Author’s Notes: From the latest starter from Marigold: The hobbits see tumblers, acrobats, jugglers, and fire-eaters (or any combination thereof) at a street market or faire in Minas Tirith, and Pippin and/or Merry stumble upon a rare treasure. I rather needed to write this one, I suppose. It’s good to remember that nature often replenishes and rebuilds herself.

Disclaimer: The usual points — I don’t own these characters and make no profit from this story but feedback. Hint. Hint.

Every few steps, Merry watched as Pippin had to be pulled away as he froze in amazement at each new thing. The faire had been announced by the King to celebrate, he said, survival after darkness. Dancers and musicians seemed to appear out of nowhere to line the edges of the stone streets, and if some of them were a bit bedraggled in costume or their instruments worn and damaged, no one mentioned it.

"Cousin, you will never get to the main square of this level if you insist on admiring everything you see." Frodo laughed, grabbing Pippin’s hand and tugging him forward.

"But did you see…"

"Yes, I did see. We’ve jugglers at our own faires, you know."

Pippin shook his head. "But they cannot throw so high as Men in the Shire." He followed Frodo, green eyes wide with amazement as he took in the sight of a fire-eater perched on a low wall. The huge gout of flames made the hobbits step back a bit in startled wonder. "Faramir, is he truly doing that or is it illusion?"

The Steward chuckled and measured his stride to match that of the smaller hobbits. "I’ve never been quite sure, Pippin. My brother and I often wondered that, but we decided that trying it ourselves to find out might be less than safe."

Giggling, Pippin elbowed Merry in the ribs.

"Oi! What was that in aid of?"

"Doesn’t that sound rather familiar? Two boys who actually considered such a thing even for a moment?"

Shaking his head at their antics, Sam followed Frodo closely. "He has you there, Mr. Merry. It does sound like the two of you back home."

And as they reached the main square, a dazzle of color caught their eyes. It seemed as though any bright fabric left in the city was draping the surrounding buildings and walls. Acrobats tumbled across a stage in astounding patterns and moves, and Frodo watched them with childlike glee.

It was Pippin’s turn now, to cluck with exasperation and grab his older cousin’s hand. Tugging him over to where the others had found seats on a bench nearby, the young knight happily plunked down next to Frodo and dangled his feet over the edge.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo…" Sam said, clearly awestruck. "Have you seen such colors, outside of a garden, that is?"

"No, Sam. I think I have not." Frodo answered with a grin. "But your suggestions and help, along with those of a certain elf prince, are certainly making the gardens of Minas Tirith beautiful again."

"Indeed. The flowers are a marvel." Faramir said happily. "And since the White Tree blossomed, all the other trees in the city seem to draw strength from its presence."

"But where are the trees here?" Sam asked with a concerned expression. "I’ve only seen smaller plants and flowers on this level."

Faramir’s expression turned serious. "The damage here was too great. We shall have to replant if we wish to see trees here. It will take some time to ride out and find enough saplings to bring into the city without depleting the land nearby."

With a sudden exclamation, Merry dove under the bench.

"Er, Merry, what are you doing?" Pippin asked, raising an eyebrow.

His cousin’s muffled voice could be heard from just behind them. "I dropped the little box with the glass beads I bought for my mother. It must be here some…" And his voice trailed off into silence.

"Merry?" Frodo added his own concern. "Is something wrong?"

Merry’s curly head popped out from the end of the bench and the rest of him, somewhat dusty and disheveled, followed. "Faramir, if you help, do you think that we could pull this bench away from the wall?"

"Yes." Faramir’s bemused indulgence made them all smile. "My good arm is quite strong enough, thank you…if you’ll oblige me by standing up a moment, my friends… and…" He broke off speaking and crouched down until he knelt at a level with Merry. "Oh, my."

Pippin peeked over the man’s shoulder and gasped. "Faramir…it’s beautiful."

"So it is, cousin." Frodo added, as Sam joined them. The gardener bent down and ran his fingers gently over the tiny tree Merry had found. A seed must have been dropped or deposited there at some point, although by human, enemy destruction, or an animal, they would never know. It was merely a few inches tall, with a brownish stem and only four leaves as yet sprouting from the top.

"There is just enough dirt, sir, for the roots to have started. Ought we to move it someplace safer, my lord?" Sam inquired anxiously.

"If you think it will transplant well, Sam." Faramir replied softly, pushing his fingers into the soft dirt that had collected in the cracked corner between stones. "There is more than one garden here that could do with a tree. There isn’t room for it to grow here, but we’ll find it an open space to spread to the sun."

"So green." Merry mused, half to himself. "With all these bright colors in the square today, it somehow seems brighter than the banners."

"Newness is always the brightest, Merry." Frodo rested his hand on the younger hobbit’s shoulders. "And this sort becomes strength over time instead of fading."

Pippin suddenly leant his head against Frodo’s. "I miss the Party Tree, Frodo. So many things could have happened in the Shire. Do you think it’s there still?"

"We’ll be home, soon, Pippin, from what Aragorn said at supper last night. And being away so long, everything shall seem somewhat new, I think, upon returning."

"Right, then." Merry announced, after a moment of contemplation. "I’ll be sure that Legolas knows where this is, so he can move it later. With Sam’s help, I’m sure. And now that you mention it, supper on this day is fairly soon. Shall we sample some of the treats hereabout?"

Pushing his dark hair back from his face, Faramir straightened up. "That sounds delightful, Merry. It’s been some time since I did something like this, believe me." Pippin reached up to tug at the Steward’s tunic, and whispered something up at him. Startled, Faramir found himself brushing away the smudge of dirt that he’d gotten across his cheek. "It’s been a while since I managed to get dirt on my face outside of being a Ranger, as well."

Pippin grinned at him. "Then you’ll have to just regress along with the rest of us, my lord."

And carefully, they all pushed the bench back to cover and protect the sapling. Merry threw it one glance over his shoulder as he began to follow the rest into the whirl of the crowd. It would be able to stay strong until it had a safe home again, he thought, and then chased after Pippin into the music and joy of the faire.