"I said that we were not to be disturbed. Everyone must leave at once," Todo blustered.

Frodo was fuming, but he hid it quickly behind a smile as he motioned to the kitchen lads to spread the lunch dishes on the sideboard, pointedly ignoring Todo, who started making odd exasperated noises.

The staff moved quickly in from the hall and set out the dishes without a lot of fuss and noise. Frodo spotted an old retainer who he had known for many years, and motioned to him.

"Nad, I have a couple of bottles of the Hall's best in my pack there on the floor next to Master Meriadoc's chair and two glasses there next to it. Could you open a bottle and pour two glasses for us -- and manage a pitcher of fresh water as well?"

"Yes sir. And I will fill a plate for you and the young Master, if that is acceptable."

"I will be forever indebted to you. And can you move that low table there closer to Master Meriadoc and put our luncheon on it?"

"Yes sir, Mister Frodo. And I will put the bottle aside for you and the young Master to finish." Nad bowed deeply, then looked up and winked.

Frodo tried not to smile. He was incensed with his Uncle Rory for trapping Merry -- who everyone -- everyone -- knew could not suffer being confined indoors or tolerate arrogant fools for any length of time at all -- in a musty parlour with an absolutely unbearable toff. And on top of it all, the pompous twit was lording it over Merry like some blasted tyrant just because his Uncle wanted a suitable birthday gift.

But what was really inconceivable was that Merry had put up with all of it for this long. The Merry that Frodo knew would have long ago told the nitwit -- no, he would have thrown Todo out the window, or at least up against the wall -- he certainly would not have tolerated being tortured for hours.

Frodo wished, only for a moment, that he had had the time to freshen up, brush his hair, and change into something at least a bit more suited for the parlour than the road. But as his best clothes were coming on the pony trap with Bilbo, he would have to make do. He turned and strolled over to where the easel stood, with a huge canvas propped on it, next to it a table spread with a tarp and an array of jars and crocks and tools of the artist's trade -- and, Frodo noted, a half-eaten piece of Izzy's plum cake, an empty bottle of wine, a plate that had probably contained sausages, and two apple cores. The smell of paint was even more overwhelming here, but he could still smell something old and stale beneath it -- likely Todo. The artist was standing behind his canvas, as if it were a barricade protecting him from attack. His head was cocked sideways and he had one hand on his hip, his paintbrush held in the other.

Todo still looked like nothing so much as an odd crane fly -- unusually tall with spindly legs and arms, a paunchy belly, and a shocking head of red hair that just would not be tamed. A ridiculous looking smock, spotted with paint, crumbs and grease spots, protected his clothes, which were undoubtedly the bright, clashing colours that he affected. For an artist, Frodo recalled, Todo's taste in clothing was atrocious. Of course, his face was, as always, frozen in a smirk of disapproval -- the hooked nose adding to the appearance. Frodo could see the clear signs of age -- grey hair amongst the red, dry yellowing skin, sullen wrinkles around the crabbed mouth. And likely because Frodo was much taller than he had been at their last encounter, Todo seemed much, much shorter.

"Rorimac assured me that the staff would be completely unobtrusive and circumspect when they delivered meals. No one is to approach the subject or the artist during the process," Todo said in that condescending tone, waving his paintbrush at Frodo as if it were some weapon that would protect him from the lower classes.

Frodo clasped his hands behind his back casually, just so he would not be tempted to use them to choke the supercilious fop. He had dared to call Merry's grandfather -- the old Master of the Hall -- by his first name -- as if he were some casual acquaintance or -- heaven forbid -- a friend. Frodo knew things could not be further from the truth, but his Uncle sincerely believed that Todo Bunce was the best painter in the Shire. He could be forgiven for wanting the very best portrait of Merry that he could buy; so Frodo bit back the more appropriate response and turned his head slowly, glancing at the quiet work going on behind him.

"They are indeed being unobtrusive and circumspect, aren't they? Miz Izzy does a marvellous job with her staff, I believe," Frodo said quietly.

"You--" the tone was imperious as Todo pulled his lanky form up even further and expanded his chest. Frodo was reminded of nothing so much as a peacock preparing to spread its tail -- a rather seedy, old peacock.

"Yes! I am delighted that you remember me." Frodo executed a very shallow bow and smiled broadly. "It has been some time."

The watery grey eyes finally focused on him as an object worth some kind of attention, then Todo lowered his brush and leaned forward, blinking. "And you are--"

"Frodo Baggins. Difficult name to recall, I know." Frodo smiled. "I am here -- on behalf of my Uncle -- to assist you in any way I can in creating the very best portrait possible of the future Master of the Hall."

Todo's expression was skeptical. "Baggins? Have I painted you?"

