When the Dwarf Came A-visiting ~Míriel

Authors note:  In this story, (which told from Pippin’s point of view), Pippin, is 9, Merry is 17, Frodo is 31 and Bilbo is 109.  

            Chapter 1 ~The Trouble with Doors

I will never forget the time when I saw a Dwarf for the first time.  Well, actually, three Dwarves, Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur. 

          It all started one day when I was staying at Cousin Bilbo’s.  Poor Cousin Bilbo quite had his hands full, as Cousin Frodo had invited Merry to stay with them while Merry was in Hobbiton with his family, to which his family was quick to agree.  (No one ever believes me, but he was quite the terror.  I always got blamed for his misdeeds.)  Personally I think his family was glad to be rid of him.  

            And me?  I was there because my darling sister Pearl decided that it would be an excellent time for me to go visiting Cousins Bilbo and Frodo.  I believe that her motives had to do with the fact that with me out of the way, she would have more time to spend with that Bolger fellow that happened to be staying in the Smials at the time. I didn’t mind though, as it worked out splendidly for my benefit. 

             At any rate, we were all there, and I do believe that Cousin Bilbo was quite ready to pull his hair out.  Frodo and Merry were always leaving me to do something else, which rendered me rather bored, and poor Bilbo was left to entertain me while trying to make sure that we lads all had proper meals.  Punctually.  Needless to say, this was not always the case, as several burnt meals and many late ones were the normal fare, much to Bilbo’s chagrin.  Not to mention the constant cleaning of bed-linens, as Bilbo was always strangely particular about his bed-linens.  

            So, about the third day we were there, a rather frazzled Bilbo sat down with a nice cup of tea.  Frodo and Merry were out, having given me the slip soon after luncheon, and would probably not be back until dinner.  I was in a rather docile mood that day, which was highly unusual for me.  It probably had something to do with the fact that I had not had proper sleep for several days, bed-times being a thing unknown here at Bag End.   

            I was sitting comfortably on the floor playing with some wooden figures some kind relation had carved for me, and Bilbo had just sat down with his cup of tea.  He raised it to his mouth to take a sip, when there was a knock at the front door.   

            “Now who could that be?” he muttered.  Casting a longing glance at his cup of tea, (which he would not return to until much later when it was quite cool), he set it down and hurried toward the door.  I followed, curious.  We had not had any callers during our stay here.  Who could it possibly be?  

            Bilbo opened the door, and came face to face with a, well, at the time I was not really sure what it was.  It slightly resembled a Hobbit, yet it was a bit taller than Bilbo, had a lot of hair...on his face! and wore boots.  And there was one other thing that stays prominent in my memory to this very day—he was enormous.  By that I mean very very wide, or well-fed, or was the size of me, Merry, Frodo, Bilbo, and probably several of my aunts (who never miss a meal) put together, and then doubled.  

            Bilbo squinted curiously at the new arrival.  He opened his mouth to speak, but the Dwarf (I was later told what this strange creature was) beat him to it.  

            “Bombur at your service.” The Dwarf said gruffly.  

            “Bilbo Baggins at yours!”  Bilbo said with obvious delight. “Good to see you again!  Come in, come in!” 

            That was when we encountered our first of many problems.  “Coming in” was not quite as simple for Bombur as it might have been for any well fed Hobbit, because (as I already stated) Bombur was quite large, and that’s putting it politely.  

            Poor Bombur tried to come in.  He truly did.  Was it his fault that the door was made for much smaller persons?  Was it his fault that as he came through the door he realized that he could not enter, so he turned sideways?  Now, tell me truly, was it his fault that he did not have the sense to back out of the door before attempting this turn?  Was it his fault that he became stuck?  Was it?  

            Bilbo was becoming quite agitated.  Not only did he have an unexpected guest, this guest could not get through the door!  Now, my mum has taught me very good manners involving guests and hospitality, but I have never ever heard about what to do when your guest becomes firmly lodged in the door, and apparently neither had Bilbo. 

            I was now becoming a bit worried.  Bilbo wasn’t helping matters, as he was running about in little circles crying “Good gracious me!  Whatever shall we do?” over and over.  Bombur tried to pull back out, which only resulted in him becoming more stuck.  Then I believe he started to panic, as he was crying “Get me out!  Get me out!” over and over.  I wasn’t worried about getting the guest out as much as I was worried about getting outside again.  We were beginning to run low on foodstuffs, and Bilbo had been planning a trip to the market tomorrow.  Surely we wouldn’t have to go hungry!  

            I had begun to contemplate an escape out the window when I heard two more voices added to the chaos.  

            “Hoy now!  What’s this?”  I heard Merry exclaim.  

            “A Dwarf!”  I heard Frodo answer, sounding very surprised.  (Well, wouldn’t you be, coming home and finding a Dwarf lodged in your front door?)  

            “Bilbo!  Bilbo, are you all right?”  Frodo called.  

            I don’t believe that anyone but I heard him, as Bilbo continued to run in little circles and shout, and Bombur was still crying to be let out.   

            “Merry!  Frodo!”  I tried to shout over the noise, but it was no use.  Just then I saw Merry’s head appear at the window.  I grabbed a stool and clambered up on it, opened the window and put my arms around Merry’s neck with joy.  Finally, someone was here who always knew what was going on, and what to do about it.  

            “Pip, what is going on in there?” he exclaimed.  

            So much for always knowing everything.  I took a deep breath to begin my explanation, but Merry cut me off.  “All right Pip, out the window with you.  Frodo has a plan.”  

            Ignoring the two panicking adults, Merry carefully pulled me through the window.  I heard Bilbo exclaim “Pippin!  What are you doing?” but it was too late.  With a quick pull I was out the window, flying over Merry’s head, and lying on the grass, dazed.  

            “Pip!  Pip, are you all right?”  

            I sat up and looked sadly at the flowers I had squashed with my landing.  “Sam is going to kill me.” I said mournfully.  

            “Forget Sam, he won’t kill you if I can help it.”  Frodo declared.  “Come on, I have a plan.”  

            Frodo quickly explained his plan, which involved shoving Bombur as hard as we could until he went inside.  

            I gave Frodo a doubtful look.  “Are you sure Cousin Bilbo wants him inside?  He must eat an awful lot to be so large.”  

            Merry nodded.  “And Frodo, what makes you think that we’ll be strong enough to push him inside?”  

            Frodo contemplated that.  “Of course Bilbo wants him inside, Pip, the Dwarf is his friend.  And Merry, I don’t know if we’re strong enough, but it is worth a try.  Anyway” he gave a quick grin; “that’s the best that I could come up with.” 

            Well, that was good enough for us.  Very soon we were standing in front of Bag End staring solemnly at the Dwarf in the door.  For the first time I realized what a blessing it was to have round doors, as opposed to say, a square door, or a triangle!  It made it much easier for the larger of us Hobbits to get inside.  Whoever would have thought that it would be too small for a Dwarf?  

            Frodo surveyed the situation.  “Well, he’s stuck,” he said.  

            Merry snorted.  “No Frodo, we thought that he was happily free.” 

            Frodo ignored Merry and turned to me.  “What do you think, Pippin?  Can we get him un-stuck?”  

            I looked doubtfully at the Dwarf.  “I don’t know, Frodo.  We could try.”  

            Frodo walked over and tapped Bombur on the shoulder, and Bombur stopped struggling.  His face was looking inside of Bag End, so he couldn’t see us.  We could hear Bilbo still frantically shouting inside.  

            “We’re going to push you in.”  Frodo told the back of Bombur.  “Tell Bilbo to move so we don’t accidentally squash him.  

            I could hear Bombur relaying the message to Bilbo.  “Good then.”  Frodo said.  “All right, Merry, Pip, are you ready?”  We nodded.   

            “On the count of three,” Frodo said. 

            Merry, Frodo, and I readied ourselves.  I hoped this would work—what other option did we have?  We could always just starve the Dwarf until he grew thin enough to come out on his own, but—I shook the thought from my head.  This would work.  Frodo always knew what he was doing.  

            “One,” said Frodo.  

            I could see the Dwarf visibly tense.  

            “Two”  

            Bilbo’s muffled “Oh, do be careful,” came from indoors.  

            “Three!”

When the Dwarf Came A-visiting ~Míriel

            Chapter 2 ~Dinner, Supper, and the End of Bag End’s Foodstuffs          

            We ran forward and flung ourselves at the Dwarf.  It was the oddest thing that I have ever felt; very squishy.  

            Bombur flew through the door and landed on the floor, and we fell down on top of him.  It must have been much more painful for Bombur than for us; as he was wonderfully springy, quite a good cushion.  

            Bilbo ran over and pulled us off of Bombur.  “Oh, dear me,” he said; “Bombur, are you all right?”  

            Bombur moaned in response.  

            I cast a worried look at Bombur, who seemed to be fine, but one never can tell.  

            Bilbo grabbed Bombur’s hand and attempted to pull him up.  As he did, Frodo, Merry, and I watched in fascination as Bilbo’s first turned pink, then red, then a delightful shade of purple.  Bombur did not budge, and Bilbo soon gave up. 

            “Well, just stay there all day then,” he said in exasperation.   

            Bombur mumbled something from his position on the floor. 

            Bilbo leaned over.  “What was that?”  

            “I’ve had a most trying experience just now; I’m not ready to get up yet.”  His voice was slightly muffled, as his face was on the floor. 

            Bilbo rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair.  “Well lads,” he said, turning our attention from the Dwarf sprawled on the floor, “Did you have a nice day of it?”  

            Merry opened his mouth to speak, but Bombur sat up and interrupted him.   

            “Dear Bilbo, I feel rather faint.  Is there any way that you might have something to nourish a famished Dwarf?”  

            Bilbo looked horrified as he realized that he had a guest in his home, and he had not so much as offered him a spot of tea!  “Oh, dear me, come, come,” he said, leading Bombur down the hall into the front room.  Bombur barely managed to squeeze through the hall, which was the widest in Bag End.  “Here you go,” he handed Bombur the cold cup of tea that had been abandoned earlier, “Where are my manners?  Just one moment...” his voice faded as he ran into the kitchen.  We could hear pots and pans banging, and snatches of Bilbo’s voice as he worried about what to feed Bombur.  

            Bombur took a sip of the tea and made a face.  “Cold,” he said.   

            Merry was staring in awe at the Dwarf, or, most likely, the axe that Bombur was carrying.  “Have you been in many battles?” h asked, clearly impressed.  

            I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying that with Bombur’s girth, he probably would not have been in any battles, as he would have been too easy a target.  I leaned over and whispered as much to Frodo, who glared at me while trying to not to laugh.   

            Bombur had been going on for several minutes about the Battle of Five Armies; (which I am sure he observed from behind a nearby rock, or hill.  Poor Frodo’s face was turning a pretty red color from attempting to hold in the laughter as I continued to relay my thoughts to him.  I’m sure that he could have cheerfully killed me ;) when Bilbo came back into the room carrying a plate full of fruit, cheese, and breads.  

            “There’s some water for tea heating in the kitchen.  I hope this is sufficient for now,” Bilbo said.  

            Bombur hungrily eyed the plate and took some bread and cheese.  “Yes, quite,” he answered around mouthfuls.  

            Bilbo pulled out his pocket watch and inspected it, then frowned.  “Forgot to wind it,” he muttered, then said loudly “Frodo!”  

            Frodo stopped, hand inches away from the plate of food.  He turned to Bilbo with a guilty look on his face.  

            “Frodo, be a good lad and go see what time it says on the clock in the hall.”  

            After giving a longing glance to the food, Frodo turned and went down the hall.  He came back and reported that it was 4 o’clock and a half, which meant that it was only thirty minutes until dinner.   

            While we were making dinner, Bombur and Bilbo caught up on the events in each others lives during an animated conversation through the kitchen door.   

            “So, Bombur,” Bilbo said eagerly, “What news of our old companions?”  

            Bombur thought for a moment.  “Let me see now,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ll start with Bifur and Bofur.”  

            “Ah, yes, how are your brothers?”  

            “They’ve both gotten married.”  

            Bilbo looked up in surprise from the soup he was stirring. “Married!  Bless me, what wonderful news!  And who are the lucky, er,” his face wrinkled in confusion as he wondered what to call the spouses of Bifur and Bofur.  He had never heard of Dwarves marrying, although they needed to reproduce somehow.  

            “Bombur, what are they marrying?”  

            Bombur gave Bilbo an odd look.  “Women, of course.”  

            “Well, I know that, but I didn’t know that you Dwarves, er, had any women.”  

            Bombur stared at Bilbo for a moment, and then laughed, his triple chins jiggling merrily.  “Dear me, Bilbo, surely you don’t think that Dwarves come out of stone?”  

            Bilbo was silent.  

            Bombur shook his head in mirth.  “Dear Bilbo, there are Dwarf women, although they are few to be seen.  Surely you remember Thorin calling Fili and Kili the sons of his father’s daughter?”  

            Bilbo reddened.  “Of course I remember,” he huffed.  “It merely slipped my mind.”  

            Bombur nodded.  “Of course,” he said.  

            “So,” Bilbo said, trying to get Bombur to forget his mistake, “Who are the lucky ladies that Bifur and Bofur are wedding?”  

            “Difur and Dofur, two of the most beautiful Dwarf women I have ever seen.” Bombur said proudly.  

            “I’m sure they were made for each other.” Bilbo said dryly.  

            “What do they look like?” Merry asked, taking a sip of water.  He had recently realized that the female species existed, and was intent on learning all he could about them.  

            Bombur sighed dreamily.  “They both have the most beautiful brown eyes—you could lose yourself in them—deep pools as dark as Kheled-zâram itself; long brown hair, and the softest, longest beards—”  

            Merry spit out his water and started choking.  I rushed over and pounded him on the back until he stopped.  “Mer, are you alright?” I exclaimed.  

            He waved me away and stared at Bombur.  “Did you say...beards...” he asked faintly.  

            “Yes, indeed.  They have the most beautiful beards I have ever seen on a woman.”  

            Merry’s face went completely white, and I knew that he was just picturing that sweet little Lily Chubb with a full beard.  He turned and ran outside, and from his lack of appetite later, I believe it is safe to say that he proceeded to lose his lunch.  

            Bombur looked confused.  “Was it something I said?”  

            Bilbo and Frodo assured him that it was nothing; Merry was given to have spells like that.  Bilbo then tried to change the subject to something safer, such as how his other old companions were doing.  

            I had lost interest in the conversation and wandered outside to check on Merry.  He was sitting outside looking very pale.  I sat down next to him and waited for him to speak.  It was silent outside, save for the birds chirping here and there.  Inside, I could still hear Bombur and Bilbo reminiscing.   

            Finally Merry spoke.  “Beards, Pip.  When he said that, I saw women with beards.” Merry shuddered.  

            I patted his shoulder in sympathy.  

            “I am never going to be able to look at Lily the same way again,” he murmured.            

            Some how Merry made it back inside for dinner.  That night, Bilbo somehow managed to make dinner and supper for all five of us.  (I think that with Bombur it added up to nine or ten.)  I have never seen anyone eat so much, not even at my cousin’s wedding, as Bombur did that evening.  He simply ate...and ate...and ate...and, well, you understand.  Halfway through dinner, Merry and I gave up trying to concentrate on our dinner and just stared at Bombur in fascination.  Frodo managed to be a little more subtle in his observation: he actually blinked now and then while staring.  Bilbo was the only one who seemed unnerved by the whole thing; I suppose that he has seen Bombur eat before.  

