“Are we having Old Winyards?” said Folco. It was the first time in all the evening that Frodo heard Folco’s voice, and it sounded awed “I thought that Frodo kept it for special occasions”
“Well, if this isn’t a special occasion, Folco, I can’t imagine one” said Merry “Are you finished here? I don’t think I can keep Fatty any more time from starting on the cheese”
“I heard that, Master Brandybuck!” said Fredegar from the dining-room, and if Frodo wasn’t very much mistaken, he was talking with his mouth full, from the sound of it. Frodo couldn’t help a small knowing grin.
“And I hear you, Master Bolger!” answered Pippin. There was a sound of hurried footsteps down the passage “Keep your hands to yourself and out of the table! It has taken us hours to get that ready!”
Frodo rolled his eyes. Why had he thought that having his young friends with him on a day like this would make things easier? He couldn’t guess. Probably because soon he would be leaving them, leaving forever… He wondered how he was going to tell them. And when. He didn’t have the heart for doing so tonight, on his birthday, probably the last one he would be celebrating in the Shire with his friends. And if only Gandalf was here…
“Frodo”
Frodo jumped. He turned and saw Merry only two paces behind him, leaning on the threshold with one hand and smiling. He looked amused, at Frodo’s fright, maybe, and why had Frodo jumped out of his skin like a shy rabbit in the first place? Well, he knew. There were too many hidden secrets, too many things that he just couldn’t give himself to say yet and was afraid of them being discovered. Not like this, not by his friends.
Frodo realized that Merry was still there, looking at him thoughtfully now, and he cleared his throat.
“What is it?”
Merry blinked and smiled softly.
“Dinner’s ready” he said, as a matter of fact.
“Oh, yes!” Frodo got himself busy rearranging his three waistcoats on his bed “I just couldn’t decide which of these I should wear tonight. It’s a pity that the best ones are all packed and on their way to Buckland”
“Don’t worry about that. We are not on our bests either. I think that the blue one would do just fine”
Frodo thought that he liked the green one best, but he didn’t say a word and he just picked up the one that Merry had chosen. He looked at himself in the mirror and his own reflection startled him. Stars, he had no idea that he looked so pale and worried. Almost wild. Almost worn out. His friends were either absolutely polite or totally blind if they hadn’t said anything about his looks. Either way, he felt a very lucky hobbit for having them here tonight.
“You’re just fine, cousin, come on” said Merry impatiently, and was it Frodo’s overactive imagination or did really Merry’s voice sound a bit thick? To tell the truth, he didn’t want to know.
“Yes, come on” said Frodo, smiling at that other Merry, the one in the mirror “Let’s see what those young hobbits have concocted while they were on their own”
“Oh, about that” Merry’s face turned almost painful “Frodo, please” he begged, and Frodo turned, alarmed, while Merry sighed dramatically “Can you tell me why have you let Folco and Pippin alone in the kitchen? Don’t you know from experience what a terrible combination they are?”
Frodo laughed, relieved. He couldn’t know why but he felt suddenly relaxed for the first time in what seemed like weeks. He shrugged.
“I didn’t feel like cooking tonight. And Pippin begged so nicely with those puppy-like eyes, you know I can’t resist that look. And since we are leaving tomorrow and we have decided to leave all the washing up to Lobelia… Well, I felt that nothing wrong could come out of it. And where were you and Fatty, by the way?”
Merry grinned cheekily, slapping Frodo’s back as he walked past him through the door.
“Tasting the wine, cousin” was all he said, wickedly. Frodo stopped short, turned, pointed a finger at Merry’s chest…
“You haven’t! Tell me you have not drunk all the four bottles! You wouldn’t dare…” Merry laughed long and hard and Frodo frowned, confused “You haven’t, have you? It was Old Winyards, Merry! The very last bottles! Tell me you haven’t drunk or broken anything, young hobbit or I’ll…I’ll…”
“What is taking you so long, Merry?” said Pippin’s voice down the passage.
“He’s got himself lost, poor thing!” said Folco, in a lower voice.
“Lost in a burrow!” said Fredegar “That would speak volumes about our dear Brandybuck’s wits”
Merry’s cheeks were suddenly red and he seemed like he couldn’t decide whether keep on laughing or cry out something in Fatty’s general direction. And if it was the latter, Frodo was sure that Esmeralda would have Merry’s mouth washed up if she could hear it coming out of her son’s throat, and he really didn’t want to hear it either, so he acted quickly. He pushed Merry by the shoulders in front of him and cried:
“Leave your greedy hands off my wine, young hobbits! I’m coming!”
END
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