It's me again and this is the disclaimer in case you'd like to skip this part and move on down to the next paragraph. That part is actually a short opening journal entry and you have probably already guessed what this paragraph says. These are not my characters and I am not making any money on any of this. Meriadoc Brandybuck and all of the other characters that appear in this journal are the creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. I am just entertaining myself by borrowing them.


Thank you for reading!

G.W. 08/31/2006






From the Journal of Meriadoc Brandybuck in
First entry (and quite possibly the only entry.)


I never thought that I should find it at all useful to keep a record of the events of my life. In point of fact, I don't know if I will find much to write about as very little of interest seems to happen to me. I have the usual adventures that most Hobbits have but they are hardly note worthy in the way that my cousin, Bilbo Baggins' adventures were. I suspect that my journal will spend a great deal of time sitting on my writing desk collecting dust. The journal was a Yule gift this year from Fredegar Bolger and it is a very handsome volume indeed. It has a brown leather cover and it is quite heavy for something that contains only blank pages. I am convinced that Fredegar's mother selected this gift because poor Freddy seemed as surprised by it when I unwrapped it as I was. It was quite comical. There we both sat looking down at it amid the wrappings as if it were some sort of strange animal, which might leap up and bite one of us. Frodo came to the rescue and announced, "What a thoughtful gift, Fredegar. I am very certain that Merry will enjoy it." So far I have enjoyed looking at it. I also enjoyed placing it on the top of my writing desk at various angles and stepping back to admire it. I do like the way it makes the desk look. From looking at the journal one might think that I spend time writing out important essays. Still I think that Frodo could have made better use of this journal. He enjoys writing and has kept a journal since long before he moved to Bag End to live with Bilbo. This is currently the only entry in my journal unless of course you consider the drawing of a fat, rather lopsided sheep who appears to be eating an apple that Pippin drew on the last page to be an entry. I keep meaning to tear that page out but for some reason I can't seem to part with it. The sheep makes me laugh and there is always the possibility that I can use the drawing to torment Pippin when he is older. Well, it is obvious that I am out of things to write about since I am reduced to describing the artwork of my younger cousin so I will end this entry here and position my journal on the desk again.

This entry recorded here by Meriadoc Brandybuck at Brandy Ball in Buckland, The Shire

Splendor in the Grass
written for Waymeet Summer Blockbuster Challenge
rated G
Beta by Marigold

“Splendor In the Grass”

From the journal of Meriadoc Brandybuck

I never would have found it if it hadn’t been for Pippin. I am completely certain of that fact though I would hesitate to admit this to him. Sometimes things happen in very strange ways and I believe this was one such event. There is magic in the Shire even though we Hobbits often prefer to ignore it. There are also magical places.

My older cousin, Berilac and I were playing a game that I had invented. I called it ‘Follow Pippin’ and if the adults had known what I was doing I suspect that I’d not have been allowed to mind Pippin anymore. The game even frightened Berilac on some level. It was risky. I could never predict how it might turn out and that was precisely why I enjoyed it. I was twelve and when you are twelve things look altogether different than they do once you’ve been around a bit longer. I look back on this little game of mine now and shudder.

Some might find it difficult to believe but there was a time when Peregrin Took was not as talkative as he is now. In fact he didn’t bother wasting his time explaining things, he just did them. This was partly because he was unable to make most folks understand what he was saying. Language skills came to Pippin a bit slower than they do to most children. I believe that is why he talks so very much now. He is making up for lost time. Most little ones speak well enough to make themselves understood by the age of three, no later than three and a half. Pippin was nearly five before his chattering began to make sense to anyone save his parents, Pervinca and myself. I am his older cousin. I have always known what he is saying. We are just connected in that way.

My game was possible because, though Pippin was not a skilled conversationalist, he was an excellent walker. He walked early, climbed early, ran early, and moved with the ease of a six-year-old by the time he was three. I took full advantage of this fact by inventing my game. I would make sure that we were far enough away from the adults and then I would turn Pippin loose. I would even give him a slight head start and then I would follow him to see where he might lead. It was utter madness; to release an active, fearless, little lad but when I was twelve I considered it an adventure. Pippin adored the game because it was the only time that he was allowed to go where he pleased.

The adults in Pippin’s life soon learned that he was quick and fearless. He could be out of sight in no time. It was for this reason that my mother had stitched tiny bells into the hem of Pippin’s trousers. This allowed her to hear where he was if he managed to get away from her. All of the adults held fast to Pippin’s hand or carried him or kept him in his pram. It was for his safety and their sanity. I was not bothered by allowing Pippin a free rein. I was certain that I could catch him if need be. Ah, the confidence of a lad of twelve!

On this particular day Pippin had managed to exhaust all of the adults, his older sister Pervinca, and several other little children that he’d been playing with before Berilac and I came along. Seeing us as fresh replacements, my father had handed Pippin to me and said, “Here, Merry-lad. Entertain your cousin for a bit.”

Berilac had been less then thrilled by this. He didn’t want to mind the little imp and he didn’t want me to be tied up with this activity either. I, on the other hand, took the wiggling child knowing that I was about to introduce Berilac to my little game.