            We ate dinner and supper on the floor in the front room, as we had realized that even though Bombur was in Bag End, he could just not simply walk about as he pleased.  He had gone from the front door to the front room, and that is where he would stay.  We had tried to take him into the kitchen to eat dinner, but as soon as he tried to enter we realized that the doorframe was too small for him to fit through, thus, we would eat in the front room.  We ate on the floor because Bilbo valued his chairs.  

            By the time that dinner and supper were eaten and cleaned up, Bilbo was looking extremely frazzled.  (This was greatly increased by the fact that in only two meals, we had managed to clean out the cupboards.) He walked into the front room, where Bombur was busy telling Merry, Frodo, and me of another of the battles that he had been in.  He waited impatiently for several minutes, tapping his fingers, clearing his throat, and sighing heavily.  Finally Bombur noticed Bilbo and turned his attention to him.  

            “Bless me Bilbo, is something the matter?  You seem to be all fidgety.”  

            Bilbo fidgeted some more and looked highly uncomfortable.  “Well, I was simply wondering if, well, maybe you needed some, foodstuffs, or maybe some, er;” he stammered.  

            “Why, whatever for?” Bombur exclaimed.  

            “For your—journey, as I assume that you must be setting out before night.”  

            “Journey?  Oh, dear Bilbo, I meant to ask you, but it just slipped my mind, what with the problem with your door and all.”  

            Bilbo’s voice went up an octave.  “Ask me what?”  

            “Well, you see, Bifur and Bofur have been visiting in the mountains west of the Shire, and they agreed to meet me here in Hobbiton, since I was visiting, er, well, that isn’t important right now, but since they’re meeting me here, I need somewhere to stay, and none of the inns would take me, and Bifur and Bofur were sure that you let an old friend visit for a while, and, er...”  

            Bilbo opened his mouth and moved his lips, but no sound came out; just some funny little squeaks.  Frodo glanced at him worriedly, but Merry and I looked at each other with excitement.  Imagine!  A Dwarf staying here, in Bag End, at just the time that we were!  What luck!  

            Bilbo finally managed to find his voice.  “Well, I guess that I’ll need to stock up on food then,” he said faintly.   

            I smiled to myself.  This would prove to be a most magnificent visit, indeed.

When the Dwarf Came A-visiting ~Míriel

            Chapter 3 ~Bedtimes, Bedrooms, and Things Like a Good Night’s Sleep  

            Since Bombur was having an extended stay in Bag End, the first order of business (well, actually second, the first was to write a very long list of all the food we would need from the market) was to fix Bombur a place to, er, live.  

            Bombur, of course, could not go down any of the halls, and he certainly could not enter any of the bedrooms, thus, we were left with the daunting task of finding Bombur a place to sleep.  This proved rather difficult, as Bombur was extremely picky about where he would sleep.  

            “The couch?” Frodo suggested.  

            His statement was quickly rejected.  The couch?  No, of course that would never do, Bombur was much too large for the couch.  

            Bilbo furrowed his brow in deep thought.  “What about the floor?” he asked.  

            Bombur nearly fainted at the thought.  The floor!  How in Middle-earth could he, an honored guest, one of the great Dwarves of the Iron Mountains, one of the renowned companions of Thorin Oakenshield, possibly sleep on the floor?  How could we even think of such barbaric things?  

            Bilbo was getting very fed up.  (I could tell by the way his right eyelid kept making that funny little movement.)  Taking a deep breath, he spoke through gritted teeth:  

            “Well, then, Bombur, oh, honored guest, great Dwarf of the Iron Mountains, one of the renowned companions of Thorin Oakenshield, who cannot sleep on the floor even though he is too large for anything else, where do you purpose that you sleep?”  

            “Well, how am I supposed to know?!” Bombur said in indignation; “This is your hole, not mine!”  

            Bilbo glared, then opened his mouth and started to tell Bombur just what he thought of his honored guest.  My eyes widened at words emitting from Bilbo’s lips, and Merry’s eyes looked like they might come right out of his head.  Frodo clapped a hand over Bilbo’s mouth and held it there, and Bilbo instantly fell silent.  (It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in the matter.)  

            “Bilbo,” Frodo said calmly in Bilbo’s ear; “Might I have a word with you in the kitchen?  Away from our, ahem, younger guests.”  Frodo looked pointedly at me as he said this.  

            Bilbo nodded.  Frodo carefully removed the hand from Bilbo’s mouth, as if he was afraid Bilbo might start yelling again, then they walked quietly into the kitchen.  All was silent for a moment, except for Bombur muttering to himself about how he, the guest, was receiving such abominable treatment at the hands of these accursed Hobbits.   Then Merry swiftly turned to me and fiercely grabbed my arm.  

            “Ow!  Merry, what are you doing?”  

            Merry shook me slightly.  “Peregrin Took,” he hissed; “If I ever; and I mean ever, hear you repeat anything that Bilbo just said; I will personally see to it that you are soundly punished.  Do you understand?”  

            I shook Merry’s hand off of my arm.  I wasn’t an idiot; I knew that those weren’t words to use.  “Yes, Merry, I understand.”  I also knew that if anyone found out where I had heard those words, it would be the end of visits to Bag End for both me and Merry.  

            Merry looked relieved.  “Good,” he said.  

            Bilbo and Frodo re-entered the room, Bilbo looking somewhat apologetic.  “I beg your pardon, Bombur,” he said.  “You must understand it is rather difficult to realize that you now have three guests.”  

            “Apology accepted.” Bombur said, breaking into a huge yawn.  “I say, I am completely exhausted.  Have we come any closer to solving the problem that you have a sufficient lack of proper beds?”  

            Bilbo gave a strange smile.  “My problem.” he said with an equally strange laugh.  “My problem...”   

            There was that funny little movement of his right eyelid again.  

            Merry cleared his throat.  “If I may, Cousin Bilbo,” he ventured.  

            “You may.”  

            “I have several ideas on how to solve this, er, difficulty.”  

            All attention was on Merry.  I rolled my eyes.  Why was it that Merry always came up with the solutions?  I sighed.  Would I ever be that smart?  

            “The first and easiest solution would be to place many blankets on the floor as some sort of a sleeping mat.”  

            Bombur gave a snort of disdain.  

            “The second solution would be to drag several of the beds into the front room and push them together.  Thus, Bombur’s weight would evenly be spread on all of the beds, and he would have enough room for himself.”  

            Bombur nodded.  “It meets my approval, Master Meriadoc.”  Merry practically glowed at the praise of the Dwarf.  

            Frodo’s brow was furrowed in thought.  “But—Bilbo, we only have four beds.  That would mean—” he turned to Merry.  “How many?”  

            “How many what?”  

            “How many beds do you think that Bombur will need?”  

            “Three.” Merry said promptly.  

            “That would mean three people will have to go without beds and sleep on the floor.” 

            Bilbo gave a truly happy smile for the first time all evening.  “Well, I can assure you one thing gentlemen,” he said.  “I am sleeping in my bed tonight.” 

            Frodo and I moaned in unison.  This was going to be a very long night.

~~~  

            “A little to the left!”  

            “No, my left!”  

            “No, that’s too far, move it back to the right!”  

            Frodo and I glared at Merry, who had somehow managed to get out of the arranging of beds, having stated that as he had come up with the idea, he should “supervise.”  He had then proceeded to make out lives miserable: Don’t drag it, you’ll scratch Cousin Bilbo’s floors, don’t knock that over, watch where you going, move it this way, no that way, no you’re doing it all wrong!  We were now moving the second bed, and I could tell that Frodo was getting very fed up with Merry by the frightening things he kept muttering under his breath.  I caught the words “he’d better sleep with one eye open tonight” more than once, also “kill him” and also just your basic growling.  

            Merry tapped his foot.  “Come on now, this shouldn’t take all day!” he said impatiently.  

            Frodo muttered something about the future Master of Buckland not making it to his eighteenth birthday.   

            We somehow managed to get all three beds in the room without Frodo attacking Merry, scratching the floors or knocking anything over.  I gave a sigh of relief and sank down in Bilbo’s chair.  Bilbo and Bombur also had opted to “supervise”, leaving Frodo and me to all of the work.   

            “Good job lads,” said Bilbo.  

            Merry bowed.  “The pleasure was mine.” He said.  

            Frodo ahemed loudly.  

            “Frodo and Pip helped too,” Merry added.   

            That last comment saved his life.  

~~~  

Author’s note:  Bilbo’s “swearing” consisted of things such as “Blast you Bombur” and the like.

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel 

            Chapter 4 ~Thunder in the Night 

            “Frodo, I don’t think that we have enough bed linens.” 

            Frodo looked up from the other side of the beds that we had put together.  “Are you sure?” 

            “Of course I’m sure, Frodo.  All of the bed-linens that were on our beds are on Bombur’s now, and all of the extra Cousin Bilbo washed today, and they’re hanging up outside.” 

            “Then go and fetch them.”  Frodo went back to tucking the sheets around the mattress. 

            I sighed.  When dealing with older cousins, sometimes you have to explain the simplest little things.  “Frodo, they’re wet.” 

            That got his attention.  “Oh.  Well, why do we need them anyhow?  We’re going to be sleeping on the floor.” 

            Another thing about older cousins is that they just do not think.  “Frodo, the floor is hard.  Bed linens make it softer.” 

            “Blankets, then.” 

            On the other hand, they also think of easy solutions that you wished you had thought of.   

            Frodo straightened and looked with satisfaction at the beds.  There were three lined up next to each other.  Bombur was to sleep horizontally on them, as he was much too tall to sleep the normal way.  “Bombur, I believe that your bed is ready.”

            “Thank you, Master Frodo.”  Bombur slowly sat down on the beds, which groaned under his weight.  I was very surprised that they held as he proceeded to stretch himself out onto the beds. 

            Merry was watching anxiously.  “Does it meet your approval, Bombur?” he asked hopefully.  After all, the beds had been his idea. 

            “Very much, Master Meriadoc.  Now, if you Hobbits would be so kind, I would very much like to sleep now.” 

            We all took the hint and squeezed around the beds into the hall.  Bilbo bid us goodnight there and went into his room.  Frodo and Merry set up sleeping mats for us on the floor in our different bedrooms.  They saw me to my room before leaving.  

            “Goodnight, Pip,” Merry said as he and Frodo left. 

            I changed into my nightshirt, snuggled under the blankets, closed my eyes, and tried to fall asleep.  I had decided on this visit that I was now much too old to share a bed with Merry, and had spent these last few days in a room and bed of my own.  I was a bit lonely at times, but I did have the comfort of knowing that Merry was in the very next room.  I listened for a moment; I could hear Frodo and Merry whispering in the next room, then footsteps I knew to be Frodo’s going down the hall.  Merry was humming a little tune as he got ready for bed, and at that moment, more than any other so far, I wished that I hadn’t decided that I was so grown up.  

            The whole Hobbit hole was soon completely dark and silent.  I wriggled uncomfortably on the floor, laying on my back, then turning over to my side, then my stomach, then my other side, and finally on my back again.  I sighed into the dark.  How on earth could I sleep on this hard floor, me, who usually slept on those nice feather mattresses?  

            I debated going and snuggling up to Merry, who made a good pillow if nothing else, but banished the thought from my mind.  I was nine years old; I didn’t need to sleep with my older cousin.  I vowed right then never to disturb Merry’s sleep again. 

            That vow lasted all of one minute, for as soon as I shut my eyes, there was a terrific thundering noise.  I sat straight up.  What was that?  It couldn’t be a thunderstorm, as there had been no rain clouds; nor could it be something falling over; it had to be a monster, or one Bilbo’s dragons, or...something.  I looked fearfully again at the menacing shadows on the wall.  The thundering noise continued, and I knew that I could not stay in here one minute more.  I jumped up and bolted down the hall into Merry’s room. 

            He was sound asleep on the floor, chest slowly moving up and down under the blankets in the deep breathing of sleep.  I paused for a moment at the door and watched him sleep peacefully.  I hated to disturb him, but the thundering continued and I knew that it was my duty to wake him.

            “Merry,” I shook him awake.  He gave a little moan and rolled over. 

            “Merry,” I shook him again. 

            “Pip?” he murmured, eyes closed.  “Go back to bed.” 

            “Merry, there’s something out there, listen!” 

            “There’s nothing, now go to sleep,” he said, rolling over away from me.  

            I walked around to his other side and knelt down.  “Merry, listen,” I pleaded. 

            “Nothing.  Now sleep,” he murmured. 

            I listened.  He was right; there was no sound, no thundering noise, simply the sound of the crickets outside.  Merry had fallen back asleep, but not before he had moved over so there was room beside him.  I eagerly lay down next to him and rested my head on his chest.  Nothing felt as safe as the shelter of Merry’s arms.  The noise probably had been just a dream, I reasoned, too sleepy to think it over any further.  I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sweet unconsciousness of sleep. 

            “...still sleeping...” 

            “...Merry...very loud...” 

            “...woke me...”  

I cracked open my eyes with effort.  Merry and Frodo were sitting on the floor next to me.  I realized the grasps of conversation that I had heard had not been a dream, simply Frodo and Merry talking...and waking me up.  I sat up indignantly.  I needed my sleep, and they had no right to disturb it.   

Merry spoke before I had a chance.  “Hullo, Pip.  Sleep well?” 

I glared with as much anger as I could muster, while also taking on a pathetic look for having been so rudely awakened.   “No, I did not,” I said crossly to Merry.  “I got woken up much too early,” I gazed mournfully at Frodo as I said this.  He, unlike Merry, had little knowledge of my master skills of manipulation.  Frodo always fell right into my traps. 

Frodo sighed and turned to Merry.  “I told you we were talking much too loud,” he said in exasperation.  “We should have been quieter or better yet, gone into my room.” 

            Merry rolled his eyes.  “Frodo, Pip will survive missing several hours of sleep.  Better that then a whole night’s worth.”

            “What are you talking about?” I asked; a little confused. 

            “Remember that noise you were telling me about?” 

            “Yes.” 

            “Well, it woke both Frodo and I.” 

            “I told you, Merry!” I cried in satisfaction, and was instantly shushed. 

            “You’ll wake Bilbo!” Frodo hissed. 

            “He’s slept through this entire racket; I doubt that Pip could wake him up.” Merry said.  “He’s half deaf anyway.” 

            “He is not!” Frodo said angrily. 

            “Frodo, he is asleep.  That alone means he must be hard of hearing, what with the noise and all.”  Merry pointed out. 

            Frodo looked murderous.  I remembered his earlier threats against the future Master of Buckland and feared the worst.  “Frodo,” I said, pouring my entire soul into sounding as sweet and innocent as possible.  Merry’s life probably depended on it.  If Frodo was sensitive about anything, it was Cousin Bilbo.  Even though Merry was right about Bilbo’s loss of hearing, (he continued to give me blueberry instead of apple tarts for tea, even though I get all itchy after eating blackberries, and have told him so many times.  His only possible motive could be that apple is his favorite, and he is very greedy with his tarts, but you would never be able to tell that to Frodo) you never, ever, insulted Bilbo while in Frodo’s hearing. 

            “Frodo,” I said again, widening my eyes and gazing at him innocently, “What’s that noise?” 

