During the High Summer of 1423 SR, word came from Legolas Greenleaf that he would soon journey to his father's Realm and the esteemed hobbits of The Shire, Meriadoc, son of Saradoc, Peregrin, son of Paladin and Samwise, companion of the Ringbearer, would be most welcome to join him.

Merry and Pippin accepted with delight, although Sam was busy with re-planting the Shire and sowing seed of another kind. The cousins set off to follow in the footsteps of Bilbo and by late Autumn found themselves in Greenwood the Great, for so it was now called, and the company was amongst the best they had ever partied with...

Merry threw himself out of the circle of dancers with a laughing gasp and caught up his goblet, once more miraculously filled to the brim with the spicy golden wine he had loved since his first sip. His plate too was mysteriously filled again with his favourite dainties; mushroom puffs, tiny, perfect tomatoes, smoky sausages, strips of glazed venison, apple slices tasting as sweet as honey, creamy-flavoured nutmeats from the far south. 'It's Magick!' he thought, amazed, and he was quite serious.

He could hear Pippin’s enthusiastic singing mingling with the clear high voices of the spinning, dancing elves, though how his cousin knew the words Merry could not say. Truthfully he even seemed to know them himself, for he too was singing. Magick again!

His cousin danced by, arms outspread. Catching Merry’s eye, Pippin, in his element, laughed in sheer delight and abandon. The starshine and firelight reflected off his cousin’s radiant face as he stamped and whirled, and off the fair skin and bright jewels of the twirling elves. All of the dancers, Pippin included, or maybe especially Pippin, seemed as though they belonged to a different world entirely.

Merry laughed too, no less delightedly, knowing that he too belonged, for this night, to that other world himself.

Without warning his mind fled to the memory of Bilbo and his dwarves, excluded from an enchanted circle like this one so long ago. Merry had thought that Bilbo’s descriptions of the sounds and smells of festivities were merely an embellished part of the old hobbit’s tale but now, as one of the privileged revellers, Merry could only imagine how awful it had been, out there in the dark, starving for food and cheer.

Suddenly Merry became afraid that the edges of the circle might change, that he might abruptly find himself excluded and outside the warmth of the firelight. The Magick was suddenly too real for it to even be real, or perhaps just too real to be borne, at least, to Merry’s logical Brandybuck mind.

For one heart stopping moment Merry feared that his hosts would disappear, along with Pippin, who clearly belonged, with his song, and crown of flowers and autumn leaves, the ivy curled about his wrists and ankles. He, Meriadoc Brandybuck, would be the one stumbling through the forest in the dark, making mad dashes towards firelight and sounds of joy that would disappear when he drew near. The party would go on forever, and he would be forever lost in the dark, alone.

Suddenly the laughing dancers swooped from the circle, pulling him to his feet and back into the swirling throng. There across the circle was Pippin, Legolas near him, and others he had come to know. Merry forgot his fear and doubts as if they had never been. He tilted up his own crown from where it had fallen to cover his eyes and caught the offered hands of his neighbours, and threw himself full into that other world. This night, he, Meriadoc Brandybuck, was Magick!

When Merry and Pippin go on an adventure following in Bilbo's footsteps, Pippin manages to retrieve a treasure he was forced to leave behind on the Quest.

This little story was written for Llinos, my best friend in all the world, on the occasion of her birthday, and was sparked by a memory from the grand time we spent walking the Great Glen Way.

Stones

by Marigold

“Pippin, if we go any slower the ponies are going to fall asleep,” Merry complained.

The cousins were three days out of Rivendell and currently headed for the Misty Mountains, on a holiday of sorts. While growing up they had always talked eagerly of having a Grand Adventure one day, but when their time for Adventure actually came, there were numerous aspects which, to be honest, had left a lot to be desired. Now, four years after the Quest, they were having another go at it, hopeful that this one would be more along the lines of what they had expected. An invitation from Legolas to visit him at his family home in the Greenwood had started the whole thing.

Merry and Pippin had discussed it and decided that the perfect plan for their “proper” adventure would be to follow in old Bilbo’s footsteps. The first important decision that they made regarding the journey was that they would most definitely ride this time. Walking was all very well when one had fine weather and familiar country and convenient inns along the way, but on an extended adventure where one needed to carry all one’s belongings on one’s back it left much to be desired.

They had travelled first to Rivendell, this time happily without being chased by any Nazgûl. There they had spent a pleasant fortnight filled with feasting and song as honoured guests of Elladan and Elrohir, now the Masters of the Last Homely House. Merry had spent many pleasurable hours in the library and regretted that their visit had to be so short, but they did have a schedule of sorts to keep. And when one is such a seasoned traveller, he reasoned, Rivendell was really just down the Road from the Shire and he could always pop back when the mood took him.