Fifteen minutes later, out of sight of the adults, I put Pippin down and off he went. Berilac was stunned at first but he got into the spirit of the game rather quickly. Berilac was fourteen but that is still a long way from the age of reason for Hobbit lads. The game delighted him almost as much as it pleased Pippin. We followed along at a rather risky distance as Pippin trotted ahead of us stopping here and there to pick up rocks or leaves or sticks that drew his attention. He would put some of these into his pockets, toss others aside and then move on. Once in a while something that he picked up would look good enough to eat and I would have to dash over and snatch it from Pippin. I would speak sternly to him. “Don’t put that in your mouth! If you put anything into your mouth I will take you home and give you to Pearl!”

That was my sternest threat. Pearl was vigilant. Pippin had no hope for adventure or escape when he was with his oldest sister. He might not have been able to speak his mind properly but he understood every single word that was said to him. His lower lip trembled a bit and he looked up at me and said one of the few words over which he had proper command, “No!”

“Then don’t put nasty things into your mouth!” I said. He then smiled brightly and took off like a fox being chased by a dog. Berilac and I continued to follow at our own pace.

I was born in Buckland and I had lived all of my twelve years at Brandy Hall right in the heart of Buckland and so I thought that I had knowledge of every place within its bounds but I was about to get a surprise. For some reason known only to him, Pippin stepped off of the path that we were on and moved between two large elm trees. Berilac and I quickened our pace and followed.

Just as we cleared the trees, a tiny, overgrown path became visible. Pippin was just ahead of us moving down the path as if he knew exactly where he was going. “Where are we?” Berilac asked. “I’ve not seen this before.”

“How should I know?” I responded with a casual shrug. “That, dear Cousin, is the interesting part of this game. I never know where Pippin will lead.”

The path dipped suddenly and Pippin sprawled on his face in the dirt. “Now he’s going to cry!” Berilac moaned as we hurried over.

I helped Pippin to his feet and took stock of him. His knees were scraped and his little hands were red and dusty but he looked basically unharmed. “There now, you’re all right,” I said smiling at him.

“He’s going to cry, Merry,” Berilac sighed as Pippin puckered his mouth and made a whimpering sound.

“No, he’s not,” I said. I turned to Pippin who was about to prove me wrong and spoke firmly. “You are not going to cry. If you cry then I will have to take you to Pearl.”

Pippin wiped one grubby hand over his eyes and bit his lower lip. He sniffled.

“Pippin, I mean it. There’s no reason to cry. You’re fine. It’s only a bit of dirt,” I said.

Pippin pointed to his knees and sniffled again.

“That will be fine too. It’s only a scratch,” I said.

“Merry?” Berilac frowned.

I turned to him and made a face. “If he cries it will be because you can’t hush up about it.”

“He looks like he’s going to cry and he did fall,” Berilac pointed out.

“He won’t cry,” I said standing to face Berilac. As I did this, Pippin let out a whoop of delight and we turned to see him bouncing on his toes and pointing toward a meadow.

This was a meadow that I had never seen before. Just at the end of this little path a meadow opened up and stretched out in a wide oval surrounded by trees. The meadow’s grass was up to my shoulders. It was apparent that no one had been here in a long time. This place felt ancient somehow. The tall grass waved in the breeze and wild flowers dotted the field adding splashes of color here and there. The sun filled the sky above us and the meadow sparkled with a fresh glow of summer. Pippin danced about in a circle humming something or other as Berilac and I looked at the meadow.

“Big gas!” Pippin said laughing and then proceeded to charge into the meadow.

“What did he say?” Berilac asked.

“He said, big gas but what he meant was big grass,” I explained patiently. Berilac should have known what the child meant. In my disgust with Berilac’s lack of intelligence it was I who failed to see our problem. Apparently my older cousin wasn’t the only one with a lack of intelligence.

“Where’d he go?” Berilac asked.

I whirled around and realized that I couldn’t see Pippin anywhere. I could hear him laughing but I couldn’t see him. The ‘big gas’ that came to my shoulders was high above my little cousin’s head. The second that Pippin had plunged into the meadow he had been lost from view!

I swallowed hard and listened to the sound of a tiny Hobbit singing and laughing as he ran through the meadow. “Pippin!” I shouted, my voice tense with worry.

“Fi me!” he shouted back and the laughter echoed madly. For some reason it was impossible to tell where sounds were coming from in the meadow.

“No! You come here right now!” I shouted. Pippin was inviting me to ‘find him’ in all of this vast sea of grass and I was suddenly learning that there was an overwhelming drawback to my little game. Sometimes things could get out of control. I was dealing with Pippin after all. The sound of tiny tinkling bells reached my ears as a further insult.

“Fi me, Merwy!” Pippin sang out. “Fi me, fi me, fi me!”

Berilac and I exchanged panicked looks. “Now what?” Berilac asked.

“Don’t just stand there! Help me find him!” I growled and the two of us plunged into the high grass in search of a laughing child.

For nearly two hours Berilac and I searched the meadow without success. I could hear Pippin running thanks to the tiny bells on his trousers but I couldn’t locate him. That was bad enough but when the bells stopped ringing and his squeaky little voice stopped inviting me to find him I was filled with a fear that I had never experienced. I had lost Pippin!

