What I am posting as Part II was written for Marigold's Challenge 19, and then went back and wrote Part I.  Yes, I am an odd one.

Disclaimer:  I don't own the hobbits, the good Professor Tolkien does. :-)

Characters: Bilbo, Frodo-still 31, Merry-18, Pippin-10, and introducing “Hattie” Blackthorn.

_{A/N: This story was actually written after Part II, Once Upon a Memory, at the request of Marigold. Characters and places are all the same, minus my O.C.s from the first story. This story reveals what happened in the woods prior to their arrival at “the pub”.}

_{Beta: Marigold}

PREQUEL TO A MEMORY

A small group of hobbits passed quietly under the boughs of tall oak trees deep inside the woods of Bindbole. The only sounds that echoed round them were the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves high in the Wedmath air. It was summer, but the sun had not shown her face since the morning before, weeping her displeasure in the form of misty rain. Each meal had been cold and cheerless, not being able to find dry kindling, thus, leaving the young hobbits a bit out of sorts.

Merry half listened to a tune Bilbo whistled as he led the way down the path, walking stick in hand. Frodo walked just ahead of him when Merry decided to take a look behind. He stopped, seeing the youngest of the four trailing a good 100 feet behind. Merry let out an exasperated breath, “I knew we shouldn’t have brought him along! Look--he’s lagging again.”

Both Bilbo and Frodo halted in their trek, turning to watch the wee lad struggle up the small incline. “My legs hurt,” whined Pippin, a bit winded. “I need to stop for a minute.”

“The last time we stopped you said your hands hurt, and before that, your thumbs hurt! You always need to stop, Pip,” said Merry, “that’s the trouble. You’re too young for this.”

“I am not!” shouted Pippin, his high-pitched voice shrouded by the mist. “I’m just a little tired--I’ll feel better after I’ve had a sit.”

“We’ll be in these woods forever unless Pippin finishes the last mile to camp,” said Merry to Frodo. “And all I want is a hot meal and a hot bath. This rain is driving me mad!”

Frodo gave a long sigh, the two youngest had been at each other all day long. “We’re all tired, Merry. I’ll settle this,” he said, then walked toward Pippin.

Pippin became worried. “What are you going to do?”

“Carry you,” said Frodo, then stooped down with his back to his youngest cousin. “Pig-a-back. Come on, up you go.”

Pippin clung to Frodo and then hopped onto his back. Frodo got a firm hold under Pippin’s scrawny legs then walked forward. As the twain passed by Merry, Pippin caught his cousin’s eye and stuck his tongue out at him.

They had walked on for another ten minutes when Bilbo unexpectedly stopped in the path. “Look! There’s a mother rabbit and her babies.”

Pippin peeked his head round Frodo’s, “Where? I want to see!” All of a sudden, Pippin had renewed strength; he squirmed out of Frodo’s grasp, landing on the wet ground.

At the sound of intruders, the rabbits all took off hopping then disappeared in the mist. Pippin ran after them.

“Pippin!” Frodo and Merry yelled in a chorus. “Come back!”

They could hear Pippin’s muffled answer, “I just want to see--” and then he shrieked. The sound of foliage, roots, and twigs breaking loose from the earth resonated on the nearby trees. Merry and Frodo, then followed by Bilbo, ran up to the brink of a steep ravine, listening to soft whimpering and then all out sobbing of an injured child. Merry instantly started down the hill.

“Wait! You’ll fall down with him!” said Frodo, grabbing his cousin’s arm. “Sam always puts rope into Bilbo’s pack.”

Bilbo quickly shrugged off his rucksack while Frodo began rifling through it until he found what he sought. Frodo held up his prize, “Rope!”

“I hope it’s long enough,” said Bilbo.

Frodo tied one end of the rope around Merry’s waist then let out just enough needed as the teen descended the gorge. Merry felt his way down until the misty rain engulfed him, however, his tough, leathery soles were no match for the slippery mud. He gave a shout as his foot gave way, sliding for much of the way down, feeling the sting of brambles scratch against his legs. He finally stopped not far from Pippin.