            Merry forgotten for the moment, Frodo reached over and tousled my curls.  My scheme had worked; Frodo was now completely under my control.  “That my dear Pip,” Frodo said, “Is the sound of a very heavy Dwarf snoring.” 

            “Oh.” I said.  “And what are we going to do to make it stop?” 

            Frodo ran his fingers through his hair, leaving several curls rebelliously standing straight up in the air.  “I would say to ignore it and try to sleep,” he said; “But it is only one o’clock in the morning, and none of us are able to sleep.  Therefore we must stop the snoring.” 

            “How?” Merry and I said in unison. 

            “That,” Frodo paused; “is a very good question.” 

~~~

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

            Chapter 5 ~To Stop A Snoring Dwarf...

            Thanks to my mom for telling me all the ways she tried to stop my dad from snoring!  

            Thunder rumbled.  The ground shook as everyone ran for cover.  None were safe from the terrific quaking of the ground and the thunder of the sky.

            At least, that’s what it felt like standing next to the snoring Bombur.  He was lying on his back, hands folded over his stomach, as he snored; blissfully unaware of the pain that he was causing the other sleepers.  I wondered how in the Shire (or would it be the Iron Mountains?) any of the other Dwarves managed to put up with this deafening noise.  Maybe they put his bed in a cave far, far, into the ground where no one could hear it.  Or maybe they stuffed their ears so they could sleep at night.  Then maybe, since they hadn’t found a solution to the snoring, they had decided to send Bombur away forever!  Horror rushed through me.  The thought of Bombur staying in Bag End forever was unbearable, although I lived in Tookborough; I visited Bag End quite frequently.   I liked sleeping in my nice bed with the feather mattress.   I liked being able to eat without going to the market every day.  Most importantly, I liked being able to sleep!

            Something had to be done.  The first and easiest solution was to somehow get Bombur to stop snoring; although that would prove to be easier said than done.

            “So,” Merry said, surveying the sleeping Dwarf, “What should we try first?”  None of us had had much experience involving snoring relations before, and therefore Frodo, Merry, and I (well, mostly Frodo) had come up with a list of solutions that we thought might have some effect.

            Frodo thought for a moment.  “When Da used to snore, Mum would push him onto his side.”

            “Let’s try that then!” I said cheerfully.

            “All right,” said Frodo.  We all climbed up onto the bed; Frodo on one end, Merry on the other, and I in the middle.  Frodo then instructed us in a whisper (which was hardly necessary; Bombur was snoring so loudly) to slip our hands under Bombur and shove upwards, causing him to roll over.

            “On three,” whispered Frodo.

            “Three,” said Merry, shoving with all his might.  Frodo and I joined him.  We could feel Bombur ever so slowly beginning to rise upon his side.  He was a quarter inch up, now a half inch, now quite possibly a whole inch!  What incredible progress we were making!

            For all of our incredible progress, I knew that we couldn’t keep it up for long.  Judging by the lovely lavender shade of Frodo and Merry’s faces, (and the heat of my own) we had about another thirty seconds until whatever strength we had gave out.

            We managed to raise Bombur another whole half inch before our arms gave out.  And give out they did.  As our arms for all practical purposes collapsed and we flew off of the bed onto the floor, I watched sadly as all the progress we had made on Bombur was wasted.  He rolled right back into the same position he was before, although he was now snoring with a renewed vigor, as if in defiance at our attempts to stop it.

            Merry was staring at Bombur in disbelief, but Frodo had his brow furrowed.    Uh-oh.  I knew exactly what that meant: Frodo was getting another idea.

            “I’ve got it!” Frodo whispered several seconds later.

            “You certainly do,” Merry said dryly; “I heard that stupidity was going around.  Let us just hope that neither of us catches it.”

            Frodo ignored Merry and turned to me. “Pip, crawl up there and plug Bombur’s nose shut!”

            Merry was right.  Frodo had gone crazy.  “Fro, I don’t think,” I began.

            Frodo waved a hand in dismissal of my comment.  “Come on, Pip, don’t be silly.”

            I looked up at Bombur, whose enormous stomach was rising and falling with each snore.  From where I was sitting, Bombur looked like a gigantic mountain, a gigantic mountain that my cracked Cousin Frodo wanted me to climb.

            “You crawl up there.  You plug his nose.” I said crossly. 

            “Yes, Frodo, why don’t you crawl up there?” Merry said in agreement.  I smiled to myself.  Good old Merry, always backing me up, always on my side.

            “I’m far too large,” Frodo said primly.  “Pippin, you really are the only one of us little enough to do it.  But, since you will not, I suppose that we all should simply go back to bed and try to sleep through all this, this, horrid, deafening, earsplitting, thunderous snoring.

            “You know Pip,” Merry said thoughtfully, “you are just the right size.”

            Traitor.  “But, then I’d have to stay there all night!” I protested.

            Frodo shrugged.  “I’m sure Bombur makes a much better mattress than does the floor in your room.  You could simply lie on his chest and hold his nose shut while you both sleep peacefully.”

            With that kind of logic, and that traitorous Merry nodding with everything that Frodo said, I knew that I had no choice.  I must climb that incredible mountain otherwise known as Bombur.

            I took a deep breath as Merry gave me a boost onto the bed.  I sat for a moment and watched Bombur before turning to Merry.

            “If I die, you’re going to live to regret it.”

            I then started inching my way across Bombur.  It wasn’t that bad; although I had the strangest thought that now I knew how the ants felt when they crawled across bread and jam.  It was harder for me however, as I had to coordinate my movements with Bombur’s breathing, stop every few seconds to put my hands over my ears to block out the deafening snoring, and try, above all, not to awaken Bombur.

            Soon I had inched my way onto his chest, and now I was staring up his very large nostrils.  I watched in fascination as they flared widely with each breath and snore.  One could see up his nose, and if in the proper light, I’m sure that you could see right up to his brain!

            Annoyed whispers from Frodo and Merry reminded me that there was work to be done.  I reluctantly took my hands off my ears and reached for Bombur’s nose; quickly plugging it in one swift movement.

            Now, considering the many events that proceeded to occur from this movement, I have several things that you must first know to truly understand.  First, my cousin Frodo is an idiot.  Second, plugging one’s nose does not cease snoring.  Actually, snoring is sometimes caused by the plugging of one’s nose from illness such as a cold or any other sickness that affects the sinuses.  Being completely and utterly insane, and an idiot to boot, Frodo knew none of this when he sent me on this mission. 

            Alas, no one could have guessed how Bombur would have reacted from the simple plugging of his nasal passages.  I was aware that although he continued to snore, he reached up and brushed my hand away.  When it remained, he tried again.  (Dwarves sleep very heavily, and nothing short of the smell of breakfast could wake them up, although the same applies to older Hobbits, as well.)

            Unfortunately for Bombur (and me!) my hand did not move.  I was much too terrified to breathe, let alone move my hand.  Bombur shook his head from side to side, and then he did the worst thing imaginable—he rolled over.  I somehow rolled with him, and the next thing I knew, my very breath was being squeezed out of me.

            My life flashed before my eyes.  What flowers would they use at my funeral?  What would they inscribe on my tombstone?  “Peregrin Took—Beloved in Life, Squashed in Death.”  Would Frodo and Merry carry the guilt of my demise forever?

            Frodo and Merry.  There was still hope!  “Frodo!” I cried in an extremely muffled voice.  “Merry!”

            No one came to my rescue.  They had fled the room when they saw what had happened.  I was alone.

            Well, not completely, I realized.  There was still Bombur.

            “Bombur!” I shouted, thrashing.  “Bombur, for the love of pastry, wake up!”

            I could feel him stirring above me, and I shouted again.

            The second time proved to be best.  As soon as he realized where the strange voice was coming from, he rolled off of me in a hurry.  I immediately burst into tears. 

            “Now, what’s wrong, Master Peregrin?” he asked softly.

            “Merry and Frodo were mean; they wanted you to stop—oh! You were snoring ever so loud, and you wouldn’t roll over, and it’s all their fault!”

            At least that was what I meant to say.  What I said was this:

            “MerandFrowamean (sniff) wantedtostop (sniffle) snoringeverwouldroll (sniff) alltheirfault!”

            I did eventually manage to say it correctly, and Bombur laughed quite heartily when he heard what had transpired.  To say the least, I was much relieved.  I did not know what Bombur might have done had he been mean-spirited, and I was glad I did not have to find out.

            The best part happened next, though.  Bombur decided that since I couldn’t get to sleep, I needed a good story.  Putting an arm around me, we lay on the beds as he told me the story of Smaug, but it was slightly different then Bilbo’s version.

            “And then when those goblins captured us in the Misty Mountains, let me tell you Master Peregrin, I would not go down without a fight!  I pulled out my sword and began slashing left and right.  Killed quite a good many goblins I did too, before they set at least a hundred to take me down.  Caught me off guard, they did, came at me from behind...”

            I soon fell asleep, lost in the world of goblins, trolls, swords, and wizards.

            And I don’t think that I heard any more snoring the rest of the night.

Special thanks to reviewers OrangeBlosson Took, Hai, and Miss Aranel.  You reviews are much appreciated.

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting  ~Míriel

Chapter 6 ~To the Market We Shall Go    Part 1

            Thursdays were always market days for Bag End.  Bilbo and Frodo would wake up extra early so they could get to the market when it opened.  They would carefully make a list the night before of all that was needed, so that when they came home there would never be anything needed (or wanted) that was not purchased.  It would be a carefully planned endeavor.

            Except today was only Tuesday.  We all woke up late, and a very grumpy Bilbo informed us that there was naught to eat for breakfast save for some apples.  Needless to say, Bombur was rather upset by this turn of events. (Although he ate more than his fair share of the apples.)  Thus, it was decided that a trip to the market could not wait another day.

            It wasn’t until about 10 o’clock (I am sorry to say that there was no second breakfast to be had that day) when we prepared to set out.  However, that was much easier said then done.

            First, we had to make our list.  For once I wished that Bilbo wasn’t so persnickety.  

            “Frodo, do we have eggs?”

            “No.”

            Bilbo carefully wrote EGGS onto the list.

            “Have we flour?”

            “No.”

            FLOUR was carefully inscribed after EGGS.

            “What about sugar?”

            “No!’

            Frodo had now come to the point where he wished we could simply be off.  Aside from the fact that he had missed second breakfast nearly as much as Bombur, I believe that being cooped up with so many house guests was beginning to get to him.

            “Hmm...Have we any—”

            “No!” Frodo interrupted.  “Bilbo, we have nothing in the cabinet, cupboards, or pantries.  You know that.  Is it really necessary to make a list?”

            Bilbo looked a bit surprised at the outburst but considered Frodo’s words.  “I suppose not,” he said thoughtfully.  He stood abruptly.  “Let us be off then!” he cried.

            Secondly, we had to figure out who was coming along. 

            “Bombur,” Bilbo said kindly, “I think it would be best if you stared here.  We don’t want another, er, incident.”

            Bombur readily agreed, but then Bilbo was faced another dilemma.  It would be rude to simply leave a houseguest alone.  Just then, a very sleepy looking Merry wandered into the room.  With the commotion of breakfast and market visits, no one had noticed that he had not made an appearance for breakfast.  (Or second breakfast, which we had not had, but he didn’t come looking for it, either.)

            Merry rubbed his eyes, gave a huge yawn, and stretched his arms toward the ceiling.  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked sleepily.

            We all just watched him for a moment. I was solemnly wondering how damaged our hearing would be when he discovered that there was to be no breakfast or second breakfast, and considering that the market was usually an all-day affair, quite possibly no elevenses or luncheon.  Mayhap there would be afternoon tea, if we were quick at the market.  Then again, Bilbo wasn’t known for his haste while shopping.  I could feel my knees weakening, and wondered how many meals one could miss before fainting from hunger.

            Frodo finally answered him.  “It is half past 10 o’clock Merry.  And we have eaten all the apples.”

            Once again, Frodo had forgotten details.  “Not all, Frodo,” I said.

            “We have eaten all the apples, not counting the wormy, rotting one.”

            Merry began looking like he would faint right there on the floor until Bilbo managed to produce a very wrinkly peach.  Merry normally would have turned up his nose at the thought of eating it, however, these were not normal circumstances, and thus Merry gratefully took the peach and sat down.

            “So,” Bilbo called from the kitchen several moments later.  “Merry, my lad, would you mind staying here with Bombur while we go to the market?”

            Merry did not answer, unless you called the snore that escaped from his lips an answer.  He had fallen asleep at the table, peach pit in hand.  I believe that late nights tormenting cousins and dwarves had proved a bit too much for him.

            Thus it was settled.  Bilbo, Frodo and I would go to the market.  Frodo and I breathed a sigh of relief as we began to walk down the path to the market. 

            I always did love the market.  The bustling people, the merchants, the other lads playing games nearby, the food, the trinkets for sale, and just all the bustle the market had to offer.  It was an altogether exhilarating experience. 

            Bilbo set out to visit various rood carts.  “Feel free to do what you want, lads,” he called over his shoulder.  “Just be careful, and don’t get lost.”

            As soon as he was gone, Frodo and I looked at each other.  Set loose at the market...what more could a lad ask for?

            Frodo began edging away from me, giving longing glances at the lads talking in the shade.  “If you don’t mind, Pip...” he said hopefully.

            I nodded, and he gave a sigh of relief and hurried to join them.  It would have been pointless to try and get him to stay, or at least include me.  Not that I was interested in talking to the other lads, (about girls, most likely—blech!) I was more interested in the ball games. I was still much too young to be a useful player.  Now, if Merry were here, he would have seen to it that I was included.  The others knew better then to argue with the future Master of Buckland.

            On the other hand, had I wanted to play, I’m certain that they wouldn’t have dared refused to let the son of the Thain play with them.  I just didn’t want them to be forced to let me play with them.

            I sighed.  Life is so unfair at nine years old.

            After several seconds contemplating my future, my growling stomach reminded me that I had missed all meals that morning, and it was almost time for luncheon.  (I didn’t think that one mere apple accounted for “breakfast”) I wandered over to the nearest food stand run by a lady.

            Begging for food is an art.  You must know whom to beg from, how to beg, and how to receive something worth eating.

            The victim, er, person, I was begging from today was a kindly older lady by the name of Mrs. Bracegirdle.  She was of the motherly sort, all her children being grown and married.  I knew that she couldn’t possibly resist trying to “fatten me up” as it was so often put.

            I waited until the customer she was assisting turned away before I made my move.  It was important to make sure that she was unoccupied.

            “Hullo, Mrs. Bracegirdle,” I said innocently.  I also widened my eyes for added effect.

            She greeted me with a large smile.  “Well, hullo, Mr. Peregrin!  And how are you this fine day?” she asked brightly.

            She was the perfect target.  I sighed.  Sometimes I even amazed myself.

            “Good.  And you?” I asked politely, while enforcing Part 2 of my plan; the first having been the innocent eyes.  I looked hungrily at her baked goods—delicious looking pies, tarts, cakes, and pastry, mm-mm. 

            I sighed longingly then looked up as she squinted at me.  This was it, the moment of reckoning.  I gave her a genuine smile with a touch of sorrow.

            “Mr. Peregrin, are you all right?” she exclaimed.

            I liked being called “Mister.” It made me feel important.  “Well,” I said sadly.  I now had her eating out of the palm of my hand.  Literally, but reversed.  (Wait...what?) I shook all confused thoughts from my head and continued.  “I am a mite hungry, bein’ all that I had to eat since yesterday was an apple.”

            “What?!” she cried in shock.  “Mr. Peregrin Took, you come sit right here;” she patted the bench, “and I will see to it that you are well fed.”

            Ah, it was good to be brilliant.

Mrs. Bracegirdle, although not the name, is a character of my own.

Fret not, Chapters 7 and 8 will continue their exploits at the market as well as introduce some well-known characters. (Well-known if you have read Orangeblossom Took's Rosemary For Remembrance)

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 7 ~To the Market We Shall Go Part 2

            Many pastries, cakes, and tarts later, I was beginning to feel satisfied once again.  I glanced smugly at Frodo, who was coming towards me; the other lads apparently having found something better to do than to simply stand around discussing females.

            Mrs. Bracegirdle was off helping a customer when Frodo came up and glared at me accusingly.  “Where did you get that?” he said, pointing at the half-eaten raspberry tart in front of me.

            “I earned it.”