The next leg was to cross the Misty Mountains, hopefully leaving out the parts of Bilbo’s journey that involved being captured by goblins, finding the odd Ring of Power, or running into a pack of wargs on the other side. After that Pippin was keen to pay a visit to Beorn, the shape-changer.  Merry wasn’t all that convinced that just dropping in unexpectedly to visit someone who could turn into a giant bear was particularly wise, and tried to convince Pippin that Beorn might not even be around anymore, Bilbo’s adventure having been so long ago. But Pippin was of the opinion that Beorn was probably very long-lived, being obviously magical, and Merry was rather afraid that his cousin would be proved right.

Then through Mirkwood, or rather the Greenwood, as it was now called. “Hopefully we’ll see some giant spiders, just like Bilbo did!” Pippin had enthused. Once again Merry was not quite so excited by the possibility. They would hopefully make it to the stronghold of King Thranduil alive (Merry felt that “unscathed” was going to be too much to hope for) and have a nice visit with Legolas. They planned to visit Dale and the Lonely Mountain and then to diverge from Bilbo’s course and head south, returning home the long way through Gondor and Rohan with a stop at the Glittering Caves to visit Gimli, and a side trip to see old Treebeard. They planned to be gone for a year and a day, the proper length for all adventures.

At this rate, thought Merry, it’s going to take us a year to get to the Mountains!

Since late yesterday afternoon Pippin had held them to a snail’s pace. They were currently riding in country that the Fellowship had passed through, and Pippin seemed to be peering at every rock, thorn-bush and gnarled tree, but if he was remembering specific events that happened at certain places he was doing better than Merry. Everything looked the same and there were no features that pricked his memory. It was all very desolate and cheerless, and the only thing that Merry remembered clearly about those first days was the biting cold and the uncomfortable feeling of having left the last safe haven behind and being terribly exposed and vulnerable to their enemies. 

Even now, when so far as Merry knew every malevolent creature for a thousand leagues was not searching for them with evil intent, he didn’t like this place. And thus his comment to Pippin about the ponies. Which Pippin ignored, being occupied in staring intently at a rather twisted but otherwise uninteresting tree to their left.

“Pippin!”

That got Pippin’s attention and he started, and then looked at Merry accusingly. “What did you do that for? You might have scared Lightning into bolting.” Lightning gave a snort, which sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“Lightning would probably welcome a good run, and so would Stybba. Why are you dawdling so, Pippin?”

Pippin assumed a rather guilty look and mumbled something that Merry couldn’t quite catch. “What was that?”

“I said, I’m looking for something.” Pippin blushed.

Well, whatever Merry might have thought Pippin was doing, looking for something hadn’t even entered into it. “What could you possibly be looking for out here?” Merry swept his arm across the desolate landscape. “There’s nothing here but rocks and thorn-bushes and trees.”

“That’s what I’m looking for. Well, not a thorn-bush. But a tree. A tree with a rock beside it.”

For a moment Merry was so taken aback that he caused Stybba to pull up. He looked around. Rocks. Trees. Trees with rocks next to them. Rocks with trees next to them. He stared at Pippin’s back for a few moments as Lightning plodded on, Pippin peering intently from side to side, then he urged Stybba to a trot and rejoined his oddly behaving cousin. “You know, Pippin – “

Pippin interrupted him. “Don’t tell me that there are rocks and trees all around us. I know that. I am looking for a certain rock and specific tree.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all right then.” Merry couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from his tone and Pippin frowned. “I’ll just finish this adventure myself then, and pick you up on the way back, shall I? Because there is no way that you’re going to find one particular tree in this forsaken place. It’s impossible, never going to happen.” Pippin frowned even more. Merry was about to ask exactly why Pippin was looking for one particular tree with a neighbouring rock out in the middle of nowhere when his cousin’s frown changed to a wide grin.

“There it is!”

Excitedly Pippin urged his pony into a trot and headed for a quite misshapen tree, notable for the large split down its middle and a tangle of gnarled roots that spread across the ground and twisted around a good-sized rock on the right. Merry followed, disbelieving his cousin’s luck. Not to mention impeccable timing. He didn’t doubt that this was the tree that Pippin was looking for; it was too distinctive for that. But that he had actually found it? The luck of the Tooks, he supposed. Merry trotted Stybba along to join Pippin, curious as to exactly why his cousin had spent the better part of two days staring at every tree within sight.