For his part, Frodo fell forward with Merry’s momentum, sliding part way in the mud until his body slammed against an old log. The rope continued to pull forward, burning his hands as he desperately tried to regain his hold. It finally stopped when Merry did.

“Hoy, Merry! Are you all right?” Frodo yelled into the mist. “Merry!”

“I’m all right,” a voice floated upward.

“Tie the rope round Pippin, then we’ll bring him up together,” instructed the tween.

Down below, Merry made his way toward the whimpering lad. “Pippin, I’m here. It’s Merry,” he said, hoping his voice would comfort the child. He soon saw a large boulder with a small bundle of hobbit-child at its base. He crawled toward Pippin on his hands and knees. “Pip, it’s me.”

As soon as Pippin felt his beloved cousin draw near, he cried more. “My knees hurt, Merry. And my wrist.”

Merry carefully took his dear friend in his arms, cradling him, then kissed his muddy cheek. “I’m here,” he soothed the child, “but we must get you back up there. It’s going to get dark soon.”

Hurting and smarting, Pippin was quite cooperative. “Ouch!” he’d cry if he tried to use his left hand for anything.

“I’m sure Bilbo will get you to a healer as soon as possible,” responded Merry as he set Pippin to ascend the hill. “I’m sorry I was a grouch before.”

Pippin sniffed, “I’m sorry I stuck out my tongue at you.”

After much toiling upward, Merry at last saw his dear cousin’s face. Frodo reached out to take Pippin’s upper arm rather than his hand or wrist, ignoring the burning sensation in his hands; it was more important to see to injured Pippin at the moment. “Is anything broken?” he asked Merry.

“Maybe his wrist,” replied Merry, then promptly lost his footing again. He slipped onto the same log that Frodo did, wounding his chin in the process.

Relieved to see Pippin standing on his own was heartening to Bilbo, but then he noticed the bloody cuts and abrasions on the lad’s knees. Even Pippin’s cheek was beginning to bruise. “Bolewood is yet two miles yonder,” he said, pointing southward. “We shall take turns carrying the lad.”

And that they did; for two miles they traded off carrying their wee burden, but mostly Frodo and Merry carried Pippin. Before long, they saw the twinkling of lanterns in many windows between the thinning trees, then rewarded by the sight of houses and the nearby sound of murmuring, hearty laughter, and mugs clinking together in salute.

“A pub,” said Frodo, too weary to shout his excitement. Merry, walking beside his dear cousin, said nothing. He, too, was exhausted beyond words; his arms felt weak.

Only Bilbo still had enough energy to pick up the pace to the porch. “Ollie’s Faunt?” he said, reading the sign over the door. “What the devil…?”

TBC

_{For Challenge 19 - yours is to include these four elements in your story:}

_{P. Injured or ill Pippin
I. An oliphaunt
P. A pub
P. Bilbo}

 ONCE UPON A MEMORY

“Do you have a room available?” asked Bilbo to the proprietor of the Inn. He indicated to the tweenager behind him holding a small lad in his arms. “My young cousin took a terrible spill down the ravine in the woods and now we also are in need of a healer. Is there a healer nearby?”

Here in Bolewood--a tiny hamlet on the south-western edge of the Bindbole Wood--the inhabitants saw very few stranger-hobbits. “Hattie Blackthorn,” the younger hobbit slowly replied, absently wiping a mug dry with the towel in his hand as he gaped at the strangers. “She lives half a mile from the miller.” The proprietor eyed the injured child still sniffling in the arms of the tween in addition to the other lad. All three lads were scruffy in appearance, mud caked on their wet clothes and in their curls. They looked a bit shaken and exhausted. “I have two rooms t’ let if ye care for ’em.” The gaping hobbit recovered from the surprise of seeing new faces then introduced himself. “’Name’s Ollie--at yer service.”

Ollie didn’t see the lips of the two older lads twitch nearly into a smirk; they merely looked at each other, too tired to laugh.

“Thank you, Ollie,” answered Bilbo, placing two silver pennies on the counter, “My name is Baggins--Bilbo Baggins, and I at yours. However, we must first see to the lad, if you please.”