            “Ha.” Frodo grabbed my ear.  “Peregrin Took, if I find out that you have been soiling the Took name by stealing, then I can assure you;”

            I interrupted him before he could finish his threat to end my life.  “Frodo, there are other ways to obtain food for the hungry than by stealing.”         

            Just then, Mrs. Bracegirdle returned and saw Frodo holding “her precious lad‘s” ear in a vice-like grip.

            “Mr. Baggins,” she said sternly, “What do you think you are doing to my precious lad?”

            Frodo dropped his hand.  “Mrs. Bracegirdle, I must offer my sincerest apologies for Peregrin’s misdeed, and I can assure you that you shall be reimbursed for all he stole...”

            “He thinks that I stole the food,” I explained to a puzzled Mrs. Bracegirdle.

            “He does now!” she exclaimed.  She then put her hands on her plump hips and glared menacingly at Frodo.  “I’ll have you know, Mr. Frodo Baggins, that young Peregrin here is one of the finest lads you could ask for, and he most certainly did not steal from me.  Why, the poor lad was well near starvation!  It was the least I could do, givin’ him some nourishment.”

            Frodo knew when the odds were against him.  He bowed his head.  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bracegirdle, Pippin.  I spoke to soon.”

            Mrs. Bracegirdle humphed and turned to her next customer.

            Frodo shook his head.  “Come on, Pip, Bilbo said I needed to keep you with me.”

            “Keep me with you here.”

            Frodo laughed.  “I think not, Pip.  You’ve gorged yourself enough for one sitting anyway.”

            I waved a sad farewell to Mrs. Bracegirdle and followed Frodo.  At least the hunger pangs were gone.  Now I could concentrate on the delights of the market other then food, such as...I thought hard.  What other delights were there?

            Ah, well, I was with Frodo.  He would surely lead me somewhere interesting.  As we walked leisurely along the road, I breathed deeply of the sweet air.  It was spring, and the flowers had just come into bloom.  Various vendors had taken advantage of this fact and had many of these flowers for sale.  I thought that it was rather silly, selling flowers, when one could simply pluck them from the grass, or better yet, leave them in peace.  However, someone must be buying them, as the flowers continued to sell.

            To my surprise, Frodo walked up to one of the flower carts and purchased a single white rose.

            “Frodo,” I said as we walked away from the cart.

             “Never you mind, Pip.” he replied.

             Well, that ended that conversation.  Soon we walked up to a cart filled with fabrics, the dressmaker’s cart.  I sighed.  Frodo was so boring.  What was next, the jewelry cart?

            “Hullo, Mr. Baggins, Mr. Peregrin,” greeted Mrs. Chubb, the owner of the cart.

            How come Frodo was “Mr. Baggins” yet I was “Mr. Peregrin?”  Shouldn’t I be “Mr. Took?”  Ah well.  One simply had to live with the fact that life was unfair at nine.

            “Hullo, Mrs. Chubb,” we said in unison.  I looked around anxiously, hoping that her daughter, Lily Chubb, was nowhere in sight.  Fortunately, I saw no one.

            Lily Chubb was Merry’s current love, but, alas for him, her heart was given to another.  Frodo.  There was only one problem with this, and that was Frodo detested Lily.  Ever since she had, for all practical purposes, attacked him behind the tent at Bilbo and Frodo’s party last year, he had made it a point to avoid her. 

            And what made even less sense was that Frodo was willingly coming to her mother’s cart.  It was as if he was willingly walking into a trap.  And why had he purchased a white rose?

            I must take a pause from the happenings of the market to tell you of the fate of Bombur and Merry, who had been left in Bag End alone, by themselves and with no supervision whatsoever.  I still shudder at the thought.  Whatever was Bilbo thinking?

            When Merry awoke from his nap at the table, the first thing he was aware of was that his neck was aching rather badly.  “Remind me never to fall asleep at the table again,” he thought groggily.  The other thing that he noticed was that someone was knocking rather loudly upon the back door in the kitchen.  He got up with a groan, did his best to rub the sleep from his eyes, moved his head around to get the crick out of his neck, and made for the door.

            The annoying rapping continued even as Merry slowly meandered his way to the door.  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered.  Why must people be so impatient?  He finally reached the door and made the mistake of flinging it open.  In flew an unsuspecting Samwise Gamgee, whose mother had somehow heard of our guest and sent over a basket of eggs.  Fruit, in this circumstance, would have been much more appreciated.

            Sam flew through the door, and as he did, he threw his basket aside as he put his hands out to break his fall.  Merry watched in horror as the eggs became airborne before crashing down all over him, the floor, and anything within reach of a flying egg.  Merry was speechless.  Other than the fact that the egg yolk slithering down his back was downright disgusting, to top it all off, he was wearing Frodo’s shirt, which he had “borrowed” as he liked it better than his own.  (What could he say; it was softer and more comfortable.)  His cousin would certainly have a few words to say about that.

            Sam recovered his voice much more quickly than Merry.  He instantly began to apologize, trying to look perfectly miserable as he hid a laugh at the sight of Merry covered in egg yolk.

            “Oh, Mr. Merry I’m so sorry.  Here, let me help you,” Sam half-apologized, snorting as he tried to hold back the giggles.  He picked up a wet dishtowel from the sink and tried to wipe Merry off with it, but only succeeded in smearing the egg further.

            Merry just watched blankly.  What about this day had gone so wrong?

            Sam gave up and threw the dishrag back into the sink.  “Where are Mr. Bilbo, Frodo and Pippin?”  He asked after looking around in confusion.

            “Market,” Merry said wearily.  He just wanted to go back to sleep.

            “And they left you here?  Alone?” Sam’s eyes widened to the size of saucers at the thought.

            “Well, not quite alone...” Merry muttered.

            As if on cue, Bombur came and stood as close to the kitchen as he could.  “Master Merry, are you all right?  I heard...” his voice faded as he noticed the mess.

            If Merry had thought Sam’s eyes were saucers before, they had now widened to the size of platters. 

            “Mr. Merry,” he whispered, “That’s a, a,”

            Merry was getting tired of the whole ordeal.  “Bombur, this is Samwise Gamgee.  Sam, this is Bombur.  Yes, he is a Dwarf.  Yes, he is staying here.  Yes, Bombur, these are eggs all over me and the floor.”

            Bombur’s face fell at this last statement.  “But, we could have eaten them!  Why ever did you throw them on floor?”

            Putting his head in his hands, Merry just groaned.

To be continued...

Anyone who enjoyed the Merry part of this chapter can thank Hai.  Otherwise, I would not have even thought of what events could befall Merry from lack of sleep and being alone with Bombur.  Thanks Hai!

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 8 ~Hiding and Problem Solving

            Frodo casually rested his elbows against the dressmaker’s cart, trying not to look impatient.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Chubb give that all knowing smile, one I had seen far too many times before.  It was the all knowing smile that a mother gives when she thinks a lad feels something special for her daughter.

            I knew, of course, that that was absurd.  Frodo most certainly did not like Lily.  I had heard him say so himself.  He had told Merry that no matter how pretty she was, any lass that attacked you behind a tent at your own party was one to stay far away from.

            Just then, Frodo’s attempt to be casual was drastically threatened, as she rounded the corner to the cart.  Lily Chubb.  She had long, honey colored hair that fell in perfect ringlets down her back, sparkly brown eyes, and a beautiful complexion.  At least, that’s what Merry said over and over, with much more feeling.  Even I had to admit that she was rather pretty.

            However, that was where my admiration ended.  I’ve never liked her, especially since every time she sees me she says “Dear little Pip,” and pinches my cheeks.  Ick.  I looked up at Frodo.  He had gone very, very pale.  What was he thinking?

            I didn’t have to wonder long.  “Hide, Pip, quick!” he hissed, yanking me under the cart with him.  The cloth that hung over the edge of the cart was just long enough that it would hide us, unless someone looked down.

            I watched Lily’s feet walk toward the cart.  They stopped right in front of our noses.

            “Hullo, Mum!” she said excitedly.  “Mum, I just saw Bilbo Baggins over by the food carts!  Have you seen Frodo?”

            “Yes, he’s...” Mrs. Chubb paused, and I’m sure that she was looking around in pure confusion.  “Now, the lad was here a moment ago.  Where could he have gone?”

            Lily gasped.  “He was here?  At our cart?”

            “Yes, he was.  And, Lily,” Mrs. Chubb’s voice dropped into a whisper, “He was holding a white flower.”

            “A white flower?!  Mum, do you think?”

            “I do, dear Lily.”  She sighed dramatically.  “I think perhaps that ‘come next spring...’”

            Lily finished the rest of old courting song.* “‘...there will be a wedding.  Come and pluck the goose for the feather bedding, singing hey, my laddie ho!’  A wedding, Mum!  Mine!” she said.  She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet as she said this. 

            Frodo groaned next to me.  “I will, never, ever, marry you, Lily Chubb.” he whispered in disgust. 

            I breathed a sigh of relief as he said this.  Thank goodness! 

            Unfortunately my sigh of relief somewhat louder then I anticipated.  Lily stopped hopping up and down.  “What was that?” she said.

            “What was what?” her mother replied.

            “I heard something.  I think it came from under the cart.” 

            Frodo elbowed me hard in my side.  I couldn’t see his face, but I’m sure that he was glaring at me as well.

            Next thing Frodo and I knew we were eye to eye with Lily.  She stared at us open-mouthed for a moment before letting loose an ear-piercing scream.  What made it even more painful to my ears was the fact that Frodo and I were screaming too.

            Bag End was very quiet.  Much too quiet.  The only sound that could be heard was the dripping of egg yolk. 

            Bombur was the first to break the silence.  “Well, Mr. Gamgee, I don’t believe in wasting food.”

            Sam’s face fell.  “I’m right sorry, I am, Mr. Bombur, it was an accident...”

            Bombur waved his arm.  “No, those things happen.  What do you think that we should do now?”

            “Go back to bed and pretend that this is all a bad dream?” Merry offered.

            Sam regarded him with a look of bewilderment.  “And then what will you say when Mr. Bilbo comes back from the market?”

            Merry was ready for that.  “Egg?  What egg?  I see no egg.”

            “And the fact that there’s evidence all over the floor means nothing,” Bombur said dryly.

            “It wasn’t my fault!” Merry said defensively.  The whole world was against him today.

            Sam caught on.  “And you won’t be placing the blame on me, Mr. Merry!  You shouldn’t have flung open the door!”

            “And you shouldn’t have been leaning against it!”

            “I wouldn’t have been if you didn’t take so long to get to the door!”

            “You still didn’t need to lean on it!”

            “And” Sam stopped and stared at Merry.  “And you shouldn’t be gettin’ Mr. Frodo’s shirt all full of egg!”

            Merry groaned mentally.  Frodo was going to kill him.  He knew that.  Truly, was it necessary for Sam to remind him? 

            Bombur cut in before Merry had a chance to yell at Sam again.  Bombur was still in the front room, unable to enter into the kitchen, thus feeling the need to shout everything he said.  “Now, see here lads, this isn’t as bad as you may think.”

            Merry laughed.  Not as bad as we might think?  “Bombur, I am covered in egg, wearing Frodo’s favorite shirt without permission, not to mention that the floor and the furniture are also covered in egg.  What part of this is not as bad as we might think?!”

            Bombur regarded him solemnly.  “Well, with a little salt, if we cooked you, you probably would taste pretty good.”

            Sam burst into a fit of laughter, quickly turning it into a cough as Merry turned and glared at him. 

            “You are not helping, Sam.”

            “Sorry, Mr. Merry.  But the only thing that I think that would help this, er, situation, is quite simple.”

            Merry sighed.  He longed to be back in bed, to have his head cradled in the soft down of the feather pillows, and to be in the peaceful realm of sleep.  Not here, where he was covered in fast drying egg yolk (which he could feel drying up his skin as well) and with a dwarf, the overly cheerful Sam, and no elevenses or luncheon, nor hope of getting any.  That hoped had been cracked with the eggs.

            “What solution, Sam?”

            Sam shrugged.  “Way I see it, the only thing to do is to clean up this mess.”

            That most certainly did not fit in with Merry’s plan to go back to bed.  “Well, Sam,” Merry said, edging toward the hall, “That is an excellent idea.  I shall go change and take a bath, while you see to—”

            Sam interrupted him.  “No, Mr. Merry, I think it would be best if you helped me clean while you are still dirty.  That way you only need to take a bath once, right Mr. Bombur?”

            He nodded.  “Yes, you lads do that.  I shall go lie down; I’m feeling a bit faint.  I’ve never missed this many meals, not even when we were under the mountain, there we at least had cram...” his voice faded as he went back into the front room.

            Sam smiled cheerfully at Merry.  “Well then, where should we begin?”

            Merry muttered something along the lines of “Well, after I kill you...”

            “What was that, Mr. Merry?”

            Merry sighed.  This was going to be a very long day.  “Nothing, Sam.”

*Old Courting Song taken from the Shire Songbook by Lindelea.

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 9 ~Delusions

            All three of us continued screaming at the top of our lungs.   Frodo stopped quickly and scrambled out from under the cart.  Lily stopped screaming as well, standing up to look him in the eye.  I continued to scream for several seconds before I realized that I was the only one panicking.  I then crawled out from under the cart and stood next to Frodo.      

            Mrs. Chubb hurried over.  “What is going on?” she demanded.

            Lily pointed accusingly.  “They, they, they were hiding under the cart!  They were eavesdropping!”

            “No, we weren’t!” Frodo said quickly.  “Pippin dropped a, a, marble, and he thought that it rolled under your cart.  We were looking for it.”

            Lily smiled for a moment, and then a thought occurred to her.  She glared at him.  “What did you hear?”

            “Hear?  Hear what?”

            “You didn’t hear anything?”

            Frodo looked very much like he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else.  “No.  Should I have?”

            Lily’s face relaxed in relief.  “No.” She looked down at his hand, which was still tightly clutching the rose.  (Fortunately for him, the thorns had been removed.)  She smiled sweetly. 

            Frodo gave a tight smile back and looked very uncomfortable.  I wanted to gag but thought better of it.  Lily looked down at the rose, then up at Frodo, then down at the rose again.

            “That’s a lovely flower, Frodo.  What is it?”

            Frodo looked down.  “This?  It’s a, a, rose.”

            “A rose?  I’ve never heard of such a flower.”

            Looking positively miserable, but making polite conversation as any gentlehobbit would, Frodo replied. “Bilbo brought it back from one of his travels.  They grow all over now.  I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it before.”

            “Oh,” was all she said, blushing and looking down.

            This uncomfortable moment was broken by a new voice.  “Hullo, Frodo.”

            Frodo looked up in delight.  “Rosemary!  How nice to see you!”

            “And you as well,” she answered; then smiled at me.  “Hullo, Pippin.”

            I smiled back.  “Hullo, Miss Rosemary.”  I liked her very much.  She was always kind to me, although she was six or seven years older.  She was also very good friends with Frodo; they were always discussing one book or another.

            “What are you doing here?” she asked Frodo.  “I mean, I’m glad to see you, but you usually come to the market on Thursdays, and this is Tuesday.”

            Frodo opened his mouth and closed it.  “It’s a long story,” he said apologetically.

            “I have time,” Lily said coyly, sidling up to Frodo.  She was not about to let his attention be given to another, however young she was.

            Frodo did the wisest thing possible: he ignored her.  “Well, since I was here, I was hoping that I would see you,” he said to Rosemary.

            “Really?” she said, eyes sparkling mischievously.  “So you could distract me while Merry sticks a frog down the back of my dress again?”

            Frodo flushed.  “I was not distracting you, I had no idea;”

            Lily cut him off.  “I hate to interrupt you two,” she said icily, “but Rosemary; you need to help your mother buy fabric for your business, do you not?”

            “What Merry was planning.” Frodo finished, completely ignoring Lily.

            Lily repeated herself, this time much louder.

            Now, contrary to what you might think, I was not standing by and idly listening.  Oh, goodness, no, I had much more important things on my mind, such as making sure that Frodo and that nice Rosemary could finish their conversation in peace, all while giving Lily what she had coming to her for attacking Frodo and pinching my cheeks.

            Frodo’s talk of marbles had given me a grand idea, one that I could pull off without getting into trouble.  Those were sometimes the most magnificent kind, although there was a certain degree of respect towards you from the other lads when you were being punished for a prank.  But this was not the Smials.

            I fingered the marble in my pocket.  I always carried several with me, as any hobbit lad would.  Slowly, I began taking tiny steps until I was behind Lily, who was far too busy being obnoxious to notice me.  I smiled in satisfaction.  Lily was wearing a green dress that looked good with her eyes, fit snugly around her waist, and was scooped low in the front and back.

            Meanwhile, Rosemary and Frodo were continuing to ignore Lily, much to her annoyance.

            “That’s quite all right, Frodo,” Rosemary said.  “A frog down my dress wasn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