“I don’t hear him, Merry!” Berilac shouted.

“Neither do I,” I called back.

“What do you suppose that means?” Berilac asked.

“How should I know?” I nearly shouted. I didn’t want to think of the possibilities. Pippin could be hurt and unable to call for help, he could have left us in the meadow searching for him and be on his way back to Brandy Hall or worse yet, he could be running into the woods that surrounded the meadow! Thankfully this meadow was not near the Old Forest and so these were just ordinary trees that were standing guard about its edge but a four-year-old could still get very lost in these woods. A crushing pain filled my chest and it became hard to breathe. I cupped my hands to my mouth and began to shout, “Pippin! Pippin! Pippin, answer me right now!”

It did no good. If I had not been in such a state I would have realized that it was pointless. Pippin was not always good about answering or coming when called. If he was involved in something that he felt was more interesting or important then he would simply ignore me. The child was not well behaved!

Berilac was panicking too now and both of us were charging around the meadow yelling, making nasty threats one minute and pleading desperately the next. I bent forward and combed the grass with my hands. It was like searching for a single pea in a pot of vegetable stew!

Exhausted and frightened nearly out of my mind I gave up and sank to the ground amid the grass. I could just imagine my mother shouting at me for this when I returned home without my little cousin. I could see Pippin’s mother crying. Everyone was going to be angry with me and suddenly I was angry with myself. What had I been thinking? Why had I ever turned him loose? He was a tiny babe and I had lost him in all of this grass. I was a dreadful older cousin. I was, I was feeling something tickling my foot.

I turned and looked down and there was a small finger rubbing against my toe. Stretched out on his back, sound asleep in the soft grass, was Pippin! I was sitting right beside him! I looked in amazement at the tiny lashes that framed his closed eyes, and the perfectly formed little finger, which had curled itself about my toe and was holding on firmly. His little chest rose and fell with each, deep, relaxed breath and he sighed contentedly and stretched his toes in his sleep. His tiny bow-shaped mouth was open just a bit and his little hands twitched with a dream, though not an unpleasant one, if his completely relaxed state was any indication.

I sat there with tears of relief streaming down my cheeks knowing that I would never play ‘Follow Pippin’ again. The little rogue was entirely too important to me and I realized that I simply couldn’t risk losing him. Oh, Pippin would be angry the next time I had charge of him because I would most likely make Pearl look neglectful in my newfound zeal to be a proper child minder. Peregrin Took was going to be on a very short lead in my presence from this moment onward.

“Merry! Where are you? This isn’t the time for games!” Berilac shouted.

“I’m over here,” I called hoarsely. For some reason I had forgotten that Berilac was with us. “It’s all right now.”

“Over where?” he demanded and I realized that he couldn’t see me at the moment thanks to all of the tall grass.

I smiled and then, being careful not to disturb Pippin by moving my big toe, I stood. “I found him. He’s asleep in the grass!”

Across the field near the path that had led us to this place, Berilac sagged with relief. “I’m going back to the Hall!” he said.

“Go on,” I said. “I’ll bring him.” I then was quick to say, “Don’t tell anyone about this!”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Berilac shouted. He turned and left quickly. I could tell that my older cousin had tolerated about all of this nonsense that he could.

I squatted back down just as Pippin yawned and blinked sleepy, green eyes at me. “Merwy? Oo fi me!”

“I did find you,” I said. I couldn’t help but return the smile that he gave me as he crawled into my lap and put his arms around my neck.

“Eat,” he announced. This was another of his good words.

I stood and carried my little cousin out of the meadow.

Pippin and I have returned often to the meadow but I don’t believe that Berilac has ever been back again. Sometimes I think that only Pippin and I belong there and so only the two of us can find it. We don’t mention it to anyone else even though this is nothing that we’ve agreed upon verbally. I don’t ever recall telling Pippin not to speak of the meadow; I just know that he won’t. Neither will I, for I suspect that if I were to tell anyone about it then we would not be able to find it again. It is far too splendid a place to lose. It is but one of the many secrets that I share with Pippin.

As I record this little tale here in my journal, I am soon to be thirty. I do not know if anyone will ever read this but if they do they will find no map or instructions on how to reach the meadow with its high grass and colorful flowers. I think that only those meant to find the meadow may do so. Pippin was meant to find it and I was meant to share its beauty with him. My cousin Berilac just happened to be there but I doubt that he could return now. I think that Berilac had that one chance to see the meadow. It is just too bad that he had to spend it looking for Pippin. I would even venture to say that Berilac doesn’t remember any of this. I have never asked him about it, but I suspect that he forgot the entire thing before he reached the Hall that day.

Sometimes I go to the meadow by myself and I find that Pippin has come there ahead of me. There is magic there. It is not always good magic but it is magic all the same. Late one night Pippin and I were forced to flee from the meadow. I don’t know what else was there on that night but something was. I remember feeling a cold chill and being certain that we were in mortal danger. We could hear something moving quickly through the grass in our direction. It pursued us to the edge of the trees and then turned back, but not without leaving its mark upon me, both physically and emotionally. I was twenty-five on that occasion and Pippin was seventeen. We do not go to the meadow after dark now. I think our meadow belongs to someone or something else at night and I have no desire to encounter the evening occupant again.