“Aye,” nodded Ollie. “My wife Mira will help ye settle int’ ye rooms an’ show ye the bathin’ room.” He gave a sharp whistle into the pub portion of the inn; it rose high above the clattering mugs, pipe smoke, and low mumbling. “Hi! Tom! Run down t’ Hattie’s an’ tell ’er she’s needed by these nice folk.” He watched to make sure Tom did as was bid him, waiting for the village courier to grab his hat and cloak from the multitude of pegs near the door. Ollie gave a friendly smile, “No need t’ go trampin’ in the damp weather with a hurt child an’ all.”

Bilbo blushed, chuckling softly. “I fear that is all we’ve been doing for the past two days. We shall wait here for Mistress Mira.”

Not long after Bilbo uttered his last word, a bubbly, plump hobbit-matron appeared from behind the heavy curtains that served as a partition to their apartment. “I heard m’ name bein’ passed round, Ollie. What have we here?” She then spied Pippin in the arms of Frodo; blood oozing from cuts on both knees, various abrasions and bruises on his slender limbs and face. “Lawks! The poor laddie! Follow me quickly,” she said, leading the way into the back rooms. “I’ve not seen ye round here b’fore--where d’ ye come from?” Mira spoke over her shoulder as she led the way with a lantern. She figured a few quick questions on the way couldn’t harm anything. Moreover, after thirty-six years of marriage, she knew her husband would be wanting as much information as she could give him about the strangers.

“From Hobbiton,” Bilbo answered. He kept his answers short, hoping the nice, but nosy matron would get the hint that he liked his privacy.

“Don’t mean t’ pry,” said Mira politely, “but we don’t get a lot o’ visitors from other parts.”

Opening the door to their room, Mira set about turning down the bed linen while the young lad with light-brown curls kindled a fire in the hearth. She watched as the lad with dark hair laid the whimpering child upon the bed. Mira then stood for a moment surveying the looks of worry and exhaustion etched in their young faces.

Bilbo took his seat upon the bed to comfort Pippin and then somewhat properly introduced himself and the lads. Further formalities would be out until learning that Pippin had no broken bones.

“Come lads,” she said to the dishevelled teen and tween, waving them in her direction. “Ye’re probably wonderin’ where the bathin’ room is.” She opened the wardrobe to indicate where the fresh towels and flannels were kept. “I’ll have Bluebell bring ye a couple o’ Ollie’s nightshirts t’ wear until I can get yer clothes washed and dried.” Frodo and Merry kindly followed the matron out of the room to see where they should go later, however, only after the healer arrived and assessed their younger cousin would they indulge in a hot bath.

Not long after Mira left the “stranger-hobbits” to themselves the foursome heard footfalls out in the hall accompanied by a singsong high-pitched voice. “…fetch water for the kettle and have Mira set it to boil, if you please, Bluebell.”

Merry got up to answer the knock. “Hullo, laddie, is this the room where a Mr. Baggins is staying?” asked the lady. She looked about as plump as Mistress Mira although shorter in stature. This lady wore a red cloak wrapped about her, dampened from the misty rain, with a large brimmed hat upon her head. It was made from straw with a bright red sash fastened to it, then tied neatly into a bow under her chin.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Merry. “Are you the healer?”

“I am,” she replied, “Are you the injured child?”

“No, ma’am”, Merry said with a anxious expression. He opened the door wider for the healer to fully take in the situation.

While scanning the room inside, the healer responded, “My name is Emerald Blackthorn--folks call me ‘Hattie’ due to my fondness for hats.”

“Come in, please,” Bilbo called out from across the room. “The child is here on the bed.”

“There you are, lad!” smiled the healer, taking off her colourful hat and cloak. “I’ve been looking all over for you! I heard you and the ravine had a nasty run-in.” Frodo took her belongings, hanging them upon a wall-peg near the door.

Pippin immediately stopped whimpering, sensing the warm bedside manner of the healer.

“What is your name, son?” asked Hattie.

“Pippin,” the child sniffled. “My wrist hurts.”