            Lily, whose face had grown an angry red, stepped in front of Rosemary to stand next to Frodo.  “Excuse me, Rosemary,” she said through gritted teeth, “but Frodo and I were having a pleasant conversation before you came along.”

            “We were?” Frodo said in confusion.

            Lily ignored him and continued.  “So I suggest that you take your flirting and your charming little ways, and...”

            I saw my chance.  Lily was now so angry she wouldn’t have noticed if we suddenly had been hit with a plague of flying Bomburs.  I held back a chuckle at the thought of what might happen when the Bomburs fell to the ground. 

            Creeping up behind Lily, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my marbles.  In one swift motion, I tugged at the back of her dress and dropped the marbles down it.  Then I stepped back and watched my plan at work.

            Lily stopped ranting at Rosemary when she felt the cool marbles slide down her back.  Her face froze, and her mouth formed an “o”.

            Then she screamed.  Frodo, Rosemary, and everyone clear out to Frogmorton covered their ears as her unearthly shriek pierced the air.  Lily jumped around; trying to get whatever was down her dress to come out, but, alas, as her dress was cinched tightly at the waist, the marbles remained in her dress.

            Reason finally returned to her, as she noticed that the thing in her dress was not wiggling or slimy, simply cool and smooth.  She stopped screaming and tugged at the waist of her dress.  Five marbles fell out from the hem and rolled on the ground.  She picked up several and turned to Frodo, who, along with Rosemary and me, was trying to hide laughter.

            “Do you think this is funny?” she said, without a hint of humor.

            He thought for a moment.  “Yes?” he answered, then, after she glared at him, “No!  I mean, no, absolutely, that is not funny.”

            She stared at him for a moment.  Tears began to well up in her eyes.  “I trusted you,” she said, fighting back sobs, “I liked you, and all I wanted was for you to like me back.  But now, now I’m glad that I found out how you really feel.”

            Frodo sighed.  “How do I really feel?” he asked in a bored tone.  He had heard speeches of this time from far too many delusional lasses.

            To my horror, she began to cry.  “You were just leading me on,” she said bitterly.

            “Leading you on?”

            “Yes.  You know, the coy looks, avoiding me on purpose, all the while knowing that it would make me mad for you, but you didn’t want me.”

            Frodo bit his lip, and I knew that if he tried any harder not to laugh, he might pop.

            “And how did you come to this conclusion?”

            She opened her hand.  “These.  Really, Frodo, I would have thought better of you.”

            His jaw dropped.  “Pardon me?”

            “Putting marbles down my dress-Really Frodo!  That is the most immature, childish thing that I have ever heard!”

            “But I”

            She put up a hand.  “Don’t waste your words, Frodo.  I understand now.  And I am glad that I found this out, before;” she stopped suddenly.

            Frodo looked like he might pass out.  Rosemary asked the question I am sure that we were all thinking.

            “Before what?”

            Lily glared at Frodo.  “Before I married you,” she spat.  Then she turned and stomped away.

            We were all silent for a moment.  Then a chuckle escaped from Rosemary.  I gave a little giggle, remembering Lily’s horror at the marbles.  Frodo then began to laugh uproariously.  Soon we were all gasping for air from the breathlessness of heavy laughter.

            It was some time before we gained control of ourselves.  Frodo slapped me on the back.  “Brilliant, Pip,” he gasped.

            “Yes, quite,” Rosemary added.

            I bowed.  “It was my pleasure.”

            “Although,” Frodo said after a moment’s pause, “I certainly hope that I don’t get a reputation for putting marbles down dresses...”

            There was another pause, and then we all burst into hysterics once more.

A special thanks to Orangeblossom Took, who kindly has lent me Rosemary for this story.  I hope that I have returned her safe and sound.  You can read more about Rosemary and Frodo in Orangeblossom’s Rosemary for Remembrance.

Lily Chubb is a character of my own imaginings, whose sole purpose is to torment Frodo.  And, yes, she really is that delusional.

Merry, Sam, and Bombur’s story shall be continued in Chapter 10.

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

            Chapter 10 ~Cleaning House

            Sam hummed merrily as he filled the bucket with water from the well.  Merry grumbled as he found the rags that Bilbo used for cleaning.  Bombur snored as he slept in the front room.  (After all, the best way to forget about hunger was to sleep.)

            Sam came in with the bucket, and Merry was waiting for him with the rags. 

            “What now, Sam?” Merry asked, wishing that he hadn’t fallen asleep earlier.  That should be him at the market, eating the food that Pippin begged from the vendors.  Frodo should have stayed.  It was, after all, his hobbit-hole. 

            “We need to move the furniture so we can wash the floor.”

            “Sam, we’re wiping up egg, not spring-cleaning.  Why must we clean the whole floor?”

            Sam sighed.  “Because the egg got on the whole floor.”

            “Oh.  I see.  Even still, couldn’t we wash around the furniture?”

            Sam put his hands on his hips.  “Now, see here, we are going to clean up this mess so that neither Frodo nor Mister Bilbo knows that anything happened.  We can’t clean it that well unless we move the furniture out of the way.”

            Merry sighed, wishing he could change out of the eggy shirt.  It was sticking to his skin, a positively revolting feeling.  “Fine, have it your way.  Where do we move it?”

            Looking around the kitchen, Sam answered.  “The front room seems the best place for puttin’ furniture.”

            Merry laughed.

            Sam looked at him, confused.  “What do you think is so funny?”

            “Come here,” Merry beckoned.  He led him over to the doorway to the front room and pointed.  The room was completely filled with beds and Bombur.  There was barely room to get in and walk around, let alone place the kitchen’s furniture in it.

            “Oh, I see,” Sam said.  His brow furrowed in thought.  Merry watched him for a moment. 

            “Yes?”

            “I’m thinking,” Sam said in irritation.  He snapped his fingers.  “I’ve got it.”

            “Good,” said Merry; “Now tell me what ‘it’ is.”

            Sam spread his hands out.  “Simple.  We take the furniture and put it in the yard!”

            “In the yard.”

            “Yes.”

            “This yard.”

            “Yes.”

            Merry stared at him.  “What are you, insane?!”

            Sam shook his head.  “No, you see, Mr. Merry, the way I see it is that there is nowhere in Bag End for it to go.  There’s always room outdoors, and it doesn’t look like rain, neither.  It’ll be fine, as long as we put it on the lawn, not the garden.” 

            Merry shook his head.  “I don’t know, Sam,” he said.

            “What other choice do we have?”

            “There’s always denial...”

            Sam went over, picked up and chair, and carried it outside.  Merry sighed and followed suit a moment later.

            Soon all of the chairs and the table were outside.  Sam looked about him in satisfaction.  Merry stood inside, tapping his foot impatiently. 

            “Sometime today, Sam?”

            Sam rolled his eyes and came back inside.  Merry had put soap in the buckets of water, so they were ready to begin.

            Picking up a rag, Sam knelt down on the floor, dipped it in the water and began to scrub the floor.  Merry stood there, watching.

            Sam stopped.  “Well, Merry, aren’t you going to help me?”

            Merry eyed the floor.  He had never washed a floor in his life, and he didn’t relish the thought of beginning now.  “Well...” he said slowly.

            “Here, Merry, I’ll show you,” Sam said.  Merry noticed with amusement that he had dropped the ‘Mister.’

            “Kneel down, like this.”

            Merry slowly knelt onto the floor.

            “Take a rag and put it in the soapy water.”

            Merry slowly put his rag in the water.

            “Put it on the floor and rub in a cir-cu-lar motion.  Do you un-der-stand?” Sam said.

            Merry glared, and Sam held back a laugh.

            Merry then began to scrub the floor.  It wasn’t as bad as it looked; this scrubbing.  One simply had to put their hands in soapy water constantly, rendering them to a prune-like condition, scrub the disgustingly dirty floor, and be on your knees the entire time, which was incredibly painful.  On second thought, yes, this was most definitely as bad as it looked.

            They worked for some time in silence; the only sound was Bombur’s snoring resonating throughout the house.  “Didn’t he get enough snoring done last night?” Merry thought.  He had been up all night because of that snoring.

            Sam spoke several seconds later.  “Is his snoring always as loud as that?”

            “Yes.”  Merry did not feel the need to say more.

            “Oh,” Sam was quiet for several seconds.  Then, “Is there anything we can do to stop—”

            “No!” Merry shouted.  Sam jumped, and stared at Merry in surprise.  “I mean, no,” Merry said softly.  “There’s nothing that can be done, believe me.”

            Finally, in what seemed like hours later to Merry, the floor was shining.  Merry and Sam stood and looked at it in satisfaction.  Merry stretched.  “My arms are sore,” he said.  “And my back, and my knees, and my;”

            Sam interrupted Merry’s complaining.  “Shouldn’t we be getting the furniture back inside, Merry?”

            Reason returned to Merry.  “Yes!  Before Bilbo comes back from the market, then maybe we’ll have a chance to...” his voice faded as he glanced down at his shirt.

            “To what?”

            “Clean my, er, Frodo’s shirt?” Merry looked hopefully at Sam.

            Sam shook his head.  “Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Merry.  You wore Mr. Frodo’s shirt, and you are going to have to decide what to do about it.”

            Merry sighed.  He had thought as much.

            Sam stretched.  “Well, Mr. Merry, shouldn’t we be getting the furniture back in?”

            “Oh! Yes, let’s do that quickly.”

            Merry opened the back door and walked outside.  He took two steps before stopping suddenly.  Sam walked into him.

            “Ow!  Why did you...” his voice faded as his eyes beheld that which was before him.

            It was Sam’s job chore every morning to collect the eggs from the hens and milk the cows.  It was also his job to make sure that the chicken coop and the barn door was also closed after his chores were completed.

            This morning, however, Sam had been so anxious to see the dwarf that was staying at Bag End that he had forgotten to do the latter half of his job.

            “Sam...” Merry said faintly; “Tell me that I’m not seeing...chickens...and a cow...in the yard...on the furniture...”

            Sam could just shake his head.

            Merry moaned in despair.  All the work to clean the kitchen floor, and now they needed to clean the furniture as well. (The chickens had decided that the furniture was a lovely a spot as any to do their, ahem, business.)

            He spread his hands out in front of him.  “No...No...Sam, tell your chickens to clean the furniture.”

            Sam shook his head again.  “I don’t think they can, or else I would.”

            “No, no, no! Sam, has your pony gotten in the yard as well?!”

            Sam studied the ‘horse apples’ that the pony had left.  “Appears that way,” he mumbled.

            Merry was horrified to hear someone begin to cry.

            He was even more horrified when he realized that it was him. 

Does Bag End have a yard?  As I believe that it would be impractical not to have one, I have included one.

Hai-I look forward to your reviews every week.  Your comments are very helpful and give me many ideas.  Thank you!

I shall continue “The Market Saga” in the next chapter.

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 11 ~Homeward Bound

            “Here,” Frodo said, handing Rosemary the rose, which by now had wilted somewhat, and was rather squashed.

            “Oh,” he said, noticing the condition of the flower.  “I’m sorry.  It looked nicer earlier...”

            “That’s quite all right,” she said, accepting it with a smile.  “Thank you.”

            Frodo shrugged, embarrassed.  “I felt badly for what happened with the frog, and I remember you saying that you loved roses, so I thought that perhaps you might wish to plant your own.”

            She smiled. 

            “Rosemary!” came a call from another one of the booths.

            “I need to leave,” she said.  “It was splendid seeing both of you.  Thank you for the rose.  And the laughter.”

            “It was my pleasure,” said Frodo.

            “You’re welcome.” I said. 

            Then she was gone.

            Frodo and I wandered about the market for some time more, inspecting the various wares and begging food off of unsuspecting vendors.  I was beginning to feel a little ill after what must have been my fifteenth apple tart, and I could tell that Frodo was pretty much full as well.

            “Where do you think Bilbo is?” I wondered.

            Frodo shrugged.  “I’m not sure, but I hope he gets back soon.  It’s about 3 o’clock, and I think that he wanted to be back in time to make dinner.”

            “I hope so, too.” A thought occurred in my mind.  “Poor Merry and Bombur!  They must be starving by now!”  I was horrified to think of them home, wasting away from hunger, while Frodo and I sat here and stuffed ourselves.  I pushed away my tart, appetite gone.

            “I hope that Merry wasn’t terribly upset when he realized that we had gone without him.” Frodo said.

            I winced.  Merry would probably not be very happy at all.

            “Do you think that they’ll starve, Frodo?”

            “They shouldn’t.  Merry can get out the door; he could always run over to the Gamgees and borrow some food from them.”

            Borrow?  “I don’t think that the Gamgees would want it back when we were finished with it.”

            Frodo laughed.  “No, I don’t think they would.  All right then, we take food with the full intention of reimbursing them at a later date.”

            “Why didn’t we get some food from them for breakfast and second breakfast?”

            “I don’t know,” Frodo said thoughtfully.  “Perhaps Bilbo didn’t think that we would be away this long, or maybe he just didn’t want to disturb the Gamgees.”

            I nodded.  That made sense.  Bilbo hated to ask for anything from anyone, even if he did intend to pay them back.

            “Well, lads, are you ready to head back to Bag End?”

            Frodo and I jumped up at the sound of Bilbo’s voice.

            Bilbo smiled.  His hands were empty, I noticed with surprise.  Where was the food?

            “Well, lads, it’s time to go home.  Bombur’s probably going to have my head for leaving him hungry so long.” Bilbo rolled his eyes.

            He started walking down the path, leaving Frodo and me.  We looked at each other and hurried after Bilbo, whose pace was brisk and hurried, as if he had just remembered that he had left a fire burning with no supervision.  (Although, I suppose in a way he had done just that.) 

            “Bilbo,” I panted several minutes later; “Where is all of the food that you bought?”

            “You did buy it, didn’t you?” Frodo added worriedly. 

            Bilbo stopped walking and laughed.  “Turn around my lads,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

            We turned around.  Behind us, just coming over the hill, were ten carts.  These carts were filled, nay, overflowing with food.  Vegetables, flour, sugar, fruit, spices, meat, tea, jam; all of these filled the carts that were behind us.

            Frodo and I stared, open-mouthed.  “Come along, lads,” Bilbo said, “You’re murdering the flies.”

            Frodo and I closed our jaws and ran after Bilbo.  I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure that this wasn’t a dream.  I had never seen so much food in my life!  Well, actually, I had seen that much, at the Smials, but never traveling!  And never in carts, and certainly never all for one household! 

             I shook my head in wonder.  Hobbits were coming out of their holes as we passed, pointing and whispering.  Some of the children even started to follow the wagons, waving handkerchiefs as if in a parade.

            “Merry will never believe this when we tell him,”I said to Frodo.  Would he ever be surprised when we arrived home! 

            Frodo nodded; his eyes wide in awe.  “He’ll be so upset that we didn’t take him.  It must be terribly boring, being alone with a hungry Bombur.”

            I nodded.  Unless Bombur was in a storytelling mood, and I didn’t think that he would be, as he was so very hungry, it would be quite boring indeed.

            “Mr. Merry!” Sam said in alarm.  “Don’t cry!  We can fix it.”

            Merry wiped the tears, embarrassed.  “We can?  How?”

            Sam scratched his head.  “I’m not really certain.  But I’m sure that we’ll find a way.”

            “Maybe Sam, but Bilbo’s going to be back any minute!  How can we clean it that fast?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Sam!  That’s not helping!”

            “Well, you aren’t gettin’ any ideas either!”

            Just then, Merry saw Bilbo come around the bend; and to his utter shock, behind him stretched a line of wagons laden with food.  Merry stared in shock, but also in fear. 

            “Sam?”

            “Yes?”

            “It has been a pleasure knowing you.”

            “Thank you, Merry.  It’s been a pleasure knowing you, too.  If Mr. Bilbo doesn’t kill me, then my Gaffer sure will.”

            They took a deep breath and turned to face Bilbo, who was just now coming up to Bag End.  Pippin and Frodo had hitched a ride on one of the carts and were still a ways behind.

            Bilbo first saw Merry and Sam.  “Hello lads!” he said cheerfully.

            Then his eyes beheld several things at once.  First, Merry was covered in egg yolk.  Odd, but after all, this was Merry.  Second...

            “Why is my furniture in the yard?!” he shrieked.

            Merry and Sam trembled in terror.

            “And why, pray tell, are there chickens on them?!”

            Merry closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him.  He wished that the ground would open up and engulf him and the hens.

            “And why, Sam, is there a milk cow in the yard?!”

            Bilbo took a step into the yard.  There was a squish, and Bilbo froze.  He lifted up his foot, and underneath it was one of the gifts from Sam’s pony.

            Merry was never very sure what happened next.  All he could remember was the look on Bilbo’s face as the world spun and turned black.

            Then, silence.  Blessed silence. 

Authors Notes:  Once again, Rosemary Whitfurrows is taken from Orangeblossom Took’s Rosemary For Remembrance. 

Reviewers: Hai: I’m glad that Mondays work for you.  If they didn’t, I would change the day I posted!  Thank you for your faithful reviewing!