I wonder sometimes if we are still in the Shire when we are in the meadow. Pippin thinks the meadow is Elvish in some way. He says that the Elves left it hidden behind the trees and that we found it by some lucky accident. Frodo once told me that there are places the Elves can go that we do not see and so Pippin’s theory makes some sense at least. He supports it by reminding me that on three occasions when he and I came to the meadow we were unable to find it. The first time I thought we had lost it forever but when we returned the next day we had no problem at all locating the grassy meadow with its sweet smelling flowers. Pippin says that during the times that we were unable to find the meadow the Elves were using it and wouldn’t allow us entrance. I don’t know if I believe that exactly. I only know that when the meadow is gone, there is no finding it. This should frighten me but surprisingly it doesn’t. If Elves do visit the meadow from time to time then under the bright sunshine it must not be an evil place. I can’t imagine creatures, such as Frodo describes Elves to be, involving themselves with anything evil.

Still, whatever it is that dwells here at night is not Elvish at all. I used to worry that we might return here in the daylight to find that the evil presence was waiting for us but I have since decided that it cannot abide here when the sun is out. And besides, Pippin has told me that it is so, and I believe him.

In the daylight, for two hobbits with a picnic lunch or some other form of entertainment, the meadow is a splendid place. The high grass waves in the breeze as the sun kisses it with warmth. The smells of fresh green plants, fragrant flowers and warm earth fill the air about us and Pippin and I enjoy a few stolen hours of magic. I do not understand how this place has come to be or why we are allowed to enter it nor do I doubt its magic. This is a place of splendor.

I am certain that there are others within the Shire though this is the only one I know. It makes me wonder why anyone would ever dream of leaving. There are adventures and secrets aplenty for Hobbits right here in our little country. We Hobbits are blessed to be allowed to share in that. Walking trips with Frodo are fine but I can see no reason to journey outside of the Shire. Perhaps one day, I will change my mind, but for the present, I am satisfied to spend the occasional day in the meadow with Pippin.

This entry recorded here by Meriadoc Brandybuck at Brandy Hall in Buckland, The Shire

The End

GW 07/16/2006

Hi,

This is just a quick note with a bit of an explanation. This story was written in response to a request from Marigold who, after reading "Splendor in the Grass a story that I wrote for the Waymeet Summer Block-buster Challenge, sent me a very Pippish email asking me to write about the ‘creature in the meadow’ from “Splendor in the Grass”. Her suggestions and lovely Beta are so much a part of this story that I feel as if she should be listed as co-author as well as Beta.

Hope you enjoy it and my thanks to Marigold for all of her help!

GW 11/29/2006

Authors: Grey_wonderer and Marigold
Beta and plot bunny and lots of wonderful ideas by: Marigold
Rating: PG
This takes place when Pippin is 17 and Merry is 25.

The Unwelcome Visitor

From the Journal of Meriadoc Brandybuck

Pippin is asleep now, though how he can manage such a thing after the evening that we’ve just had is beyond me. I am safe in my own room and yet I keep looking over my shoulder. The fire in the hearth burns brightly and two lamps are lit but still I imagine a darkness creeping up on me from the far corners. I can hear Pippin’s soft, even breathing. The sound should comfort me but just now everything makes me nervous. I have never been so utterly terrified.

I am glad that this is my personal journal and that no one else shall have need to read it because my hand is still shaking as I write this. I had thought to wait and record this particular entry after I’d had a chance to calm down but for some reason I feel compelled to get the events of the evening down on paper and so I begin.

It was rather late for a walk to the meadow but Pippin and I were both a bit bored. I had thought that we were walking aimlessly with no real destination in mind but I soon discovered that we were, indeed, nearing our special place, our hidden meadow.

The meadow itself is very hard to explain so I will simply say that when I was twelve and Pippin was but four we stumbled upon it. We visit the meadow when we can and until tonight, I have never been frightened there. Tonight was different. As I record all of this in my journal I realize that I may never want to return to the meadow again. I don’t know how Pippin will feel about that but as I see it, the meadow is unsafe.

It was just after supper but still light and Pippin was restless. He was pacing about the parlor and coming dangerously close to knocking something breakable over with his every move. He is seventeen and sometimes it seems as if he has no sense of balance at all. He is awkward and impulsive. The two are a dangerous combination in a parlor filled with china and glass keepsakes. My mum, who guarded these fragile possessions throughout my own awkward period, was becoming more and more tense by the second. Finally, when I had to making a rather splendid diving catch in order to save a dainty bud vase from certain doom, I decided to take Pippin outside for a while. I am quite sure that my mum uttered words of thanks under her breath as we left.

Pippin and I simply started walking and it wasn’t until we had nearly reached the meadow that I knew exactly where we were going. I have no idea if Pippin knew because I didn’t ask him. At the time I was pleased by the fact that we were going to the meadow. Pippin had been visiting for nearly a week now and this was our first trip to the meadow since he’d arrived carrying a large leather satchel which bulged at the seams, his fishing pole, his rucksack, a book of adventure stories that Frodo had given him, a sack full of his mother’s homemade ginger cookies and his favorite hat. Pippin has a tendency to pack as if he might be staying forever. I blame this on the fact that his older sisters have taught him to pack. Most lads don’t bring enough with them but Pippin packs like a lass. I tease him about it when I want to set him off.