"No. Indeed, I have not had the pleasure." Frodo heard a strange choked noise from behind him. "I am here -- on behalf of the Master -- to make sure your subject doesn't expire from hunger or thirst and remains happily in that chair without falling out of it for the remainder of your sitting. Do feel free, however, to fill your plate and partake of the wonderful spread that Miz Izzy has created for us -- that is if you have the time."

"Fill my--" Todo looked over just as the unobtrusive staff shut the door. "If I have--"

"Certainly. I know how very important that a referral from the Master must be to you, so I know that you don't want to risk losing it by missing the deadline on this commission." Frodo leaned over conspiratorially, glancing quickly at the portrait as he did so. "Especially since the entire Took and Brandybuck families will be here over the next few days -- and you know how word of something like that can spread -- particularly with the Tooks. And they have so many family members to paint, you know."

"I beg your pardon. Just who are you again?" Todo asked, stepping in front of the canvas protectively.

"Baggins -- Frodo Baggins of Bag End." Frodo smiled, straightening, allowing the smile to slide just a tad toward a smirk, and lifting one eyebrow. The idiot would remember soon enough, but hopefully not too soon. "Now, I am going to make sure your subject doesn't faint away from lack of food and drink." He waved his hand toward the sideboard. "Feel free to help yourself to the wine. I am sure it is quite good."

There was an annoyed noise from behind him as Frodo spun about and went back toward Merry. Frodo was fairly certain Todo had counted on quaffing some of the Hall's best vintage at some point during the day -- perhaps all day, if his suspicions were accurate. He frowned when he realized Merry had slid right back into the pose he had been in when Frodo first saw him, but Merry was looking decidedly better than he had when Frodo first barged in the door. Frodo was relieved. He had thought for a moment that Merry had taken ill when he had collapsed to the floor.

"Now, cousin, let's make sure you get some water first before that wine. We don't want you looking tipsy in this lovely portrait of yours," Frodo said jovially, picking up a chair and carrying it with him.

Frodo placed the chair carefully, ensuring that the ponce could not see his face, for the moment, but Merry could see Frodo quite clearly.

From the sound of things behind Frodo, gluttony had won out over offended sensibilities. Frodo glanced back and saw that Todo had made his way to the table and was now loading not one, but two plates with food. It was a wonder the idiot still looked so puny, as much as he ate.

Merry did still look a bit addled, but there was colour in his cheeks. He was smiling bemusedly at Frodo as he sat down and Frodo looked quickly at the wine glass to be sure his cousin hadn't already indulged.

"How are you, love? Better?" Frodo whispered.

Merry shook his head in the negative and muttered, "Much."

Frodo peered at him closely. "You need some food, cousin." He picked up the jug of water and poured Merry a glass quickly. "Drink this first."

Merry took it, just a trifle shakily, and shut his eyes as he drank it down thirstily.

"If you insist on being here, for the moment, do make sure that he remains in pose at least from the waist so that I may study the clothing properly." Todo pronounced with a pretentious air. "This is just unconscionable."

Frodo frowned and turned his head to look at the artist, who was still picking over the food. Todo was trying to avoid appearing to pay them any attention, but Frodo caught a gleam as the grey eyes shifted in their direction.

"Now," Frodo looked at the heaping plates of steaming food, the basket full of -- by the smell that rose from beneath the napkin -- Izzy's fabulous rolls, the crocks of butter, pickles, and preserves -- and his own stomach growled noisily.

At almost the same time, Merry managed to set the empty glass back on the table and his stomach growled loudly as well.

Frodo laughed and sat down, picking up a napkin to place across Merry's lap and protect those lovely -- tight -- breeches.

"Tch tch tch!! Nothing on the clothing. I need to see it clearly. And don't you dare drop any food on it. I could not concentrate with some-- thing sullying that lovely sheen of the velvet." Todo pronounced archly.

Merry frowned darkly. Frodo could tell his arrival had likely been well timed. Any later and the unlucky Todo and his canvas would likely have ended up on the courtyard cobblestones, unless Merry had passed out first from lack of food and water.

"The whole effect would be ruined. Actually, it may already be. I believe I have completely lost my focus with all this--"

Frodo imagined that Todo was flailing his arms about, not unlike the bug he resembled. He had a momentary fantasy of swatting the toff with something.

"Never mind him, love. We will deal with him later." Frodo whispered vehemently over Todo's snivelling voice in the background as he handed Merry a plate and fork and covered his own plate with his napkin. Then he said loudly. "Fill up the corners, cousin. It will make for a much better portrait if you are not looking quite so-- insatiable, I am sure."

There was a slight sound of approval from behind him, but Frodo was watching Merry. He saw the slightest change in his cousin's eyes, then Merry licked his lips. But Merry wasn't looking at the plate. He was gazing at Frodo's mouth.

***

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