~~~

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 12 ~An Unusual Welcome

            I settled against the back of the cart and watched the countryside pass by.  Ah, this was the life.  Frodo and I had convinced Bilbo that it wouldn’t hurt to simply take advantage of the free ride home.  Bilbo had declined, saying something about enjoying the thrill of walking onto the road.  He then went off on his speech about ‘stepping out your door and being swept away.’ 

            I had my feet propped upon a sack of potatoes.  I much preferred sitting in the back of the cart with the food, than up front with the driver who was overly anxious to please.

            “Anything I can get you, Mr. Took?” he had asked at least twenty times.

            “No, I am perfectly fine.” I had replied to every such question.

            I had finally opted to sit in the back of the cart.  The driver had been horrified, at first flatly refusing, (such a thing was simply not heard of; the son of a very important Took sitting in the back of a cart!) but later relenting, after my threatening to throw a fit.

            Frodo was sitting in the front of the cart behind us.  I waved at him, and he gave a tired wave back.  Although he was not the son of the Thain, he was still a rich gentlehobbbit, therefore meriting many questions as to his wellbeing.  Being almost of age, he simply couldn’t afford himself the pleasure of sitting in the back of a cart.  Being young did have upsides, after all.

            Suddenly a high-pitched shriek filled the air.  Frodo and I both sat up and strained our eyes ahead.  Bag End was just appearing around the bend.  As it came into view, I noticed the oddest things.

            I did not remember us having the furniture in the yard previously, nor did I remember Bilbo having chickens or a milk cow.  I squinted at this strange sight, until I saw a figure stretched out on the ground.

            “Merry!” I cried, jumping out of the cart.  I ran the rest of the way to the yard.  I could hear Frodo running up behind me.

            When we arrived, Bilbo was standing on one foot while trying to join Sam, who was sitting on the ground next to Merry.  I ran up and knelt on the ground.

            “Sam!  What happened to Merry?!”

            When no one said anything, I looked over at Frodo, who had knelt down next to me.  He checked Merry’s pulse. 

            “He’s alive.  What happened, Sam?”

            “That is precisely what I want to know,” Bilbo said, sounding higher-pitched than usual.

            Sam shook his head.  “I’m not too sure myself...” he said faintly.

            “Well, try!” Bilbo said.

            Sam stood up and scratched his head.  He then vaguely mumbled something about eggs, the furniture, the yard, chickens, and dying.

            We stared at him.

            He shrugged.  “That’s the best that I can do right now.”

            I sighed and looked down at Merry.  His eyes were finally beginning to open.

            Frodo clutched his hand.  “Merry?  Say something, Merry?”

            Merry moaned, and then turned his head and looked around at the yard.  “This isn’t Over-heaven...Oh no!  I’m not dead!”

            I spoke up.  “No, you are not, and why would you want to be?”

            “It’s a long story, Pip.”

            Another voice joined the fray.  “Meriadoc Brandybuck, that had better not be my shirt covered in...Is that egg yolk?!”

            Merry closed his eyes again and moaned.

            Bilbo shook his head.  A chicken hopped up on a chair next to him.  “Shoo!” he said angrily.  The chicken flew away in a flurry of feathers.  Bilbo glared at it for a moment before turning to Sam.

            “Sam?” he said calmly.  I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful that he had stopped yelling, or to be frightened because he was not yelling.

            “Yes?” Sam said in a quavering voice.

            “Kindly take your chickens back to your yard.  And your cow.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “And, Merry, get off of the ground.”

            You don’t argue with Bilbo when he uses that tone.  “Yes, Bilbo,” Merry said, standing up slowly.

            “Please assist Sam in the removal of his chickens and dairy cow.”

            “Yes, Bilbo.”

            Merry scurried after Sam.  They quickly rounded up the hens, which proved easier then you might have thought.  (I personally believe that they were afraid of Bilbo.)

They then took four chickens, one under each arm and set off to the Gamgees.  The dairy cow meekly followed along behind.

            Frodo and I watched solemnly.  I was aware that the carts had now come to Bag End.  Turning around, I saw the drivers finish unloading the foods and supplies.  To my surprise, they had taken it out of the carts and put it onto the ground, just leaving it there.

            “Cousin Bilbo,”

            “Not now, Pippin.”

            “But, Bilbo,”

            “Pippin, I said not now.  Could you please run inside and get me a wet cloth?”

            For the first time I noticed the dung on his foot.  That would explain why he had been standing on one foot this whole time.

            “Certainly, Cousin Bilbo,” I said, staying put.  There was a problem with the carts, and I would stay until it was settled.

            “Good lad.  Frodo, go and make sure that the drivers put the groceries away properly this time.  Last time I couldn’t find the flour in time to make seed cakes.”

            “Yes, Bilbo,” Frodo turned around and stopped, seeing the carts begin to drive away, leaving the groceries on the roadside.

            “Bilbo,”

            “Frodo-lad, are you still here?  I thought I told you—”

            “Bilbo, Bilbo, look, quick!”

            Bilbo turned and saw the carts driving away.  His gaze took in the groceries on the ground, and I saw his face go noticeably pale.  He was motionless for a moment then he took off running.

            “Wait!  Stop!  You’re supposed to bring the groceries in the house!  Stop!”  He ran several yards before remembering his foot; then he began to hop after the carts, one foot lifted comically in the air.  Frodo and I simply watched, realizing the utter futility in running after the carts.

            Bilbo hopped a bit farther, before realizing that it was hopeless.  He then turned around and sadly hopped back, head hung in defeat.

            He hopped over to me and Frodo; foot still lifted, and sat down in the nearest chair. 

            “Bilbo, wait!” Frodo and I said in unison.

            Unfortunately, it was too late.  Bilbo had sat down in the chair, one of the same chairs where the chickens had done their “business.”  Frodo and I winced as he sat.

            All was silent for a moment.  Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment, and silent tears trickled down his cheeks.  His shoulder began to shake, and I was unsure if he were laughing or crying.  I think that he was unsure as well.

            The yard was still, other then a few chickens clucking, and the sound of the carts rolling away in the distance.

Finally, the tears stopped dripping, and Bilbo broke the silence.  “Pippin?”

            “Yes, Cousin Bilbo?”

            “Never you mind about that rag.”

            “Cousin Bilbo?”

            “I think that I am going to need an entire bathtub.”

~~~

Author’s notes: No, you’re off the hook this time.  I have nothing to add to what is written. 

Reviewers: Thank you Hai!

Note to readers: My hit count are by far greater than the reviews I recieve.  If you are enjoying this story, (or not) please do me the courtesy of reviewing!  Thank you.

~~~

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 13 ~More Problem Solving

~~~

            Frodo and I sat on the ground, carefully checking to make sure that no surprises awaited us upon the ground.  Satisfied that this was not so, we sat.  Bilbo had surprisingly not moved from his chair, it seemed as if he had simply given into the fact that the world was against him.

            It was only a moment later when Sam and Merry came walking up Bagshot Row.  They stopped, and I could tell that their eyes were taking in the piles of groceries that lay upon the ground, instead of inside our cabinets as they were supposed to be.  Bilbo had paid the cart drivers extra to ensue that they would unload the groceries.  What went wrong, you ask?  I remembered that he had never told the drivers exactly why he was paying them so generously.

            Merry and Sam walked up to us in disbelief. 

            “What happened?”  Merry said, sounding more than a bit shocked.  “It looks like the whole market left the food on BagShot Row!”

            “You forgot again to tell the drivers why you paid them extra, didn’t you, Mr. Bilbo?” Sam said sympathetically.

            “Again?” Merry and I asked in disbelief.

            Frodo spoke up.  “It was only one cart last time.  It wasn’t as hard to simply bring the food into the house and make a note to tell the drivers next time.  This time on the other hand...”

            We all stared at the piles of food.  “Why did you buy so much, Bilbo?” Merry asked, weary at the sight of potential work.

            “Why is there furniture in my yard?” Bilbo responded.

            Merry and Sam were silent.  Then; “I think that I’ll be taking my chickens and heading home.” Sam picked up his chickens and practically flew down the road.

            “Well, Merry,” Bilbo said, walking over to the food in the road, while making sure to wipe his foot on the grass, therefore removing any leftovers from the horse.  We all followed.  “Suppose that you tell us what happened while we bring the food into the house.  By the way, where is Bombur?”

            Merry lifted a sack of flour with a grunt.  “He’s inside, asleep.”

            “He’s asleep?!” Bilbo exclaimed.

            “Yes.  Snoring rather loudly, might I add.”

            “Didn’t he do enough of that last night?” Frodo mumbled.

            “That’s what I said,” Merry replied.

            “Merry,” I piped up, “Why are you wearing Frodo’s shirt?”

            Merry turned and glared at me.  If looks could kill, I would be expecting a nice bottle of rat poison for my next birthday.

            “Yes, Merry,” Frodo said sarcastically, “Why don’t you tell me why you are wearing my shirt and why it is all covered in...?  What is that stuff, anyway?”

            Merry carefully sidestepped a chair, went through the kitchen door that Bilbo had opened, and set the flour in one of the pantries.  Frodo and I followed suit.

            “Egg,” he mumbled.

            “Pardon me?”

            Merry went back out the door to the road, following Bilbo.  Frodo and I jogged to catch up with his quick stride.

            “It’s egg.”

            “How did egg get all over your, nay, my shirt?”

            “Yes, and all over the furniture as well,” Bilbo added as he walked by with a sack of apples.  “Although that could just as well be leftovers from Sam’s chickens.”

            Merry stopped and heaved a humongous sigh, throwing his hands up in the air.  “Fine!  This is what happened!  Sam’s mum heard that we had a guest so she sent eggs and I was sleepy so I flung open the door and Sam fell in and eggs went all over so we moved out the furniture and washed the floor and he forgot to close the door to the henhouse and barn so they got out.”  Merry stopped and took a huge breath. 

            Frodo and Bilbo stared at him.  I looked at him in astonishment.  “You washed the floor, Merry?”

            “Yes!”

            Needless to say, I was quite impressed.  Frodo, however, was not.  “You ruined my favorite shirt.”

            “It will wash out.”

            “You ruined my shirt!”

            “I’m sorry Frodo!”

            “But you ruined my shirt!” Frodo sort of yelled that last part.

            Bilbo stepped in.  “Lads!  Frodo, we can buy you a new shirt.”

            “Not like that one,” he grumbled.

            “Merry, thank you for washing the floor.  It is too bad that we now have to wash the furniture as well, after we get these groceries inside.”  With that, he hoisted another bag of fruit over his shoulder and went inside.

            Merry stared after him.  “That went surprisingly well,” he mused.

            “Merry?” Frodo said sweetly.

            “Yes, Frodo?”

            “When we finish here, I am going to kill you.  Slowly and painfully.”

            Perhaps it was the calm way Frodo said it that made Merry pause a moment before grabbing a sack of potatoes and running.

~~~

            I am not quite sure how much more time passed before we finally brought all of the groceries inside.  It felt like a few days, but Frodo said that it was five hours.  Needless to say, it was dark by the time that we were finally done and inside.  The furniture was still outside; Bilbo had simply sighed and said that we would take care of it if it was still there in the morning.

            Bombur had slept through most of the racket, but had awoken when we stopped for a dinner of apples, cheese, and crackers.

