"…and everyone was pleased, except those who had to mow the grass."
J. R. R. Tolkien, Return of the King, The Grey Havens.

The Great Hobbiton Race of 1435

by Llinos

beta Marigold

Chapter 1 - The Magnificent Machine

"One, two, three – Ta-dah!" With a theatrical flourish Pippin pulled the oiled sheeting back and grinned at the gasps of awe and wonder that emanated from the crowd of hobbits waiting expectantly around the waggon.

"Well that's a marvel to see and no mistake!" Sam took his hat off to scratch his head. "It's a big one all right."

"Isn't it splendid Sam!" Merry rubbed an imaginary speck from the gleaming brass with his handkerchief. "Took six months just to haul it from Dale."

"Well it's very nice, I'm sure," Sam said, although his tone sounded a long way from certain. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Yes, what's it for Uncle Merry?" Frodo-lad was no more baffled than Samwise, but both he and his father could be deceptively straight-faced when confronted with the latest innovation for Shire modernisation by the entrepreneurial cousins. "Is it a horseless carriage?"

There was a general stir amongst the onlookers at this query. Followed by a chorus of excited and doubting questions.

"Does it go on its own?" Young Merry Gamgee asked.

"If it goes by itself," Gaffer Burrows mumbled, "whaddya need a team of horses and a waggon to fetch it?"

"Why's it got a big chimney for?" Little Hamfast wanted to know.

"Does it make something?" Ralf Bolger peered underneath to see if he could find any clues there.

"Bread and cakes?" suggested Pansy Bracegirdle.

"No, silly!" It's for fetching water," Dandimus Proudfoot decided. "Look at the big tank on it!"

"It must make something!" Ralf persisted. "Chips – does it make chips?"

"Fireworks!" Shouted a cluster of small lads. "Make fireworks! Fireworks!"

"It's some sort of engine!" muttered old Farmer Cotton. "No good'll come of it, you mark my words!"

"No, no and no!" Pippin shouted above the hubbub. "You're all wrong. Look at the inscription on the side."

The youngsters crowded forward. They could all read quite fluently since Sam as Mayor had established the village school, but Merry Gamgee was the quickest and read out for the benefit of his more illiterate elders:

"The Great Steam Vapour Spindle Activated Vegetation Dissection and Lubrication Apparatus – by Appointment to Thain Peregrin I, and under Chartered Licence from Meriadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, dedicated to the Hobbits of Bywater and Hobbiton in the Year 1435."

"That's all well and good," Farmer Cotton frowned, "but what does it do?"

"It dissects and lubricates," Pippin explained as if this were perfectly obvious, "vegetation!"

A ripple of confusion ran through the crowd and Merry 'Ahummed' loudly for attention. "It's an automated gardening and farming machine." He scanned the expectant faces for some sign of understanding. "That is, you put the water in the boiler here," he indicated the large tank on the underside, "and here," he pointed to the even larger reservoir on the back.

"See," Dandimus announced smugly. "It is for fetching water!"

"Fetching it to where?" Ralf Bolger asked. "Is it a water delivery cart for those who don't have pumps?"

Merry ignored the interruptions. "Then you put coal in the firebox." He patted the furnace in the centre of the machine. "And that boils the water, then the steam pumps the pistons along the cylinders, which turn the turbines, which drives the engine and makes the wheels go round. The gear attached to the axle is then engaged, causing the spiral-cylindrical blades to spin on a horizontal axis."

Pippin took over, reading from a large black copperplate inscribed manual, "The Spindle Activated Vegetation Dissection and Lubrication Engine is a new combination and application of machinery for the purpose of cropping or shearing and irrigating the vegetable surfaces of lawns, grass-plots and meadows."

"You mean," Sam worked his way through this mystifying set of instructions, "It cuts grass? All that, just to cut grass?"

"Yes!" Pippin slammed the manual shut with a bang that made everyone jump. "Shall we show you?"

There was a stunned silence. Merry and Pippin glanced at each other, trying to work out if everyone was impressed or totally baffled. The older hobbits looked bewildered and just shook their heads, the younger ones beamed in anticipation of a demonstration and Sam… Sam sighed, grinned and waited for the worst.

TBC

Chapter 2 - Are You Sure It's Not Dangerous?

It took two hours, ten sturdy hobbits, six planks of wood, the team of horses and a constant stream of shouted, frantic and often contradictory instructions from Merry and Pippin to unload the great machine from the waggon.

