Frodo vaulted the fence easily and pulled off his jacket. The walk up into the vineyard had been exhilarating, though chilly at first. The sun was out and you could almost believe spring wasn't too far off, but his breath still fogged the air before him. He had not found Merry working with the pruners as his Aunt Esmeralda thought. And old Redfoot didn't seem to be aware the young Master was supposed to be up working with him today. Odd. His aunt knew the workings of the Hall and the holdings backwards and forwards -- likely she knew the whereabouts of every single hobbit, beast and insect on the entirety. Except, it appeared, her son.

Frodo looked beyond the smoke rising from the Hall's many chimneys below him to the distant glimmer of the Brandywine through the trees. He stooped to pick up his pack and settle it back on his shoulder, frowning. He had come ahead of Bilbo just to have some extra time with Merry, before the crowds of relatives and myriad well-wishers descended on the place for his Uncle Rory's birthday celebration in two days. And he had arisen rather early from a very nice and very warm bed at the Five Acorns just to get here in time for elevenses, or at least lunch, with his cousin. That is, if Merry's appetite for food won out over other appetites.

He grinned to himself thinking of those other insatiable appetites of Merry's. Come to think of it, perhaps he had best eat before he looked any further for his missing cousin.

Heading down the hill, Frodo took the short cut that would lead him through the kitchen garden and right into Izzy's realm, if he was lucky and the old cook was in the kitchens today.

Even in the deep of winter, the kitchen garden showed signs of tending and he could see the shadow of someone moving about beyond the steamed glass panes of the huge greenhouse, likely starting seedlings. The door was, as usual, propped open to allow a cooling breeze access to the always overly warm kitchens. He reached for the knob but stopped short at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Well, no one is askin' me, but that fella does think rather highly of hisself, don't he? I mean really. Tellin' me how to cook my pork roast, so as not to offend his sensibles." It was Izzy, and she was in full temper, from the sound of things -- the rather loud sound of things. "Hmmmpf. I'm inclined to put a nice sharpened butchering knife in Master Merry's silverware and see just what goes on."

"Well, that young Abelia told me--" There was a huge rattle of pans that eradicated part of whatever the unidentified kitchen lass was going to share about what young Abelia had said. "--and if the young Master doesn't sit still for the rest of the day, the old Master'll be sending him off and he'll be missin' the whole thing."

Frodo frowned. The young Master had to be Merry. The old had to be his Uncle Rory.

"Don't touch that, Bingo!" Izzy shouted -- likely at some poor kitchen lad. "We have more than we need to worry with all the extra guests and the feasts and the dance and the party. No! You peel that this way. Are you wrong-handed as well as empty-headed?"

Frodo stifled a laugh. The Brandy Hall kitchens always sounded and looked like complete chaos, until you saw the meals carried out the door and into the dining halls. But watching Izzy in action -- or rather listening to her -- was always a delight.

"I am not needin' some rude Southfarthing toff gettin' high-handed about my cooking with all this goin' on. I will hand him his head on that canvas of his and good riddance."

Southfarthing toff? Canvas? Frodo's eyebrows rose. Not Todo Bunce the artist surely? The last time Todo had painted a Brandybuck family portrait -- his Uncle Merimac's -- it had turned into a fiasco that ended with some fine silk wallpaper stained with all the colours of the rainbow and Todo's eye a nice shade of black and blue. Merimac had a low tolerance for high-handedness and Todo defined the term. The portrait, however, was quite fine and hung in a place of honour in the main hall. He couldn't imagine why his Uncle Rory would even think of asking Todo to paint Merry's portrait, of all things.

"And as for the painting, I am betting that great peacock finished the thing ages ago and is just milking the Old Master for a room and plenty of food and wine. If it weren't a gift for the mistress--" she clicked her tongue loudly.

Izzy wasn't a fool. That was certain. Apparently his Uncle Rory was planning on giving a portrait of Merry as a birthday gift to his Aunt Esmeralda. And with Merry's temperament, they would be lucky if the subject or the artist survived the experience.

He pushed open the door. "I followed my nose all the way from Hobbiton, and where do I find myself?"

Izzy's round frame spun about and for a moment she blinked in the bright light from the door behind him, then her eyes widened and she grinned, showing that broad gap where one tooth was missing. "Why Master Frodo, as I live and breathe!!" She wiped her hands furiously on her apron and held out her arms. He obligingly dropped his pack and gave her a tight hug and a quick kiss on each cheek -- each very moist and red cheek. She smelled of spice and pepper today -- sharp and tangy.

Izzy held him at arm's length, looking him up and down. It was odd to realize that he was taller than her now. So many memories of looking up at Izzy -- a much younger Izzy -- crowded through his mind.

"So, have you stayed healthy then?"