            “I say, friend Bilbo, I thought that you might never return from that market,” he said between bites.

            Bilbo simply nodded.

            Within about ten minutes, it became apparent why Bilbo had needed ten carts full of food.  Between the hungry hobbits and Bombur (Who was like a hole that just went on forever) we probably ate at least a third of one of the carts’ holdings.  I don’t even think that we stopped to take a breath while eating.

            Now, Frodo and I were simply fine with the fruit, cheese, and crackers, but then Bilbo brought out dessert: apple tarts.  Frodo and I took one look at those and groaned, holding our stomachs.

            Merry stopped mid-chew.  “What’s wrong with you two?”

            Frodo shook his head.  “Too many apple tarts earlier,” he said faintly.

            I nodded my agreement.

            It might have been my imagination, but I think that Merry purposely chewed slower and made a point of waving the tart under our noses after that.  Ugh.

            At least they weren’t blackberry tarts.  Those make me itch.

~~~

One problem solved and many more to go!

I have used the word “groceries” in this chapter.  I am not aware of whether or not hobbits used the word, but as I could come up with no better, I have used it.  Also, I am unaware if they had “rat poison,” in the Shire, but I am sure that they needed something to kill the rodents, eh?

~~~

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 14 ~The Aftermath

~~~

            After Bilbo and Merry took their baths, (Yes, Merry and Bilbo had been wearing their dirty clothes all day) we went to bed.

            I don’t believe that I have ever slept that hard in my life, and the next morning came far too quickly.  I was only awoken by the smell of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and sausage drifting throughout the house.

            I got up, got dressed, and wandered into the kitchen.  Bilbo was in there, finishing up the last of a stack of pancakes.  Merry and Frodo were sitting on the floor, (Glancing out the window, I checked to make sure that the furniture was still outside ;) and Bombur was sitting as near to the kitchen as he could get from the front room.

            “Hullo, Frodo, Merry, Cousin Bilbo, and Dwarf Bombur!” I said cheerily, joining them on the floor.  There was a plate set for me, and Merry and Frodo were already eating.

            It obviously was a bit too cheery for Merry and Frodo, as my greeting was met with glares.

            “Well, excuse me.” I said indignantly.

            “How can you be so cheerful this early?” Merry asked grumpily. 

            “It’s not early!” Bombur asserted, checking the clock on the mantel.  “It’s—achoo!—nearly 9 o’clock and a half.”

            We all jumped as Bombur sneezed.  It was if an earthquake had shaken the room.

            “Bless you Bombur!” Bilbo said in surprise, handing him a plate heaped with eggs, pancakes, sausage, and bacon.  “Should I make you some tea?”

            Bombur nodded.  “Could you bring be a handkie as bell?” he asked.

            Bilbo obliged, fishing in his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and handing it to Bombur.

            “Thag you,” Bombur said as it was handed to him.

            Merry and I looked at each other in fear.  Was it just us, or did Bombur sound slightly more nasally than usual?

            Bombur blew his nose, and it was as if a great trumpet was blasting in the kitchen.  We all dropped our forks and placed our hands over our ears, where we held them for several minutes.

            Finally Bombur finished with a resounding honk.  We carefully let go of our ears; ready to clap our hands back on at a moment’s notice, but fortunately that was unnecessary.   

            Frodo stared at Bombur, horrified.  “No...It can’t be...”

            “Bombur, are you sick?” Bilbo demanded.

            “A little,” Bombur admitted.

            Merry and Frodo groaned loudly.  “I hope that it isn’t contagious,” I thought worriedly.  That was the last thing that we needed: for everyone in Bag End to come down with the cold.  Merry was positively grumpy when he got sick, Frodo was whiny, and I was downright bored whenever it happened.  I tried to imagine Bilbo taking care of us all, but instead saw him being laid into a grave.  I shuddered at the image.

            “Don’t tell me you’re getting sick as well, Mr. Pippin,” Bilbo said, noticing my shiver.

            I shook my head fervently.  I was not going to get sick.

            “Well, Bombur,” Bilbo said, straining the tea leaves; “I certainly believe that you should take this tea and go lie down.”

            Bombur accepted it gratefully.  “I believe I shall,” he said, sipping the tea as he walked back to his bed.

            Making himself a plate of food, Bilbo sat down with us and began to eat.  I eyed the piles of dirty dishes, hoping that somebody else would be cleaning them. 

            “So,” Bilbo said, finishing off his fourth pancake, “I was thinking that after washing the dishes, we should wash off the furniture and bring it inside, hopefully in time for second breakfast.  Are we agreed?”

            We lads gave a half-hearted “Aye.”

            “Try not to be so enthusiastic,” Bilbo said with a roll of the eyes.

            After finishing breakfast, Bilbo filled the sink with hot, soapy water, leaving Frodo, Merry and I to wash the dishes, which was no easy task.

            “Merry, you wash, and Pippin, you dry,” Frodo ordered.

            “What will you do?” I asked, suspiciously.

            “I’ll put away,” he answered.

            Merry frowned.  “Frodo, that’s the easiest job!  Pippin should do it, and you should wash.”

            “Pippin isn’t tall enough to reach the upper cabinets.”

            “Fine then, I’ll put away.  But we are guests in your home; therefore you should assume the hardest job.  Isn’t that right, Bilbo?”  Merry raised his voice at the end of his statement.

            “Yes, yes, absolutely,” his answer floated back.

            Merry smiled at Frodo.  Frodo sighed heavily and picked up the first dish.

            Soon we were done.  Merry had found throughout the course of the washing that putting away was not the easiest job; he could not possibly put away the dishes as fast as Frodo washed them and I dried them.  That meant that while Frodo and I sat and watched, he was scurrying about trying to put the dishes away.

            “You should help me, you know,” he said, while precariously balancing a glass atop a stack of plates.

            Frodo shrugged.  “You were the one who said that I should wash,” he said matter-of-factly.

            Merry grumbled under his breath as he put the last of the dishes away.  “Finally!” he said, joining us on the floor.  No sooner had he sat down, when Bilbo walked in.

            “Good job lads!  Almost a pity that it’s now time for second breakfast,” he said.

            We groaned in unison.  Visions of me drying plates for the rest of my stay here filled my thoughts.

            Bilbo went to one of the pantries and brought out two loaves of bread and five apples.  We each took an apple while Bilbo sliced and buttered the bread. 

            “Should I take an apple to Bombur?” I asked.

            Bilbo shook his head.  “Bombur is sound asleep.”

            I nodded, but that comment struck me as odd.  “How can he be asleep?  He isn’t snoring,”

            Suddenly, the sound of Bombur’s snoring echoed throughout the house. 

            “Pippin!” everyone exclaimed.

            “What?”

            “How could you?”  Merry said, his face twisting in anguish.

            “I didn’t do it!”

            Bilbo stopped us before we could continue in this debate.  “Hoy, lads, stop,” he said, handing us each four pieces of generously buttered bread.  “Eat that, and then we must go clean my furniture.”

            We all devoured second breakfast quickly, wishing to get the furniture cleaning over as soon as possible.

            “I think that Merry should have to clean it himself,” I said, munching my apple.

            “I didn’t make you clean the pantry all by yourself when you got jam all over it.” Merry retorted.  “And, Pip, you got it everywhere, all over the jars, shelves, and not to mention yourself!”

            I primly wiped my fingers on a towel.  “I was five.  You, however, are old and should know better.”

            “Nonetheless,” Frodo cut in, “He helped you then, and you should help him now.  However stupid it was to put the furniture in the yard is not the point.”

            “It was Sam’s idea.”

            “But you listened to him, Merry.”

            Merry rolled his eyes and turned to Bilbo.  “Where shall we start?”

            “Well,” Bilbo began; “I thought that we should carefully wipe the furniture down with hot, wet rags.  That way...”

            I sighed.  This was going to be a long day.

~~~

Author’s Notes: I am not exactly sure on the finer points of speech when one has a cold.  I can speak it quite well, but as for writing it, I come to a severe problem.  If anyone has any tips, hints, or pointers on writing the words of the nasally plugged, they would be greatly appreciated.   

Also, while being unsure on exactly how Bilbo washes furniture, the method used is the one most often used by our family.

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 15 ~Many Achoo’s

~~~

            “Pippin?”

            I tried desperately to ignore the voice that wanted to bring me out of my peacefully unconscious state.

            “Pippin?”

            This time the voice was accompanied by the voice shaking my shoulders.  I tried to turn away, but as I did, I realized that I couldn’t turn away.  My face was stuck, and I couldn’t breathe.

            Now very much awake, I began to panic.  “Help!” I cried, but it came out as more of an “Mrph!”

            Now the voice was pulling my hair.  It hurt for a moment; then my face was free.  I opened my mouth and gasped for air.  As I did, the distinct taste of porridge filled my mouth. 

            “Pippin, are you all right?” Merry asked worriedly.

            I nodded. Judging by the food all over my face, I must have fallen asleep in my porridge.  I ran my tongue experimentally over my lips and made a face in disgust.  Porridge was not one of Cousin Bilbo’s strong points. 

            “ACHOO!”

            My thoughts were rudely interrupted by another of Bombur’s sneezes.  He had gotten progressively worse throughout the day; and his sneezing had caused many bumped heads (Bilbo had jumped while under an open cabinet), dropped dishes (none of them had broken, fortunately), and black eyes (Bilbo’s first defense against the enormous sneezes were to punch randomly, as if he were being attacked).

            Luckily, by now we had all gotten used to the interruption; and sneezes were now met only by light jumping.

            The porridge had been an attempt of Bilbo’s to care for Bombur.  When we had finally finished cleaning and bringing in the furniture, it had been well past afternoon tea.  Deciding that we did not have enough time to make soup, Bilbo had settled on porridge, much to all of our chagrin. 

            Frodo handed me a handkerchief.  I looked at it quizzically.  “Wipe your face,” he whispered discreetly.  I did so.

            Merry rubbed his eyes and gave a huge yawn.  We were all exhausted from the hard work and very little sleep of the previous night, and although I was the only one so far to have fallen asleep, we were all very muchly ready for bed. 

            “Bilbo,” said Bombur from the other room.  “I seem to be all out of handkerchiefs.  Might you have any?”

            Bilbo rose and went into the other room.  As he did, I noticed Frodo’s face dipping dangerously into his bowl.

            “Frodo!” Merry and I yelled together.

            “What is it?” he whined.

            “You were falling asleep again.”

            Frodo listlessly stirred his porridge.  “Bilbo, I don’t feel good,” he called.

            Bilbo came back in.  “Oh, Frodo, you’re not sick too!”

            “My head hurts.”

            Bilbo placed a hand on Frodo’s forehead.  “You are much too warm,” said Bilbo.  “I order immediate bed rest.”

            To my surprise, Frodo pushed away his plate and left without a complaint.  Bilbo watched him go and shook his head.

            “This porridge is awful.  Could you make me some soup?” Merry complained.

            “No.” Bilbo answered.  “Perhaps I should send you to bed as well.”

            “But I’m not tired!” Merry said, holding back a yawn.

            “Bed, Mr. Brandybuck.”

            Merry sighed and followed Frodo.

            Bilbo eyed me warily.  “I suppose that you have something to add to this as well, Mr. Peregrin?”

            I shook my head.  “I feel fine.  Just tired.”

            “Bed for you as well, Pippin.”

             Obediently, I abandoned my porridge and went to bed.  I didn’t even bother to change into my nightshirt or get under my blankets before falling asleep.

~~~

            “ACHOO!”

            I sat up with a jerk.  The sun was streaming through my window, which meant that I had slept through the night.

            “ACHOO!”

            I hurried for my door and went into the front room.

            “Achoo!”

            Turning around, I saw Merry finish a glorious sneeze.

            “Bless you.”

            “Thank you.”

            Bilbo looked up from Bombur (who was lying on the bed, looking for the world like he was dying) and turned as we came in.  “Oh, goodness, Merry, don’t tell me that you are also sick!”

            “No,” Merry said crossly.  “Of course not.  I don’t (sniff) get sick.”

            Just then, Frodo came in the room as well.  He looked like death.  “Bilbo,” he whispered; then coughed hard.

            Bilbo put his head in his hands.  “Valar help us.”

            I was silently checking myself for any symptoms of illness.  “Sinuses clear?  Check.  Is my throat sore?  No.  Do I feel like coughing up my insides?  No.  Also, I have no symptoms of nausea, weak limbs, or achy joints.”

             Bilbo may have wanted the Valar’s help, but I was thanking them that I was not sick.  Well, I was until I saw the two foot high pile of dirty hankies that Bombur had used throughout the night.  How disgusting. 

              “Pippin, how feel you?” Bilbo asked.

            “Wonderful.”

            “Well, there’s one good thing.  Merry, Frodo, go back and lie down.  Pippin and I will be there with hot tea and porridge.”

            I opened my mouth in protest.  I had most certainly not volunteered to take care of my grumpy and whiney cousins.

            “Cousin Bilbo, I protest-”

            “I didn’t ask if you protested.  Now, come help me.”

            Bilbo set to making breakfast while I went searching for extra hankies.  We were most definitely going to need them, judging by the piles already forming in everyone’s respective rooms.  And I most certainly was not planning on washing them.

            That was where I faced my first problem.  There were no extra hankies to be found.  The second problem was that all there was for breakfast was porridge and tea.  Did I mention how much I hated porridge?

            Luckily for me, I managed to have some bread and jam while Bilbo was taking care of Merry (who did not want porridge, and said so very loudly).

            “Pippin,” said Bilbo when he had finished serving everyone; “I think that we have a problem.”

            “What is it?” I asked in dread.

            “We do not have enough clean handkerchiefs for the sick people in this house.  Bombur alone uses three every five minutes.”

            “Mightn’t we borrow some from the Gamgees?” I asked meekly.

            “Now, see here, Pippin, I will not be running to the Gamgees for every small thing, and especially not when the problem is easily resolved.”

            I knew what was coming, but I asked anyway.  “What are we going to do, then?”

            “We?  No, no, Pippin, there cannot be a we in this matter.  I must make hot soup for the patients (as my porridge does not meet their satisfaction).  No, you, Pippin, must wash the handkerchiefs.”

            I shuddered at the thought.  Mayhap being ill would have been better, after all.

~~~

Author’s Notes: Everyone getting sick except Bilbo and Pippin is, I believe, a direct result from having read far too many stories of Pippin being a sickly, frail child.  This is my way of rebelling.  I do not think that Pippin would always be coming down with one cold or another, as is seen in far too many fanfics.  Did he ever get sick on the Ring quest?  No!  Did he die from complications of pneumonia?  No!  (Now, understand, getting sick does have its time and place, and when not overdone, is perfectly fine.  I draw the line at the sickly child who never saw the sun, however.)  My apologies for rambling, and kudos to you if you read this!