Pippin had already dismounted and was walking around the tree, peering at the roots and muttering to himself, finally dropping to his knees and thrusting one arm deep into a tangle. After a moment he gave a cry of delight and pulled out – a very grimy handkerchief.

“I’ve found it, it’s still here! Look Merry!”

Merry dropped to his knees beside Pippin. The grubby handkerchief had a ravelling ‘Pippin’ embroidered on one corner (there was no point in using initials in the Took household for anyone save Pippin’s mother) and was wrapped around something heavy. As Pippin worked to untie the knot Merry had a sudden recollection.

“Well, at least I know now why you borrowed my spare handkerchief. Which you never returned I might add. What do you have in there? And why do you have it in there?”

Both questions were answered as the knot came free and a cascade of pebbles and small rocks tumbled out. Humming to himself, Pippin began gathering them up and happily putting them in a pile.

Merry suddenly understood just what he was looking at and couldn’t believe it. Pippin had a habit of picking things up when he walked; curious stones, pretty leaves, anything that took his fancy. Aragorn had noticed one afternoon, and had made Pippin turn out his very full pockets. He had smiled to see the souvenirs that the lad had accumulated and was sympathetic but firm; Pippin couldn’t be weighed down by even a handful of stones, no matter how pretty they were. Pippin had reluctantly agreed to leave them behind, and Merry thought that he had just cast them aside but obviously such was not the case.

“I assume that you retrieved this hidden treasure because you are planning on bringing these rocks along with you on our trip? You didn’t just want to look at them I suppose?”

Pippin picked up a pinkish stone the size of a largish conker, looked at it happily and put it carefully in the pile. “Of course I’m taking them. I didn’t look and look and look for this tree just so I could see if they were still there and then leave them behind again.” 

Merry sighed. “These are rocks, Pippin. What did Aragorn tell you about carrying rocks on such a journey?”   

“Yes, I know, but we have ponies this time,” Pippin countered a bit defensively. “Lightning won’t mind, they aren’t that heavy, not for a pony.”

Pippin was probably correct; to the pony the little bundle wouldn’t make the least difference. But Merry decided he would try one more time.

“Look Pip, it was clever of you to think of putting these…well, rocks in such a good hiding place…”

Pippin’s face lit up even more. “I got the idea from Bilbo. Remember, he and the dwarves buried the trolls’ treasure and came back for it later?”

“Yes, Pip, but that was treasure. These are rocks.” Merry picked up an oddly shaped example, a dark grey with quartz around the middle. “It’s pretty, but it is just a rock.”  

“Oh no, Merry, it isn’t. It’s a memory.” He took the grey stone from Merry and looked at it with a faraway expression. “Do you remember when we crossed that very wide stream and made camp just this side? You and I spent the morning fishing with Boromir, and he dropped that big trout and sat down in the water when he tried to grab it?”

Merry smiled. He had forgotten that. “Yes, I remember now. But what does that have to do with a rock?”

“I picked it up just as Boromir lost his footing. The look on his face! I’ll always remember that day when I look at this. And this one,” he held up a perfectly round, glassy yellow pebble. “I found a whole pile just like this in those ruins where we made camp on First Yule. Legolas said that it was from a game and probably belonged to a child that had lived there a long age ago, when the place was alive and filled with people.”

Merry took the little stone and gazed at it with interest. “That’s rather sad.”  

Pippin nodded. “Yes, but every time I look at this, I will think of that child, and of Legolas, and it will be a good memory.”

He brought forth stone after stone, and Merry was entranced. Pippin’s descriptions of why and when he had picked up each one helped Merry to recall half-forgotten memories of a time that had been difficult and frightening, but was also a time shared with friends old and new in which they had laughed and learned and become a Fellowship.

Finally there was only one stone left, the pinkish one. “What about this one, Pip?”

Pippin glanced at it. “Oh, that’s just a rock.”

“Yes, but what does it remind you of?”

“Um…a rock?” He held out the makeshift handkerchief-bag and Merry dropped the stone inside. “It’s pretty, that’s all. I thought that I would give it to Pervinca when we got home.” 

Merry grinned. “Only you would pick up a pretty rock with the intention of carrying it hundreds of leagues so that you could give it to your sister.”

Pippin grinned back and shrugged. “Well, I wanted to take her something, and at that point it didn’t look like we were going to find any shops along the way.” He tucked the little bundle into his saddlebag and mounted. “Shall we be off, Merry? We can let the ponies run for a bit.”

“All right. Just a moment Pippin.” Merry bent down and selected a small greenish stone, almost a perfect flat oval, and put it in his pocket. He would never forget this day, but it was nice to be able to hold a memory in his hand…

 End