Pippin went limp in Frodo's arms and Frodo tightened his embrace in alarm.  But the young Took only moaned, "I can't watch it, Frodo, oh, I can't.  I shall go mad if I have to see the stable boy die from the torment of the evil king."  And he began to sob unrestrainedly.   

Frodo shook his head in wonder and looked at Merry again, who was preparing tea with the look of one who had recently lost a much-loved relative.  "I told you that you should not have gone there," he said quietly, guiding Pippin to the table.

Merry swallowed and Frodo could see that he was also fighting back tears.  "You were right," said Merry hollowly, "It was devastating.  I was so horrified to see the soldiers of the evil king march out in full might that I yelled.  That was how we were found out by the bounders and hauled out of the camp."

Frodo could not help but laugh at the mingled bitterness and folly in Merry's words.  He was rewarded by an injured look from Pippin, who had sat looking exceedingly mournful, munching on a piece of fruitcake Frodo had sliced and shoved into his hand.

"You should see the stable boy," said Merry with scathing bitterness.  "He was filthy, tattered and wasted, and there were wounds all over him: gashes around his neck, whip weals on his feet.  And he was raving mad he nearly killed himself.  You know that song about his return in glory?  And that speech by his fortune-telling friend?  I think they are meant as irony.  He'll die there in the king's dungeon, I just know it.  He'll accomplish his quest, maybe, but he shall not see his sweetheart again."

Despite himself, Frodo turned pale.  "Don't talk like that," he chided half-heartedly.  "They will not make a play with a sad ending.  It simply will not sell."

"The sword-fight was amazing and the fair-haired lass dressed herself like a knight and…" began Pippin before Frodo clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I'll not hear anymore of this!" he said fiercely.  "You both have your tea and go to your bed.  I'll see you in the morning."

"We will see the first show, won't we, Frodo?" said Merry, pouring Pippin a cup of tea.   

"Of course, Merry, we will," said Frodo smiling.  

"The whole Hobbiton will turn up tomorrow night, I can guarantee that.  I heard the show was jam-packed the first night in Michel Delving that there very nearly was a mutiny among the crowd.  We can't risk not getting tickets, Frodo. We'd better come early," warned Merry, sitting down and grabbing a piece of scone from the basket on the table.  "You don't want to have to wait another night, and have people tell you how incredibly fantastic it is, do you?  You won't be able to bear it.  I won't."

"Neither will I," said Pippin grimly.   

"The line for tickets starts after dinner-time, Merry, and not half a moment sooner.  We'll go there after tea and be the first in line," assured Frodo.

"We'd better be," muttered Merry darkly, before looking gloomily at his tea, while Pippin put down his half-eaten cake and stared disconsolately at the crumbs.  Frodo shook his head with a smile and disappeared to his room.

***

"I told you!  I told you we should not have gone to the inn!  This is what comes out of your sensible suggestion," ranted Merry as he took in the long line of hobbits waiting to get tickets to the Muses' latest play.  "We'll never get a ticket!"

To his credit, Frodo remained calm, but there was an edge in his voice as he said, "Shouting accomplishes nothing, Merry.  Go to the other line and stand there.  Pippin, stay with me."

Pippin nodded, looking very pale and trembling a little as he watched Merry leave, still grumbling angrily.

"The line's very long, Frodo," he whispered to his older cousin.  "And if each hobbit buys two tickets, they'll be sold out before we reach the booth."

"Don't give up hope, Pip," said Frodo, standing on tiptoes and peering over the mass of curls, his heart sinking.  "We'll get those tickets."

"The tent can only house around two hundred hobbits," whimpered Pippin.  "There are more than sixty in front of us…"

"Quiet, Pip!" cut Frodo desperately.  "You'll see.  Those tickets will be ours."

The line crawled with an excruciating slow pace.  Frodo found himself nervously shuffling from foot to foot, deliberately avoiding Pippin's accusing, imploring eyes.   

Finally he could not stand waiting anymore and, telling Pippin to stay at his place, he went to the head of the column.   

He watched with growing panic as hobbit after hobbit strode to the ticket booth and ordered not one, not two tickets but four, six, eight, until…

"Sam!"

With a jolt of relief he walked up to his gardener who stood only a hobbit away from the booth.   