Finally the great, gleaming machine stood in all its glory in the centre of Hobbiton. Another team of helpers was employed to run the seemingly endless hose down to The Water and, as the engine was not yet running, manually operate the hand pump until both tanks were filled to the brim.

Then kindling and coal had to be brought and shovelled into the firebox, and Pippin ceremoniously lit the first match and set it to the fire.

As the coals began to glow red and the steam started to build up, Pippin took the controls, sitting high up on the engine, with his feet dangling but looking, the older hobbits thought, surprisingly confident. He grabbed a tight hold on the wheel in the centre and spun it vigorously, then, watching the pressure gauge carefully, pulled a lever above his head.

The engine emitted a terrifying screech and a few of the hobbits ran for cover. Several fell over and one old gaffer dropped his pipe with shock, while the ponies in the nearby field bolted in terror. Two little lasses were crying with fear, so an elderly gammar flapped her apron at it as if to shoo it away, although a small group of lads jumped up and down and clapped with glee.

"Well now, Merry," Sam had removed himself several feet from the engine, just to be on the safe side. "Are you sure it's not dangerous? I mean does Pippin know what he's doing?"

"Of course it's safe!" Merry had to shout over the racket of the crying, shouting and the loud thumping of the engine. "It's a beauty. It's got a superheater header; main steam pipes to the cylinders, blower and ejector exhaust pipes. It's even fitted with a spark arrestor, to say nothing of the drop grate and hopper ashpan."

"That's as maybe," Sam shouted back, "but it's scaring everyone to death!"

"They'll get used to it," Merry said more optimistically than he felt. "It’s going to save a lot of work." He surveyed the worried looking crowd and vaulted up onto the engine. "Can you turn it down a tad Pip? It's a trifle noisy!"

"I'm just getting the hang of it," Pippin bellowed over the noise. "Bit too much pressure I think."

Merry checked the gauge, spun a few wheels releasing several valves and gradually the engine settled down to a low thud. "There." He turned back to the shaken up crowd, most of whom were recovering from their shock and, curiosity getting the better of them, were cautiously waiting to see what would happen next. "Who wants a ride?"

The younger lads surged forward, but Merry waved them aside. "Come on Mayor Gamgee, you should be the first." He held out a hand to Sam.

Sam coughed as if playing for time, scratched his head, then shook it. He decided the only way out was a speech. He cleared his throat again. "My friends, this is a splendid gift to the people of Bywater and Hobbiton and, as Mayor, I would like to extend our thanks to Master Brandybuck and Thain Peregrin."

There were several cheers at this as well as a couple of mumbles and a few muttered comments along the lines of 'engines! Tsk!', 'save work – my hat!' 'where's it all going to end?' 'didn't fight a war for this kind of nonsense!' 'it's like having that villain Sharky back!'

Sam ignored the comments and ploughed on, "I am certain that this magnificent contraption will prove a boon to the people of the West Farthing and I would like to add that we will be happy to share our good fortune with the rest of The Shire and that any hobbits who wish to borrow the… the thingamabob will be more than welcome to avail themselves of it at any time."

There was loud cheering at this last announcement and Merry frowned at Pippin, sensing that their gift was less well received than they had hoped.

Merry jumped down from the engine and stood next to Sam. "My Lord Mayor and esteemed hobbits of Bywater and Hobbiton!" he began. "Thank you for your kind words." Merry bowed to Sam. "The Thain and I hope that this magnificent machine will be the first step in progress towards a wealthier and more prosperous life for you all. The time and labour saved in the use of this amazing engine will enable every one of you to take more leisure in pursuits that please you or to occupy yourselves with greater tasks than just mowing.

"But I like mowing!" A disgruntled voice heckled from the back.

"And how is that monstrosity going to save time?" Gaffer Burrows was not known for his tact. "It'd take fifty hobbits just to haul it up to the field!"

"It goes on its own," Pippin explained. "That is, you drive it along. It doesn't need hauling or anything."

"And it can mow a whole meadow in half an hour," Merry added, "with just one hobbit driving it!"

"Well I'd like to see that!" Farmer Cotton was too old himself now to mow, he left that to his lads, but he still kept a healthy interest in new farming methods.

Voices began to rise again as various opinions as to the worth of the machine were tendered.

"It'd be too cumbersome, you mark my words!"

"One hobbit in half an hour! We could spend the rest of the day in the pub!"

"Bit o' hard work never hurt no one!"

"All that smoke and noise!"

"It's worth a try at least! I got better things to do than cut grass."