~~~

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 16 ~When Enough Is Enough

~~~

            I studied the pile of dirty handkerchiefs next to Bombur’s bed and shuddered.  How in the Shire was I going to be able to pick these up and take them in the kitchen to be washed?  I had already made soap water to wash them in, but I was not relishing the idea of bringing them into the kitchen.

            “Bibbin?  That you?”  Bombur said faintly.

            “Yes, it’s me.” I said aloud.  “Although I wish that Frodo, or more so Merry, had to clean these.  Ugh.” I finished in my head.

            “Could you get be thome thoup?” 

            I sighed heavily.  “Ask Bilbo,” I offered.

            “Bilbo!”

            Looking about the room, I could think of only one other way to pick up the hankies.  “I’ll be right back,” I told an uncaring Bombur, and ran outside.

            Moments later I was back, but now I was carrying a shovel.  I carefully scooped some handkerchiefs into the shovel and carried them into the kitchen with the shovel held aloft.  I dumped them into the hot, soapy water; then came back for the next batch.

            “Bilbo!” Bombur called again.

            “I’ll be right there, Bombur!” Bilbo replied.  He was in Merry’s room, that was obvious be the fact that you could hear Merry saying “No, you will not be ‘right there!’  You have to get me some hankies, hot tea with lemon, and...”

            I rolled my eyes.  Merry was always a grief when he got sick.

            Four trips later, all of the tissues were in the hot soap water.  I looked upon them for a moment, filled with satisfaction.  Then, I realized with horror that although the tissues were in the water, they still needed to be washed!

            I looked down in disgust at the water.  I was most certainly not putting my hands in there.

            But Bilbo needed the hankies!  I stared out the window in frustration.  What to do, what to do.  Several sheets on the clothesline caught my eye.  Bilbo had washed them Monday morning, never dreaming that he wouldn’t have time to change the sheets on the bed for days.

            I gazed at the sheets for a moment more.  Something pressed at my mind, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

            Suddenly, it clicked.  I ran out the door to get the sheets off the clothesline.  A moment later, I ran back in, grabbed a stool, and ran back out again.  Once outside, I carefully placed the stool under the clothesline.  Standing on it, I was able to reach the clothespins and take the sheets down.  I then went back inside, arms full of clean, fluffy white sheets. 

            After returning for the stool, I brought it back in and closed the door.  I sidestepped the sheets and went to Bilbo’s study.  I could hear Frodo whining as I walked down the hall.

            “Bilbo, my head hurts.”

            “I’m sorry, Frodo, is there anything I can do?”

            “No, nothing can help me now.  Everything is dark and empty.”

            Frodo had a tendency to be overdramatic.

            I entered Bilbo’s study and went straight to his desk.  Opening it, I found just what I was looking for: a pair of scissors. 

            Tightly clutching my treasure, I went back into the kitchen.  Bilbo was now with Bombur.

            “Bilbo, I’m thying!”

            I could hear Bilbo sigh.  It was one of those sighs that comes straight from the hair on a hobbits toes, a sigh of total defeat.  “Bombur, I shall tell you one more time: you are not dying.  You have a slight cold, nay, a less than slight, merely a case of the sniffles.”

            “But I can’t breathe!” Bombur moaned.

            “Your nose is plugged.  You can’t breathe through your nose when it is plugged.  Your mouth is not plugged.  You can breathe through your mouth.”

            Bombur said nothing for a moment.  Then “But I’m thying, Bilbo!”

            Bilbo began to explain again how Bombur was not dying.

            I was tempted to stay and listen to Bilbo’s frustration, but I needed to get back to my hankies.  Reluctantly, I went into the kitchen.  The sheets were still lying on the floor where I had left them.  I glanced at the other handkerchiefs soaking in the soap water.  Sighing, I reflected upon my own cleverness.  Sometimes I even amazed myself with my ingenuity.

            I cocked my head, listening to make sure that Bilbo was still in the other room.  Then I went to work.  Picking up the scissors, I carefully fitted my fingers in their respective opening.  I experimentally opened and closed them several times just to make sure that they worked; then I picked up a sheet.  I closed one eye and gazed down the surface of it to make sure that I was going to be cutting in a straight line.

            Snip.

            The sound of scissors cutting always made me smile.  This time was no exception.  I smiled the entire time as I cut carefully down the sheet.   I was still smiling when the first strip fell free, and I cut it horizontally into handkerchief-shaped squares. 

            Ten down, and...I mentally calculated how many more I would need.  Furrowing my brow, I realized that the amount needed was probably far more than I could guess. 

            I sat there for quite some time, cutting sheets into hankies.  I didn’t think that Bombur would notice (or care) that the hankies were not hemmed. 

            There was one sheet left.  I grinned at the enormous pile of handkerchiefs surrounding me and picked up the last sheet.  I picked up the scissors and closed them with a soft snip.  Just then, however—

            “Pippin!”

            My head jerked up; I was terrified at the tone of Bilbo’s voice.

            “Tell me that those are not my good sheets!”

            “Um...yes?”

            Bilbo’s face turned white, red, purple, then white again.  Normally I would have been fascinated by this, but now I was too frightened to care.  Whatever had I done?  I should have known better than to have used Bilbo’s good sheets. 

            Bilbo opened his mouth, and I braced myself.  It was a good thing that I did, too, as all that came out was a very long and high-pitched scream.  I just sat there, surrounded by sheet-squares, quaking in terror.

            The screaming ceased, and he stood there panting.  Just then, from the back of Bag End, came the voice that was my salvation.  It was that blessed Meriadoc, yelling that all the fuss was hurting his ears.

            At last, Bilbo’s attention was turned to someone else.  He stormed down the hall to Merry’s room, yelling things such as “Nasty brats!” and “confounded dwarves.”

            Bombur weakly called from the front room that there was a strange noise, and Frodo was in the back of the house complaining that all the noise was making his headache worse.  I headed to the front room.  Maybe, if no one noticed, I could be out the door and on the road in no time at all.  I had heard that Bree was beautiful this time of year.

            I went to the door and opened it.  To my absolute and utter shock, there were two Dwarves standing on the doorstep!  While I rubbed my eyes in shock, they peeked around me at the noise coming from the back of Bag End.

            One nodded at me.  “Bifur, at your...” his voice trailed off as he wandered into the hole.  The other dwarf (who I assumed to be Bofur) followed closely behind.  I shut the door and walked behind them.

            Bilbo had come up the hall shrieking.  He turned around and bumped right into Bofur.  His mouth opened and closed, and he began to shake from head to toe.  Then he resumed screaming, pushed past Bofur, and ran out the front door.

~~~

Author’s Notes: Don’t worry, dear readers, all is not lost.  Bilbo is fine.  In fact, he’s in the other room with his therapist right now.  (Yes, on a little couch and everything.)  He will be just fine...

When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 17 ~All’s Well that Ends Better

~~~

            The door slammed behind Bilbo as he ran outside.  Bifur, Bofur, and I simply stood there and watched.

            “He always was an excitable little fellow,” Bifur (or was it Bofur?) remarked.

            “How much longer until he realizes he’s outside?” Bofur (or was it Bifur?) asked.

            His question was answered when the front door slowly opened, and Bilbo walked back in, looking slightly calmer.

            “Hullo,” Bilbo said; “and before either of you ask, no, there is nothing wrong.  And no, there is no more room in my house for anymore dwarves.”

            Bifur shook his head.  “But, dear Bilbo—”

            “No!” he cried, his voice going high, and his eye had resumed that funny twitchy movement.  “There is no room!  No room, I tell you!”

            “But—” Bofur began, but then was cut off by a sneeze from Bifur.

            “No!” Bilbo said shrilly.  “No more sick dwarves!”

            “But—”

            Bilbo grabbed his ears.  “No!  I can’t take it anymore, I tell you!  I’ve had enough!  Take your brother, or cousin, or whatever he is to you!  Take his snoring and his excessive use of handkerchiefs!  Take his use of far too many beds and sheets!  Take his love of food causing me to go to the market and return with my house in an uproar!  Just, please, go, and take him with you!”  Bilbo had now assumed a position on his knees, hands clasped toward Bifur and Bofur.  Yes, he was, for all practical purposes, begging.

            “Bilbo,” Bifur said.  “We have come to fetch Bofur.”

            Bilbo’s face lit up.  “You have?”

            “Yes.  Where is he?”

            “This way!  Come, come quickly!”  Bilbo hurried them into the other room, where they were met with the sight of Bombur lying on three hobbit-sized beds and surrounded by handkerchiefs.

            Bombur turned to us as we came in.  “Ah, Bofur, my broder.  You haf come to see me thy?”

            “He believes he’s dying from a cold,” I explained.

            Bofur looked at Bilbo quizzically.  “My nephew,” Bilbo said; then muttered, “Whatever possessed me to take him in, I will never know.”

            Bifur reached over and tugged on Bombur’s arm.  “Up, Bombur.  We’ve come to take you home.”

            Bombur moaned. 

            Bofur frowned.  “Bombur, get up.  We are not carrying you again.”

            To my surprise, Bombur complied.

            “Dank you, Bilbo,” he said; “You haf been a most excellent host.”

            Bilbo nodded.  “It was my pleasure,” he said, muttering; “to have you leave.”

            “What’s all this?”

            We turned to see Merry and Frodo standing there, handkerchiefs in hand.

            “Bombur is leaving!” Bilbo said.  (Was that a note of song that I detected in his voice?)

            “Leaving!” Merry said.  “That means I get my bed back!”

            Frodo elbowed him.  “You shall be missed, Bombur.” he said politely.  Merry mumbled something akin to that.

            Bombur bowed.  (At least I think that it was bowing.  It all depends on if you consider bowing only bowing your head and shoulders, as it was impossible for Bombur to bend any further due to his girth.)

            Bilbo rushed into the kitchen and returned moments later carrying three sacks of food.  “Here, for your journey home,” he said.  “Take it, take it.”

            The three dwarves accepted the sacks somewhat quizzically. 

            “It’s food!” Bilbo said.  “For your journey.”

            Understanding came over the face of the dwarves.  “Ah.” They said, peeking inside the sacks.

            Bombur sniffled loudly.  “Bilbo, there aren’t any hankies in here.”

            Bilbo sighed loudly.  “Bombur, I would gladly give you some,” he said through clenched teeth, “but someone has used all of them.”

            “Well, how rude of some people!” Bombur said angrily.

            As much as I want to believe that he tried to not do it, Bilbo rolled his eyes. 

            Bifur cleared his throat.  “Well, Bombur, we must be off.” He turned and bowed to Bilbo; and Bofur followed suit. 

            Bombur winked at me.  “Remember, Master Pippin, the true story of what happened in the mountains.”

            I nodded and smiled.  “I will,” I promised.

            “Master Merry, never fling doors open.”  (Was that a growl I heard from Merry?)

            “And Master Frodo, never listen to your cousins.”

            “Believe me, I won’t,” Frodo muttered.

            Bombur laughed, bowed to Bilbo, and followed his cousin and brother out the door.

            Then they were gone.

            All was silent for a moment.  Then it was broken by Bilbo...was he cheering?  He was!  (Very loudly, might I add.)

            Bilbo did a little jig in the hall and ran into the front room.  “Let’s move the beds back, lads!” he called joyfully.

            “But Bilbo, we’re sick!” Merry said weakly.

            “I don’t care!  If you want beds to sleep in tonight, help me move them back!”

            Merry and I glanced at each other; then ran to help Bilbo.

            Within a couple of hours, everything was back in place.  You never would have known that a dwarf had been there, except for the food stains on Bilbo’s beautiful sheets.  Bilbo was devastated about the untimely demise of his other sheets, for which I apologized profusely. 

            “That’s all right, lad,” he had sighed.  “We all went a bit crazy, I suspect.”

            There was another sign that the dwarf had been there: the food that was flowing out of the pantries.

            “Well, we won’t need to go to the market for a while, will we now?” Bilbo had said when Frodo pointed it out to him.

            Bag End had now returned to its once-peaceful state.  Merry and Frodo were in their respective rooms, resting from the hard manual labor they had done these past few days.  (Cough)  I was in the front room, looking sadly about it.  As trying as it may have been to have Bombur here, his entertaining presence would be missed.  By myself, anyway.

            Bilbo walked in, carrying a hot cup of tea.  He sank down into his favorite chair and closed his eyes.  All was right in his world.

            Suddenly, our state of bliss was interrupted by a knock at the door.  Bilbo sat up, looked about in confusion, and sighed.

            “Who could it be?” he grumbled.

            Walking up to the door, he didn’t open it, but simply yelled through it.  “Who is it?”

            “Bilbo!  It is I, Gandalf!  I do say, let me in.”

            Bilbo studied the door for a moment.  Then, to my shock he turned around and walked back to his chair.

            “Don’t answer it, Pip,” he said.  “He’ll go away.”

            I shrugged and followed Bilbo back into the other room.

            Bilbo turned out to be right: Gandalf did go away.  I never met him either, until two years later at the infamous party that Bilbo threw.

            Throughout all my life, no matter what happened, I never forgot Bombur’s visit.  Many a time on the quest, Gimli would glare at me while I burst into laughter.  He never dreamed that when we were in Rivendell, while he was primly walking through the doors; I was remembering another dwarf who got stuck in the doors of Bag End.  Nor did Gimli dream that during those nights when I was on watch, I was contemplating various ways of stopping him from snoring.

            No, he never knew of those thoughts.  I kept them to myself, until now.

            And that, my friend, is the story of the first time I saw a dwarf.  Threes dwarves, actually: Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.  

            Also, a word of warning to you: unless you have a stout heart, large beds, and plenty of food, never let a dwarf come visit.  Bilbo did, and the trauma of it persuaded him to pass over the sea, to Valinor, where all traumas of dwarves visiting were cured.

            I will never forget Bilbo or Bombur.  And, hopefully, neither will you.

The End

~Thain Peregrin the First

~~~

Author’s Notes: Yes, the story is complete!  Hooray!

Epilogue

 ~~~

While reading a review by Arwen Baggins, I realized there were still a few loose ends.  Here they are, all tied up.

Enjoy!  And let me know what you think!

~~~

“Merry?  Are you almost done?”  Frodo called.

            “Almost Frodo...do you know how hard it is to scrub egg out of clothes?”

            Frodo stifled a laugh.  “Hurry up, will you?  I need that shirt tonight.”

            “If you need it so badly, why don’t you come in here and do it?”

            “It’s not my punishment.”

            Frodo heard Merry groan.  “I don’t see how the whole thing was my fault...Bilbo shouldn’t have left me here with Bombur.”

            “Ow!”  Pippin cried.

            Frodo looked over at Pippin.  “Are you all right, Pip?”

            Pippin stuck his finger in his mouth.  “Stupid needle,” he muttered.

            Bilbo walked cheerfully into the room.  “Almost done hemming those new sheets, lad?”

            Pippin sighed.  “Not yet...”

            “Be careful lad.  Wouldn’t want you to get bloodstains on those new sheets.”

            “Yes, Bilbo.”

            There was a knock at the door.  Bilbo went to answer it.

            “Frodo?”

            “Yes, Bilbo?”

            “Someone for you.”

            Frodo got up and went to the door.  Bilbo left as Frodo curiously looked outside.  No one was there.  Frodo stepped out a little farther, until finally he was outside.

            Thwack.

            Suddenly, Frodo was viciously pelted with marbles. 

            “Ow!”

            “Serves you right, Frodo Baggins!” cried Lily from the bushes.

            “But I didn’t—”

            Thwack

~~~

Author’s notes:  And with that, my story is complete!

            I want to thank the following people for their support and comments:

Anonymous

Arwen Baggins

Elenar

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iluvpip 

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Mysterious Ways

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Weaver of Words

Thank you thank you thank you!  *blows kisses *  Special thanks to Jackie, who reminded me to update!!

Sad it’s over?  Hop on over to my other story, Return from the Void.  See you all soon!