"Mr. Frodo!" replied Sam with a broad grin.  "Have you got your tickets, sir?"

"Well, that's the problem, Sam," explained Frodo, glancing nervously as the hobbit in front of Sam counted the coins to pay for eight tickets.  "I haven't, and Pippin is very distressed, the poor lad.  He was hoping to see A Hero's Return the first night.  He's waiting, and I can't go back without a ticket for him.  Would you mind buying the tickets for us, Sam?  Three, for Pippin, Merry and me?  I've got the money here."

"Of course, sir," said Sam readily.  "I'm only buying for me and Rosie.  She's been looking forward to tonight, sir.  Mighty fond of plays, my Rosie is."

"Good, good," said Frodo absentmindedly, noting that the hobbit in front of Sam was already collecting his tickets and was making ready to leave his spot.  "Go, now."

Sam stepped in front of the booth and declared, "Five tickets, please."

The hobbit behind the counter scowled and droned, "Only two left.  You want to take them?"

Sam looked horrified as he turned to Frodo.  Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a deep shuddering breath.   

"You take the tickets, sir," said Sam with an ill-feigned sincerity.  "You can go in with Master Pippin, or however you might arrange it with him and Mr. Merry.  Rosie and I can see the play any other day."

"No, Sam," said Frodo heavily, gazing at the enticing tickets lying on the wooden counter in the booth.  "No.  You take the tickets.  You can't let Rose down on my account."

"But Master Pippin will be beside himself with grief, sir, and I can't have that.  Rosie and I'll be fine.  Don't worry.  We'd much rather you take the tickets," said Sam earnestly.

"No, Sam, thank you," said Frodo with as much finality and determination as he could muster.  "Have a good time with Rose and see you in the morning."

"Sir, if you don't see the play now, I might as well not either," said Sam stubbornly.

"Hey, what's taking so long there!" protested the hobbit behind Sam.  "If you're not taking those tickets, Sam, move over!  Me and the missus are willing enough to accept them…"

Frodo looked straight into Sam's eyes.  "Sam," he said firmly.  "Don't be daft.  You are to take those tickets and have a grand time with Rose and that's an order.  Ah, ah, ah!  You're questioning my order, Sam?  No?  Good.  Because if you say another word about giving those tickets to me, I might have to consider dismissing you from my service. No, I am not bluffing! Off you go now with those tickets and make Rose happy or I'll personally haul the two of you inside and tie you down on the seats."

Sam stared at his master with mouth wide open.  Frodo gave him a final nod and plodded away with hands in his pockets and eyes downcast.  Sam heaved a deep breath and turned to the ticket seller.

"I'll take those tickets," he said meekly.

***

"Did you get the tickets, Frodo?" asked Pippin expectantly.  "Can we go in now?"

Frodo swallowed hard and shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Pip. There were only two left when I got there, and I let Sam have them."

Pippin gazed at his older cousin as though Frodo had suddenly sprouted a mass of beard and a set of whiskers.  "You let him have them?  Frodo!  Have you lost your mind?"

"He has every right to the tickets, Pippin," said Frodo with a feeble attempt at concealing his own regret.  "He was here early."

"And were it not for your terribly bright idea of stopping at the inn for a pint, we would have been too, Frodo!" shouted Pippin, sinking his fists in his cousin's arms and slamming his curly head repeatedly against Frodo's chest, drawing stifled grunts from the older hobbit.  "Sam…did not…even…remember…the name…of the…knight's horse…  He only…sees the play…because of that…Cotton lass…  I…deserve…to be…in that tent…more…than…him."

He laid his head on Frodo's chest, still gripping the latter's sleeves, gasping and shaking.  Frodo wrapped his hands around his cousin's shoulder, resting his cheek on the young Took's curls.  "I'm sorry, Pip," he murmured softly.

"Frodo!  Frodo!  Pip!  Pippin!" Merry's bellow came loud and shrill over the milling crowd of disgruntled ticket-less hobbits.   

"Here!" shouted Pippin, jumping up and down and waving his hands.  "Have you got the tickets, Merry?"