As we reached the meadow Pippin gave a yell of delight and ran out into the tall grass at full speed. I remember laughing and following him. I chased him, allowing him to best me for a time and then easily caught him and tackled him. We wrestled about in the grass with me pinning him, releasing him and then pinning him again until both of us were breathless. Pippin is much younger than I am and painfully thin so I have to be careful not to hurt him when we wrestle. He thinks he is much stronger than he is and that is partly my fault for holding back like I do. Some might think that this is unfair of me but I like to think that I am helping to build his confidence. Pippin, who is very prideful when it comes to his physical abilities, would be angry at me for not giving my best in these contests but I simply haven’t the heart to let him know how out-matched he truly is.

We caught our breath and then decided to sit beneath our favorite tree and read for a while. Pippin had brought along that book which I mentioned earlier. We searched around in the high grass and found his rucksack with the book neatly tucked in among some food supplies that we had taken from the kitchen on our way outside. Pippin had tossed the rucksack off when we’d begun to wrestle.

The meadow is ringed by trees but Pippin and I have a favorite one. It is a large oak. It looks older than the rest of the trees and it gives the best shade. It also has the best trunk for leaning against. It is wide enough for both of us to rest our backs against comfortably. We settled ourselves against the tree and I spread out our food while Pippin opened the book to a story that he enjoys and began to read aloud.

It was actually Frodo who taught us to enjoy reading in this fashion. Frodo likes to take a book with him wherever he goes and he enjoys reading aloud to others. At some point, I can remember begging Frodo to let me read the story to him. Ever the patient older cousin, Frodo allowed me to do the reading though I was still a beginner and not terribly sure of myself. To my surprise, Frodo suffered though an entire poorly read chapter before suggesting that it was his turn to read. I didn’t know it at the time, but Frodo’s patience was making me a better reader. It built my confidence and improved my skill all at the same time. The best thing about it all was that I thought I was merely having fun. Later, when Pippin had learned to read, Frodo allowed him a turn also. I can remember that I was not nearly as patient as Frodo had been and I kept correcting Pippin and urging him to hurry. I even told him that he was spoiling the story for all of us with his poor reading. Ever the determined, competitive sort, Pippin was not deterred by my rudeness. He persisted and eventually became a much better reader than I.

Pippin was reading each of the characters in the story with a different voice. All of them still sounded like Tooks but they all sounded like different Tooks. The midsummer sun was still in the sky and the meadow was still bright and cheerful. I could hear birds singing off in the distance and see colorful butterflies fluttering among the meadow’s many flowers. Pippin read on while I sat with my eyes closed leaning against the oak and eating an apple from the rucksack.

I must have dozed off at some point in the story. The last thing I can recall was that the brave hero was sneaking quietly into the woods to rescue his sister who was being held captive by a band of river pirates. When I opened my eyes I saw at once that it was now dark. Not just dark, but pitch black in fact. I looked into the sky but I could see no sign of any stars nor could I see the moon. At the time I assumed that this meant it was about to rain. I stretched and looked over to my left for Pippin. He was also sleeping. He lay on the damp grass with his book still open. For some odd reason, the grass beneath Pippin seemed to be glowing. The glow was not at all a pleasant glow like the light from one’s parlor fireplace. It was a rather sickish looking yellow. It made me nervous but I was still in the process of coming fully awake and so I didn’t pay proper attention to this odd light. The evening dew had fallen and so everything was slightly wet and there was an unseasonable chill in the air. I can remember thinking that we were in trouble with my parents because we had failed to check in with them since supper. I wish this had been our only problem.

I yawned and stretched and then took one foot and nudged Pippin who jerked awake. “What?” he asked sitting up quickly. I remember laughing at him because he looked so confused.

“We’ve taken a nap out here and when we get home, we’re going to have some explaining to do, Peregrin Took,” I said.

He looked about us and frowned. “It’s too dark here, Merry,” he said and he actually slid over closer to me. His voice sounded like that of a frightened ten-year-old and I may have laughed again.

“It’s night time you little ninny,” I said. “Naturally it’s dark. Now find your rucksack and let’s start for the Hall before my mum sends out a search party.”

“They’d never find us,” Pippin whispered.

I shivered a bit and this was my first moment of fear. I knew he was right about that. You see, I don’t think anyone can find this meadow except Pippin and me. I know exactly how that sounds. It sounds completely daft and if anyone else had said this to me I would have been ready to have them carted off to a healer. Still, I know it to be a fact just as I know that my father is the Master of Buckland and that Pippin hates thunderstorms. I felt Pippin push up against my side with the book pressed to his chest just then. “There’s something in here,” Pippin whispered.

“Don’t play games now, Pip,” I whispered back.

“There is something here, Merry,” Pippin whispered. “I don’t think it likes us much.”