“Let’s see about it then,” she said, taking the lad’s arm. Hattie felt up and down until Pippin gave a yelp. She then took the other arm, repeating her examination, and then did the same for his legs. After studying his eyes and face, she again took his wrist in her hands, kneading it until Pippin winced, crying out in pain.

“Can you move it?” asked the healer.

“Yes, but it hurts when I do.”

Still probing the area of his injured wrist, Hattie cocked an eye toward the lad. “You’ve broken this before haven’t you?”

Pippin looked for reassurance from Bilbo and his cousins then nodded. “A couple of years ago when I was eight.”

“You’re ten years old already?” Hattie asked in a comical gesture that made even Pippin smile. The healer never said that she would have guessed him to actually be eight years old, but that would indeed hurt the child’s feelings.

“I’ll be eleven next spring!” said Pippin, his green eyes sparkling with pride.

Hattie smiled, giving a wink to the rest of the hobbits. “Well, laddie,” she leaned in to Pippin as if speaking only to him, “even after the bindings come off, bones are still mending for a while. I don’t think you broke your wrist this time--you’re lucky. I believe you most likely upset it a little. I am going to leave you for a bit to prepare a special tea just for you,” she tousled his muddy curls, “and so that your family can clean up your cuts and scrapes.”

Hattie looked over to Bilbo sitting on the other side of the bed. “I shall return in half of an hour--enough time for this wee one to have had a hot bath.” She reached into her leather sack, taking out a small bottle. “Apply this ointment to his scrapes afterward. It might sting a wee bit,” she said to Pippin, “but I know I’m dealing with a very brave lad, aren’t I?”

“Sting?” said Pippin wide-eyed. For a moment, he actually thought to beg out of all this and take the chance of his wounds going septic. Nevertheless, there was something that he liked about this healer; she seemed…warm, speaking directly to him on his level, not to someone else about him--neither treating him like a faunt. “All right--maybe this time.”

Prompt to the minute, the four hobbits heard knocking upon their door. “Hullo again!” said Hattie, entering the room. “How is my young patient?” Behind her walked Bluebell bearing a tea tray with two teapots, five teacups, and enough sweet cakes for all. The serving lass set it upon the eating table then quietly left.

“Not so good,” answered a weepy Pippin. “That stuff didn’t just sting.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hattie, taking her place upon the bed while holding what appeared to be a pile of clean linen strips, “but you’re faring much better than some grown-ups that I’ve known.” She then proceeded to snugly wrap the child’s wrist with them. “Now, I want you to keep this on for me for a fortnight. Your mummy or dad might want your own healer to look at it, too, but I think--he or she?” she suddenly interrupted herself to prompt the child.

“She,” said Pippin, providing the correct gender. He winced as the healer wrapped the tender part of his wrist.

“I think she will agree with me.” Hattie smiled, “Are you ready for your special tea?”

“Why is it so special?”

“Because I put special ingredients into it so that you will take your ease and so that your wrist won’t hurt so much. So--are you ready?”

Pippin hesitated for just a second then nodded; his wrist and arm indeed were throbbing.

Hattie poured steaming dark liquid from the teapot into a teacup then handed it to the child along with a sweet cake. She smiled at the lad, “No good to be easy on an empty tummy!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Pippin thought the tea smelt sweet--much like honey, with a warm scent of cinnamon. He took the cup and carefully sipped. In the meantime, Hattie proceeded to smear more salve on his knees and wrap one that had acquired a deep scrape during his fall. Pippin sniffed in the aroma of more cinnamon.

Afterward, Hattie went over to the other two lads, previously covered in mud as well, but by now had taken a hot bath along with their younger cousin. She took Merry’s chin in her hand then lifted it just a tad.

“You went in after him, didn’t you?”

Merry blushed, “Yes, ma’am.” Hattie kneaded a bit of salve into a staunched open cut under his chin, then examined his legs, which were covered in bramble scratches. She did the same for these with the salve. Hattie spoke softly to Merry, “Is he your little brother?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Merry answered, “Yes.” He absently rubbed at a tiny spot between his thumb and forefinger. Frodo saw it, but said nothing.

Next, the healer approached Frodo. She took one of his hands in hers, upturning it. “You brought them both up with a rope, correct?”

