Work of art: A product of the fine arts, especially a painting or sculpture; also, something likened to a fine artistic work, as by reason of beauty
"I'm afraid they're ruined for much but work clothes, lad." Izzy dabbed at a blue spot on Frodo's waistcoat without much effect, her forehead creased in a frown. Frodo patted her hand. "Never you mind, Izzy my love, I get worse ink stains just from sheer absentmindedness. And these are my most worn travelling clothes. At least I didn't have my jacket on." "Well, I am glad you weren't sittin' in yer best, like the young Master. That would have been a terrible waste." Shaking his head, Frodo smiled. "Actually I would have gladly sacrificed my best dress jacket and breeches in this particular cause, but don't tell Bilbo." Although Bilbo would likely have quite willingly joined in, after taking off his jacket and waistcoat, of course. "I'm surprised the toff agreed ta let ya sit in those. Not that they aren't quite fine themselves, but he were quite highhanded about Master Merry sittin' in his best." She frowned and leaned in, licking the cloth and wiping away a spot on Frodo's face. "I imagine he was, but I was a bit persuasive myself," Frodo smirked. "Based on what I am hearin' from upstairs, I must agree with ya." She grinned back at him, sitting back down on her stool and surveying the hectic, noisy work going on around them. "Them that helped the toff pack tell me that his bottom half were quite the work of art." She leaned forward to poke him in the ribs. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Really? I wonder how that happened?" "Well, ta hear him tell it, he tripped on that 'horrid threadbare rug'." She managed a fair imitation of Todo. "Fell right in his own paints and then sat on the floor -- several times it appears from the carpetin'." "Clumsy of him." Frodo took a sip of his wine, trying not to grin. "Yes. Just good luck that we picked that parlour to put him in, considerin'." She glared in the direction of a clumsily dropped pot. "Being as he seems to have a right awful time of it stayin on his feet. When Master Merimac was sittin for him, he tripped over something and fell right into his paints, 'cept that time it were headfirst. And then he ran into the wall -- several times in fact. Ruined some good wallpaper that time." Frodo barely managed to stifle a snort and nearly got wine all over himself in addition to the paint. Izzy looked a bit too pleased with herself as she pointed her spoon at him. "Yes, and as I recall, there were a fauntling lad at the time found with paint in his hair and his waistcoat gone missin'. And him and Master Merimac thick as thieves after that." She tapped the spoon against her chin thoughtfully. "Does seem a bit of a coincidental, don't it?" It was odd, he wasn't the least inclined to worry about what he had just done to Todo -- picking him up and dropping him on his paints then helping the artist point out all the threadbare spots in the carpeting by sitting on them, quite hard, and repeatedly -- with some rather forceful persuasion involved. But Frodo could still blush fiercely over his very first prank at Brandy Hall as a young lad -- the first of many. He bent quickly to hide the guilty colour in his cheeks, adjusting the covering on the package leaning against the table next to him. It had been priceless revenge to see the terrified look on Todo's face when he had finally connected Frodo with that blue-eyed, dark-haired hobbit child who he had sneered at all those years ago -- the faunt he had called "strange-looking" and "odd-featured". Frodo smiled, remembering how proud he had been to earn Merimac's praise when he had thrown himself on the floor and tripped Todo just as Merimac pushed him. It had been sheer luck that the arrogant peacock had fallen headfirst into his paint. "So, he's gone then?" he straightened, trying to look innocent. Izzy's mouth quirked and she squinted at him. "Indeed. Left pretty quickly, I would say. The lads're still cleaning the parlour. Course, the carpet's ruined. Rolled up and gone." She waved her hand. "Just like the toff. Won't be back, that un. Said he'll 'no longer subject hisself to such accommodaments, Master or no' or some such rubbish." Frodo lifted his glass in farewell. "Well, I hope he finds happiness painting some wealthy, wrinkled old gammers in the Northfarthing who can tolerate his airs." Izzy lifted her ever-present mug of cider. "And don't have no lads about who'll turn him into a work of art." "Speaking of work of art, I hear--" "Yes, yes! What're you doing standing here jawing with me anyways?" She waved her spoon at him. "Yer late for the unveiling." "But I thought Uncle Rory was going to present it--" "At the party, yes, but he wanted the immediate family to see it first, with herself, then they'll cover it back for the doins'. You need to be in there, lad," she said, suddenly solemn. "You belong in there." She nodded fiercely, planting one hand on her hip. When he hesitated for only a moment, she waved her spoon. "Go. Get outta my kitchen." And then she grinned broadly at him. He grinned back and sat down his glass, grabbing the package and heading out at a fast clip. But at the door into the corridor, he stopped and turned, coming back at a more sedate pace and leaning in to kiss her cheek. "I owe you a thorough snog you know." "Many of them, you scamp of a Baggins. Now scat!" Frodo laughed and headed down the corridor. He could hear voices echoing from the great hall, although he couldn't hear the words. Merry had missed breakfast and second breakfast this morning, and Frodo shivered deliciously thinking about what had made both of them sleep so late. But Merry had headed out with every intention of having a serious talk with the scions of the Hall over lunch. Frodo smiled as he thought of the caramel sauce he had helped Merry clean off his neck before he could properly dress. Frodo, on the other hand, had headed off to his assignation with the toff, which had, if he had to say so himself, turned out quite well. Smirking as he thought of the look on Todo's face when he realized exactly who had him by the collar, Frodo ran his hand through his hair