Sometimes Pippin knows things that he shouldn’t know. It’s a Took ability. Not all Tooks have it but those that do are not to be ignored. My mum has it, Bilbo Baggins’ mum, Belladonna Took Baggins is said to have had it, and they say that Everard Took has it too. Pippin has it. It comes as naturally to him as eating comes to most Hobbits. He doesn’t make a grand display of it or treat his talent as if it makes him important nor does he offer to explain it but when he says something like ‘I don’t think it likes us much,’ I know that he is reciting a fact even if I have no idea how he came by his knowledge.

“What doesn’t like us?” I whispered.

“I don’t know that part. It won’t let me see,” Pippin whispered. He shivered and I put my arm around him in an effort to settle him. “It’s here in the meadow now but I don’t know where it is or what it is, only that it is.”

“We need to go,” I whispered firmly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you have any idea if we can get out of the meadow through the trees behind us, or do we have to go out the way that we came in?”

“There is only that one way out,” Pippin said quietly as if I should know this already but I didn’t. Sometimes Pippin forgets that I do not have very much of the Took Sight. He assumes that if he knows something then I must have known it first because I am older. He isn’t always right about that.

I looked across the vast, dark meadow to the point at which we entered it and took a deep breath. I realized that the eerie yellow light was covering all of the meadow, shooting up through the grass as if it was coming from the very earth itself. The light was making it easy to see in the dark meadow but it was unnatural and it worried me terribly. The meadow had never looked so large to me. I had never fully considered its size until that frightening moment. I was not sure if either of us could out-run whatever it was that Pippin knew was there but it was clear that we would have to do so. I put my hand on Pippin’s arm and said quietly, “Put the book down underneath the tree, Pip. You can’t run as fast if you have it in your hands.”

“But Frodo gave it to me,” Pippin whispered, the regret plain in his voice.

“We’ll try to come back for it later on but right now, if Frodo were here I am sure he’d agree with me on this, Pip. Put the book down,” I said.

“My rucksack is here somewhere,” Pippin whispered. “If I can find it then I-“

“We are leaving them both behind,” I said, meaning it.

Pippin wanted to argue the point but he could see that I was right.

“What’s that smell?” I asked suddenly. I could smell something foul but I couldn’t quite place the odor. It was a bit like rotting fish but different in some way. Pippin didn’t answer me. He gave his beloved book a last squeeze and gently placed it underneath the tree just next to him. “I’m a’feart Merry,” he whispered.

“Me too,” I said. I was not about to lie to him in that moment. Not when both of us might have been speaking our final words to one another. He is only seventeen but he was still entitled to the truth. I sensed a change in the air and Pippin’s shoulders tensed up as behind us we both felt a strange heat at the same time, faint at first, then growing hotter. “We have to be fast,” I said. “Pippin, you have to run like you’ve never run before and you can’t look back no matter what you hear, do you understand?”

He nodded. I knew that we must not see whatever it was that was in the meadow with us. Sometimes, though it is very rare, I have a bit of the Tookish Sight myself. I never enjoy the experience because things have to be extremely dire for me to experience it. My Sight isn’t like Pippin’s. Sometimes he knows something casual like who will be coming to visit or what we are having for tea. Sometimes he knows where lost things are and can find them. Sometimes he knows when we are in mortal danger. I only know bits and pieces and only when things are at their absolute worst. I knew at that moment that we couldn’t look upon whatever it was that was lurking in our meadow. I swallowed hard and repeated, “Do you understand?”

“Don’t look at it no matter what,” Pippin said. It isn’t exactly what I said but it was exactly what I meant. Pippin knew what I knew. Somehow that was of very little comfort to me just then.

“When I say to, I want you to get up and run for the path as fast as you can,” I told him.

“You’re coming too,” he whispered nervously. “I won’t go without you.”

“You aren’t going without me,” I said. “I will be right behind you.”

“You run faster than me,” Pippin reminded me. “You should go first. You can make it out quicker.” His voice quivered as he said this.

“That is why you are going first,” I said. “I won’t leave you so you had better run as fast as you can or whatever it is will have us both, understand?”

He nodded, his face grim in the growing yellow light. Whatever was illuminating the meadow was now brighter and stronger but no less unpleasant.

“Now!” I said. I said this louder than a whisper but not nearly as loud as it sounded. My voice seemed to echo oddly across the meadow and bounced back to me as if I had shouted down a well. Terrified, I pulled Pippin to his feet and shoved him forward. He began to run and I followed him.

Pippin’s footfalls also seemed to echo and I felt as if I were running through deep mud. My steps seemed slow and the effort to run seemed to be pulling the breath out of my lungs. I focused my attention on the space between Pippin’s shoulder blades and continued to run after him not daring to think what might be following us. I knew it was back there and I knew that it was coming. I could feel the heat. Something about whatever it was that now pursued us seemed to give off heat and that heat was growing. I only hoped that we were far enough ahead of it to make it to safety.

I was cold all over and getting colder but I felt a desperate sweat beading up on my forehead. The heat at my back did nothing to warm me. I felt as if freezing water was flowing throughout my body even as that terrible heat built up strength behind me. I could hear my own heart beating in my ears. It was so loud that it was nearly able to drown out the sound of my breathing, which was coming in ragged gasps. I stared at Pippin’s back and willed him to run faster. It was as if I was trying to push him forward with my eyes. It seemed to me as if we were running in place but I knew that this couldn’t be so.