Frodo gazed at both palms, reddened and marked with rope burns that would undoubtedly blister soon. “Yes.”

Hattie tenderly rubbed the salve into them and then bandaged his right hand, the one bearing the deeper burn. “I can tell that you love your brothers deeply,” she commented.

Frodo thought to correct her, but found he rather enjoyed the misunderstanding. “I do,” he replied with a smile.

Baffled, Pippin looked over to Bilbo, who ever so slightly shook his head and then signalled with a wink of his eye to put-off whatever question the child was about to utter.

When Hattie finished with Frodo, she went over to the eating table then poured tea from the second teapot and offered sweet cakes all around. She finally sat down in the settle near the hearth, taking a bite of her own delicious sweet cake. “The finest sweet cakes in the Northfarthing!” she said, then rinsed it down with a sip of her hot tea. “Compliments of Ollie’s Faunt.”

Merry and Frodo suddenly burst into laughter, much more lighter at heart now that Pippin was feeling better--and with no broken bones.

“I’ve never heard such a name for an inn!” said Merry, still laughing.

“We have the Green Dragon, Bywater has the Ivy Bush, but…” Frodo trailed off, also chuckling.

Merry continued for his cousin, “Not to mention The Oak Leaf Inn in Tuckborough and The Carriage Wheel in Bucklebury--”

“Or the Golden Perch in Stock!” Frodo chimed in, “but never have we heard of Ollie’s Faunt!”

Hattie marvelled at the lads who only minutes ago were anxious over their little brother. At seeing their amusement, even Hattie broke out in unrestrained laughter.

Bilbo only raised his eyebrow--wondering just how many pubs and inns these lads have visited…

With huge, innocent green eyes, Pippin looked to Hattie, “Does that mean Mr. Ollie has seen an oliphaunt? You know, *‘Grey as a mouse, Big as a house, Nose like a snake…’”

“No, no!” said Hattie, wiping away tears of laughter. “It means that poor Ollie named his pub soon after his only child was born. Her name is Heather Millstone, and she’s about three months away from bearing her first child. She married one of the local fellows last year, and for as much as she has begged her father he refuses to change the name of his establishment. She is his pride and joy…and always will be.”

A good deal more conversation had passed when Pippin gave a great yawn and then closed his eyes. Minutes later, teenaged Merry lay back upon the bed where he and Frodo sat, curled up and fell asleep. When Frodo’s eyelids grew heavy, Hattie decided that it was time to leave; her task was done for tonight. She would return after breakfast in the morning to have one last look at Pippin’s wounds.

* * *

Pippin dusted the crumbs off his surcoat then took another bite of the sweet delicacy. No good to show up for duty looking a mess.

“Good morning, Pip,” said Merry, joining his dearest friend at the table. “Those look tasty.” Seeing a platter full of the sweet rolls, Merry reached for one. “This will do until we get a proper breakfast.”

“The server is brining it any minute,” said Pippin, taking a draught of his tea. “Merry…” he began, “Does the taste of these rolls remind you of anything--or anyone?”

“Mmm!” Merry responded, “Cinnamon!”

“But whom does the cinnamon remind you of?”

Merry thought for a long moment then a slow smile appeared on his lips. “Hattie!”

“Yes!” said a gleeful Pippin. “As soon as I tasted the spicy-sweet flavour, I instantly remembered the big straw hat and red sash.”

“I remember her more for the enormous blue hat she wore the next day,” Merry laughed. “It actually had a bluebell flower sticking out of the green sash.”

Now Pippin laughed, “And Ollie’s Faunt!”

“Sam and Frodo saw one on their way to Mordor,” Merry said with a knowing look.

“I want to see one in the wild, not in battle,” said Pippin, suddenly feeling adventurous again.

“Perhaps another time--when duty isn’t calling us.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Pippin. “I know--let’s go visit Ollie’s Faunt when we get back to the Shire. I should like to see old Hattie again.”

“As should I,” said Merry, “but first things first. Let’s get through our duty today.”

“All right.” Reluctantly, Pippin returned to the present, however, he set his mind to visit the Northfarthing upon their return…and Ollie’s Faunt.

The End