Merry rushed toward his cousins and grabbed Pippin's hand.  "I knew it, I knew it!  Why I should choose tonight to start listening to Frodo's wise plan I'll never understand!" he muttered savagely.  "No, I didn't get any either, Pip.  But I've thought of something.  Come on!  If we talk to the manager, we might be able to get a pass.  You shall have to talk to him, Frodo!  You're the oldest, and much better at grown-up talk, and you have the most money.  Tell him about Bilbo; he will be impressed.  Or tell them Pip's dying and has little time left."

"Are you suggesting that we bribe our way in, Merry?" asked Frodo as he sidestepped two wildly gesticulating hobbits clearly dismayed by the unexpected speed with which the tickets were sold.   

"No, I'm only proposing a mutually profitable deal.  Hurry!" Merry rammed his way through the sea of hobbits, followed by Pippin, who looked very much revived and Frodo, who looked skeptical, resigned and guardedly optimistic at the same time.  Finally they arrived at the back of the huge tent where two very fat hobbits were huddled over a small table and a round dwarvish lantern, counting money.

"Go, Frodo," hissed Merry, pushing his older cousin.   

Frodo frowned at him but finally strode resolutely to the two hobbits.   

"Good evening," he said to them.  "I'm Frodo Baggins.  I wonder if you could be kind enough to do me a favor."

The hobbits at the tabled eyed him suspiciously.

"My cousins there," Frodo waved at Merry and Pippin, who had instinctively put on their best pitiable looks, "have been the unfortunate victims of my poor judgment.  I have promised them a ticket to the first show of the season and my inept timing has landed them in this situation."

The two hobbits frowned at Frodo, one blowing a thick puff of grey smoke from his pipe.   

Frodo sighed.  "We did not get any tickets," he said finally, his cheeks burning.

The hobbit with the pipe raised an eyebrow.

"I wonder if we could make an arrangement," Frodo went on.

The pipe hobbit inclined his head.

"If you can slip my cousins into the tent and let them sit anywhere, maybe even in the alley, I will pay you twice the ticket price," said Frodo.

The pipe hobbit scowled and glanced at his partner who gave a most imperceptible shake of his head.  

"Please," said Frodo earnestly, though his heart was plummeting.  "They've come all the way from Tuckborough and Buckland.  Surely you can make an exception."

Once again the pipe hobbit peered at his companion, who shook his head a trifle more emphatically.

"How about three times the ticket price?" said Frodo, reaching for his coat pocket.

Another exchange of suspicious glances; another, more resolute headshake.

Frodo turned to look helplessly at his cousins.  Merry was scowling sullenly and Pippin's face was drained of color.   

Frodo drew a deep breath and, squaring his shoulders, stared at the two hobbits once more.  "Fivefold," he said firmly.

"Mister," the pipe hobbit finally piped, "You can offer us all the jewels ever hoarded by every filthy drake this side of the Sea and I still can do nothing about those pitiful cousins of yours.  You will want to talk to Mr. Woodknot and he's in the tent with the actors now, and none can get into the tent without tickets.  And I have to warn you, Mr. Baggins; Mr. Woodknot is right fussy about seats.  He says he'll not have the tent be packed like cucumbers in a pickle jar.  A bit of an accident with the torch and who knows how many old gammers will get trampled once the stampede starts, he always says."

Frodo closed his eyes and fought an urge to start massaging his throbbing temple.   

"Very well," he said at last.  "Thank you for your time."

He whirled around and started walking toward his cousins, thunder cracking in his eyes.  Merry took some cautious steps back, chattering fast, "You could not blame it all on me, Frodo.  How should I know that they are not the managers?  They're fat enough for the part…"

***

Thwack!  Thwack!  

"Stop it, Merry, Pip," said Frodo half-heartedly, drawing gloomily on his pipe.  "Sam spent hours pruning that hedge last week."

Thwack!

"Sam's watching A Hero's Return now," retorted Merry bitterly, loading his slingshot with another stone, taking careful aim at the forsythia bushes and shot, taking the tip off the top branch.  "And we are not."

"They're battling the evil king's army now (thwack!), trying to draw his attention (thwack!) away from the dungeon (thwack!) so the stable boy could escape (thwack!) and rescue the princess (thwack!)  in the tower (thwack!)," said Pippin coldly, shooting in rapid succession.