There was suddenly fetid breath at my back and a growing, terrible heat. I could smell the scent of rotted fish that was not quite the same as rotted fish. I seemed to sense something reaching for me and I pulled forward nearly running into Pippin. With a strength born of fear, I came even with my younger cousin, wrapped one arm about his waist and lifted him off of the ground. I continued to run with him tucked in next to my side like a roll of carpet. I could feel his heart pounding in his thin chest as I hung onto him for all I was worth. Something was coming for us and I didn’t know if I could outrun it. I did know that Pippin couldn’t.

I reached down inside of myself for a last bit of speed and just as I came near the way out of the meadow, something behind me caught hold of my ankle and I screamed. A nasty, sick, twisted feeling moved through me but whatever it was lost its grip and I was able to stumble towards the end of the meadow with Pippin. Both of my feet left the ground as I jumped for the entry way and hurled us forward. Behind me I heard a loud rush of air like a hissing sound and felt a burst of searing heat, then there was a pop just as I landed on my face in the dirt.

There wasn’t time for anything more. We were outside of the meadow on the path that would lead us back to the familiar road home, and I prayed, to safety. Pippin was sprawled on the ground like a rag doll. I pushed myself to my feet and then pulled him up beside me. He was shaking so violently that I was afraid he’d faint on me but he didn’t. We were on our feet and running side by side when something hit the ground behind us. I pulled Pippin forward because he seemed as if he might stop and turn around. I knew that would be a horrible mistake.

“Run until you reach the Hall!” I shouted.

Pippin and I did so. We continued to run until we reached the outside door to my family’s apartments at Brandy Hall. I pulled it open and shoved Pippin inside. I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it hoping that we hadn’t led something evil out of the meadow and to my home. My breathing was coming in harsh gasps and I know that my eyes must have looked like those of a mad Hobbit. Pippin was standing before me shaking and looking deathly pale. His shirt was covered with dust and damp with sweat. His hair was limp and his face was tear-streaked. In spite of the fact that I am the older cousin I turned to Pippin and asked because I was convinced that he knew, “Are we safe?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s still in the meadow. It can’t come here.”

I locked the door with my trembling hands and tried to get my breathing under control. I heard my father’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Merry, is that you, son?”

“Yes,” I managed, hoping that he couldn’t hear the fear in my voice. “Pip and I are going to bed now.”

“You two are late,” he called. “You know better than to worry your mother like that.”

“We’re sorry,” Pippin called out and I was surprised at how normal he sounded. He still looked as if he might faint but his voice was clear and even.

“Go to bed, then and we’ll discuss it at first breakfast,” my father called out. “Oh, and Merry?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Lock the door, will you?”

Pippin and I looked at one another and laughed nervously.

Once we were safely in my room, I turned to Pippin. “What do you suppose that was out there?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Pippin said. “All I know is that it can’t come here whatever it is. It can’t leave the meadow.”

“We can’t ever go there again,” I said as I pulled off my sweat-soaked shirt.

“Not at night,” Pippin said. “It isn’t there in the daytime. That’s why we’ve not seen it before. We’ve never been there at night before.”

“We can’t go back,” I said firmly.

Pippin nodded. I know he doesn’t agree with me on this point and that the argument will come later when both of us have more strength but at that moment he was willing to let it go. When the argument does come I will be ready for it. I know that I will never feel safe in the meadow again, not after this. In fact I am not entirely sure I will ever feel completely safe anywhere again. Just knowing that something like that is out there somewhere makes feeling safe very difficult.

We cleaned up and crawled into my bed. Pippin hardly ever sleeps in my room now that he is older but tonight I need him here as much as he needs to be here. He curled up next to me and before I could even get comfortable, he was asleep. I lay awake tossing and turning and I finally gave it up. I crawled out of bed and came over to my desk to write in my journal. I know that I won’t wake Pippin because he is a very sound sleeper. I have no need to fumble about lighting lamps because Pippin and I have left them lit. Neither of us wanted to sleep in the dark tonight.

Funny thing about the dark, when we were in the meadow I couldn’t see the moon or the stars but now as I sit at my desk which faces the window I can see plenty of stars lighting the night sky and a full moon casting its light on our garden. The thick, smothering darkness that we felt in the meadow is gone. I suppose Pippin is right; whatever was in the meadow can’t come here. I am very grateful for that. I am almost grateful enough to try and convince myself this never happened, but there is a nagging pain in my ankle as I sit here at my desk. It makes the events all too real and I dare not examine it further now for fear I will go utterly mad. Instead, I will crawl into bed next to Pippin, pull the blankets tight around us and be grateful for the safety of Brandy Hall.

Postscript: eight months later

In spite of the fact that I was the last one to fall asleep, I was the first one awake. Pippin was stretched out over most of my bed with both feet sticking out from beneath the covers and his face turned up to the ceiling. I slid out from beneath the arm that he had flung across my chest and eased out of bed quietly. It was hard to imagine the terror of the night before with the morning sunlight streaming into the room and Pippin looking so relaxed. My terror returned when I stood as a searing pain travelled up my leg.