He frowned then recalled his illness while visiting the Hall at Yule. "I have been just fine. Fit as a fiddle my dear Izzy. And you?"

"Heh. I canna afford to be sick with this lot. Get back to WORK, those will not peel themselves!" She waved at the staff, who were all standing about taking the interruption as a chance to rest for a moment. Instantly, the peeling, chopping, and stirring began anew and the noise level went up. "So, you are a bit early for the doings, are ya not?"

"Indeed I am. Here to surprise my cousin and keep him and the fauntlings out of trouble and out of your way."

Izzy's expression was almost laughable as one eyebrow went up and the other down. "Not long ago I would've said having you here means trouble--"

Frodo squinted back at her. "Why Izzy--"

"But it appears that my Frodo-lad has grown a bit these last few years." She grinned. "No longer a wild tween, eh?"

Frodo was surprised to feel himself blushing. Only Izzy could do this to him.

"Well--" She leaned over conspiratorially. "Still a wild tween in some ways, eh?" She winked broadly.

"No more than you, my fair Izzy, my first true love," Frodo responded, bowing over her hand.

"Oh you." Izzy waved her hand. "Yer a fine one my Frodo-lad. No, you sow those wild oats long as you can. Soon enough the trappings of life will catch up to ya and drag ya down. Enjoy yerself while your pieces and parts still work, before the aches and pains of old age set in."

"Your joints paining you much?"

"Some days worse 'en others. Some days worse 'en others." Izzy sat back on her stool, from which she had ruled the kitchen for quite a long while, and picked up her wooden spoon -- both sceptre and goad. "So, I suspect yer lookin' for that rascally young Master of ours, eh?"

"In a way. I know what he is doing and why, I just don't know where."

Izzy crossed her arms and cocked her head, her lips tightly sealed. Frodo knew immediately that this would require a great deal of guessing about the situation -- as well as a silver tongue.

"My suspicion is that my intervention is required, likely about now, or a certain Southfarthing artist is going to be found splattered on the courtyard cobblestones. Actually, I think that would be a desirable place for said artist to end up, but I do wish for Aunt Esme to receive her lovely birthday gift and for my cousin to be able to attend the festivities. So, I am trying to find out which parlour Aunt Esme is most desirous of re-papering. I will assume that is the one that they have hidden Merry and our dear Mister Ponce-- I mean Bunce -- away in." Frodo smiled.

At that, Izzy snorted, as did a couple of others in the kitchen, but a wave of her spoon stopped all that. "Oh, you are grown to such a charmer, my Frodo-lad. I knew that Mister Bilbo would do right by you, and he has. You are a saucy one." She poked at him with her spoon and he made a flourishing bow in response. "But, you need fattening up lad. I still say a few weeks of my food and you would have a decent belly on you."

"You are absolutely correct, my dearest Izzy. Uncle Bilbo has given me authority once more to offer you the position of head cook at Bag End, if you choose to accept it."

Izzy giggled this time, just like a lass. "Yer Uncle is a saucy one as well. Hmmpf. Head cook at Bag End. Hmmpf." She planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Well, I will say this, there are trays of my best pork roast, buttered parsnips, asparagus, and all manner of dishes heading up the back stairs to some parlour. I would say that you could start putting some meat on your bones by following that lot and digging in when you get there, afore some toff eats the whole of it."

Frodo grinned and leaned forward to plant a kiss on one plump cheek. "I will enjoy the repast immensely! My eternal gratitude!" He grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder as he headed for the door that led to the back stairs.

"Whoa! Just a moment there, impatient Baggins!"

Frodo turned just as Izzy waved her spoon in the direction of one of the lads. "Nim, I suspect I did not send enough wine up with that meal. Bring me a bottle -- no two bottles -- of that lovely red from last year. I think we still have a few in the first pantry -- and two glasses. Be quick about it, boy!"

The lad ran for the pantries.

Izzy leaned close. "Now, I don't want none of the Hall's best wasted on a bit of Southfarthing fungus. That table wine I sent up is plenty fine for his like. Is that understood?"

Frodo grinned. "Yes m'am."

"And I do expect a full report on the comeuppance of the toff before you head off again for the nether regions," she whispered.

Frodo laughed and bowed obediently.

The lad emerged quickly with two bottles of red wine, clearly emblazoned with the Hall's crest, and two glasses. Izzy held the bottles up to the light and checked the corks carefully.

"With my blessing." She handed the bottles and the glasses to Frodo.

He grinned and bowed once more, sliding the bottles into his pack and taking the glasses in one hand as he headed for the doorway to the backstairs. The distant chatter and noise of the kitchen lads carrying trays of food and drink to 'some parlour' echoed down the stairwell as he started up.

So far, this visit was decidedly not going as planned.

***

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