and looked down at himself. Really, considering the paint that had been flying about in that room, he was relatively unscathed -- the worst was hidden by his jacket, since he had been in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. And besides, now he had a lovely, bawdy tale to share with Bilbo and Merimac, and of course Merry, about the rather inappropriate, and clumsy, advances of a certain painter. He could only hope that Merry's plans for lunch had been as successful. He walked sedately into the hall -- already partially decorated for the coming festivities -- and was relieved to see that it was only the immediate family, no staff were lingering about. And Merry was looking quite content and relaxed as he stood with his hand resting on his grandfather's shoulder. Things must have gone well at lunch -- his Uncle Rory was actually smiling and his Uncle Sara was standing on the other side of his father's chair, looking -- slightly bemused. His Aunt Esmeralda was trying very hard to look stern as she surveyed the contingent of male Brandybucks lined up before her. She had her hands planted on her hips and was looking from the three of them to the painting -- draped in green cloth and beribboned in gold -- hanging on the wall next to those of Merry's father and uncle and grandfather and a line of Brandybucks stretching back to the founding of the Hall. Frodo leaned his package against a nearby trestle table and walked quietly toward where they stood. "Now, what is this all about? The staff is in an uproar -- rolling up ruined parlour rugs and trying to sneak them past me, packing up guests and practically tossing them into the road -- and now you three." She saw Frodo first, as he strolled up behind the three accused, and as he watched, that stern mouth quirked ever so slightly. "You four." Merry spun around and his face lit up happily as he grabbed Frodo's shoulder. "Frodo!" Sara turned with an admonishing look. "Well, I should have known you were here the moment I caught Izzy bribing Tom for more bottles of the '99." Then he took Frodo's hand with a smile. Frodo grinned broadly. "Bollocks, I knew he was here when I saw your son and heir looking like he swallowed the moon," came Rory's gruff voice. Frodo saw Merry blush as Frodo knelt down quickly to take his uncle's hand. "How are you, old Uncle?" A gnarled hand rose to rest on his shoulder, and Frodo was suddenly aware of the piercing gaze of those rheumy eyes. He wondered what exactly had been said at lunch. "How is my favourite Baggins then? You didn't bring that other Baggins with you this time I hope -- the irritating fellow that won't stop talking?" Frodo laughed. "He is coming later, Uncle. I'm afraid I am the sole Baggins representative, for the moment." "And representing the Baggins contingent quite well, from what I hear," Esmeralda chimed in. "Indeed," Rory said brusquely. Frodo grimaced and risked a sideways glance at Merry, wondering precisely what "representing" meant. "Well, now the whole family is here, are we going to unveil this work of art?" Sara asked impatiently. The whole family. Frodo felt something warm bloom in his chest as he straightened up and felt Merry's arm press around him firmly, his fingers tightening on Frodo's shoulder. He covered Merry's hand with his own and looked up at the covered painting expectantly. "Well, uncover it lass!" barked Rory. Esmeralda smiled and tugged at one side of the cloth. It was even more gorgeous than Frodo remembered it. Merry gazed out at them, bright as the sun shining in the sky -- sitting there proud and tall like some ancient warrior clad in scarlet and gold mail. Frodo heard his aunt gasp loudly, and then she just lifted her hand to her mouth and stood there, eyes wide and filling, gazing at her son's image. For a long moment, no one said a word, then she turned, almost unable to tear her eyes away from the portrait, and stood before Merry. Frodo stepped aside as she took Merry by the shoulders and hugged him. "It is magnificent. You are magnificent. I cannot believe you sat still for that long." She cupped his face in her hands and leaned in to kiss him. "Thank you, Meriadoc." She looked back up at the portrait. "I know what a sacrifice that must have been for you." Merry was wearing his noble, chin-out expression, and Frodo noted with a smile that the blush really didn't take away too much from the overall effect. Then Esmeralda knelt and threw her arms around her father-in-law for a long, long while, and kissed his cheek. "You old trickster. You keep surprising me with things like this and I shall start believing you are secretly sneaking off to the Old Forest every night and dancing reels with the faeries." Rory looked quite pleased with himself. When she stood up before her husband, Frodo noticed that they both looked slightly uncomfortable -- a bit like two tweens who had just been introduced at a party. He glanced around at Merry, who grimaced and then raised his eyebrows. Yes, Frodo was going to enjoy hearing exactly what had transpired over lunch. He turned back, to find his uncle and aunt hugging each other, although a bit stiffly -- then his uncle whispered something and Esmeralda actually laughed, pushing him away. "Is everyone in this Hall tweening now?" growled Rory. Esmeralda frowned at her father-in-law, but her eyebrow quirked up and gave her away. Then she reached out to take Frodo's hands in hers, holding them firmly. He remembered those hands -- wiry and strong, and ink-stained, just like his. He smiled back at her, squeezing her fingers gently. "Thank you, Frodo -- for being here for this -- for being here for us." She looked over at Merry. "For everything." She leaned in to press a kiss to Frodo's cheek, then turned around and looked up at the portrait, wrapping one arm around Merry's shoulders, one hand still grasping Frodo's fingers firmly. Sara stepped over and laid his hand on Merry's shoulder and Merry reached out to put his hand on his grandfather's arm. When Rory looked around at all of them and slowly smiled, putting his hand over Merry's, Frodo realized that, for a brief moment, the real work of art wasn't on the wall at all. ***
To
NEXT CHAPTER |