I felt as if cold, icy fingers were touching my heart and holding it prisoner but I managed to limp over to the window and sit down on my desk chair. I noticed that my journal was still lying open on the top of the desk and I quickly locked it in one of my drawers to prevent a certain curious Took from finding it when he woke up. (The part of this you are reading now was written some time later after the sheer terror of the events had faded slightly.)

I took a ragged breath, looked at the sunlight streaming in the window above my desk so as to keep a grip on the present and then I crossed the injured leg over the other for a look. The moment is forever frozen in time as one of the worst of my life. All of the sunlight in Middle-earth cannot chase away what I saw when I looked at my ankle. I shivered violently and I was nearly sick. If it weren’t for the fact that I had not yet eaten breakfast I am sure that I would have been sick. If that terrifying unseen creature had caught us…

I managed to stop shaking and I took a good look at my ankle, daring to run a finger over it so that I could feel the tiny, red, welts there. There were a great number of them and they could have been teeth marks but for the fact that they were raised rather than indented. They were small and even and as I traced them I noticed that they formed the shape of three, long, thin, finger marks.

I once saw the print of a hand on the side of a small hobbit lad’s face when I was not more than ten. I asked my mum what had happened to the child and she quickly pulled me away explaining that the lad had likely been slapped by an angry parent. I was startled by this because I could not imagine such cruelty and could think of nothing that a small lad might do to merit that action. The print on my ankle looked like a slap mark.

My mind raced as I examined the injury closer trying to see if the surface of the skin had been broken but I could find no evidence of that. The tiny welts resembled insect bites but they did not itch nor were they terribly painful when I touched them. A heat radiated from them and I could feel that heat even before my hand made contact with the marks. There was a dull, throbbing pain in my ankle that seemed to burn when I moved my foot. I wondered about the hand that held me for a brief second. Does it only have three fingers? Are there more fingers and it simply didn’t manage to get a proper grip? What sort of skin must it have to have left these marks? Could this be a bite that only looks like the slap of a misshapen hand?

Pippin mumbled something from the bed and then yawned. “What is the time, Merry?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Pip,” I confessed, tucking my foot under my desk. My voice sounded a bit thick to me but I was hoping that Pippin would take that for sleepiness “I only just woke up a minute ago.”

“I do hope we’ve not missed first breakfast,” Pippin said as he sat up.

I gathered my wits and smiled at him. “If we have then we shall make up for it by eating extra helpings at second.”

“I’m off to find the privy,” he grinned and he jumped out of bed and was out of the door moving as if he’d been up for hours.

I looked back down at my ankle and decided not to mention it to him. I did not decide this out of a desire to protect him but more out of a need to ignore it all. I didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want to think about whatever it was that so very nearly had me – us - in its clutches. I also didn’t want to explain this to a healer or my parents. I knew that Pippin would insist on a healer just as I would have done if it were his ankle. I stood and took a few steps about the room. It hurt but not so much that I couldn’t walk without limping. I thought I could keep it a secret if I was careful. For all of his perceptive Tookish insights, Pippin doesn’t always notice the things that are right in front of him. I counted on that. I refused to allow myself to think that this injury might be life-threatening because if it was, I doubted there was anyone in the Shire who would have known what to do for it.

Later that morning at first breakfast, my father gave Pippin something that nearly caused us both to faint. My father held out Pippin’s rucksack to him and then frowned at my younger cousin. “You could have lost this,” my father said sternly. “Old Tully found it near the road and brought it up to the Hall this morning. He recognized it as belonging to you, Pippin.”

With shaky hands, Pippin took the rucksack and looked up at my father. “Thank you,” he said nervously.

My father mistook Pippin’s nervousness for a fear of being punished for leaving his rucksack out overnight and he said, “I’m not going to give you a lecture this time, but you do need to remember to take proper care of your things, Peregrin. Understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Doc,” Pippin said.

When we were alone and were able to check the rucksack we found Pippin’s book inside it, apparently unharmed but still a bit damp from the dew. Pippin had undeniable evidence of our nighttime adventure just as I did.

When the first of many arguments about the meadow came a week later, I managed to stand firm. I kept us away from the meadow for a full six months but then I gave into Pippin’s insistence that the evil is only there at night. We have begun to visit the meadow again but only in the daytime and if one of us wants to take a nap the other one stands watch. I never want to be in the meadow again after dark. Never. If I should be tempted all I have to do is look at my ankle. There is still a shadow of the print that whatever was in the meadow left there. It is not actually a scar and I can only see it faintly but it is there. I think of it as a warning and I am no fool. I will not ignore a warning nor will I allow Pippin to become careless. The meadow is magic but not all magic is good. Magic that comes in the night and leaves a chill on your skin and raises the hair on the back of your neck is to be avoided at all costs. We’ve been lucky once but if we should ever again venture into the meadow at night there will be no escape, for the creature knows us now. It will never forget that we cheated it of its prey. It hates us now, I know that with every bit of the Tookish Sight that I possess. I look over at Pippin and wonder exactly what he knows in his own heart but I will not ask him. It is too soon to talk of that night. I made a silent vow to never again enter the meadow at night. The unfortunate things about such vows is that they often come back to haunt you.

The End

GW 08/05/2006