"Rides! Rides! Rides!" The cluster of young lads set up a chorus of pleas, jumping up and down at the side of the engine, trying to get the Thain's attention. One, bolder than the rest, shouted out, "Captain Peregrin! Master Thain, make it scream again!"

Pippin, one eye on the pressure gauge, complied and pulled the lever, eliciting a prolonged high-pitched steam blown whistle. He soon had everyone's undivided attention. "I know how to convince you all," he announced. "How about a race?"

TBC

Chapter 3 - She's Raring To Go!

The lines were drawn and the rules established. Captain Meriadoc and Captain Peregrin were to be pitted against Mayor Samwise Gamgee and his son, Frodo. Sam had reluctantly agreed to accept the challenge by popular demand, as he was unanimously acknowledged to be the best gardener in The Shire but, more importantly, because he knew, whatever the outcome, there would be no animosity between him and his friends.

The party field was to be mown three days hence, on the 17^th Forelithe starting at 7 o'clock sharp, with Merry and Pippin in their great engine cutting the grass to the South of the Mallorn tree and Sam and Frodo mowing the North.

Merry had shrewdly established that all tools and equipment could be laid out in position before the start of the competition and Sam had grudgingly allowed this. He had thought that carrying the few tools that he and Frodo-lad needed would give them a head-start over the cumbersome monster.

Merry and Pippin decided to run the engine into the field while it still had a good head of steam. So when Sam saw the engine trundle off to the field at an alarming speed of nigh-on twenty miles an hour he was glad he had agreed, as the engine would probably have reached the field while he and Frodo were still in the tool shed.

Nevertheless, Merry's foresight paid off in his favour when the five bar gate had to be removed from its hinges to allow the monster access, as this took a good half an hour.

Sam had made the rest of the rules and they had been set out in writing, fair and square with seven signatures in red ink. Merry and Pippin, confident of the machine's prowess, had barely glanced at them.

On the appointed morning, in spite of the early hour, a vast crowd had gathered, many hobbits travelling from as far away as Pincup and Frogmorton the day before. Most of the youngsters had clambered into the Mallorn tree itself – a fine vantage point and with the added bonus of being safely out of the way of great engine.

Sam and Frodo-lad had spent the previous day sharpening and oiling their scythes and shears and had gone to bed early with a substantial dinner in their bellies and woken up to a large breakfast of bacon, eggs and mushrooms. Rose had promised to bring them a good piece for second breakfast at 9 o'clock, to keep their strength up.

Merry and Pippin had spent the night in the Green Dragon and looked a little weary, partly because of the early hour but mostly on account of the hospitality of the pub. They had considered a sunrise start would be a piece of cake, but in truth, since the Quest, they had both grown rather too accustomed to late nights and rising, as Pippin put it, 'at the crack of lunch!'

"Morning Uncle Merry, Uncle Pippin!" Frodo-lad beamed at them. "How's your engine?"

"She's raring to go," Pippin declared, trying to sound as breezy as Frodo. "Soon have her fired up!"

Merry had already pulled back the oiled cloth covering the engine and was trying to light the ready-laid fire. The early morning dew had different ideas however and the coal was damp and unresponsive. "Grrrr…" Merry threw another burnt-out vesta away and tried again. "Where's Gandalf when you need him. I could really do with some of his magic flames right now."

"It wouldn't be allowed anyway," Frodo-lad pointed out. "Dad's rules state, 'no outside help over and above fetching and carrying', so that would be cheating."

"Well someone had better fetch me another box of matches," Merry grumbled. "These are all damp and the coal is too. How long to the start time Pip?"

"Ten minutes," Pippin consulted his pocket watch. "You could try rubbing two pieces of wood together."

"I'll rub you together in a minute!" The Master of Buckland's temper was getting a little frayed. "Even if I can get this darn fire going, it'll take a while to build up steam!"

"Calm down my dear Meriadoc," Pippin jumped down from the driver's perch. "We've plenty of time. Sam and Frodo-lad will be hacking away at that grass while we enjoy elevenses at the Green Dragon!"

Sam carefully laid out his gardening implements; the tall scythe, the medium scythe, two pairs of shears, several sacks and several mysterious and unexplained planks of wood. Then he wandered over to see how the opposition was faring.

"'Morning Merry, Pippin," he nodded to each in turn. "What seems to be the problem?"

"They can't get the fire to light Sam-dad," Frodo-lad chuckled, then pulled a serious face when he saw his father's eyebrow lift in warning. "We may have to call off the race I suppose."

"Here," Sam took his pipe out of his mouth tamping it slightly then taking another puff as he climbed up to peer over Merry's shoulder. "Let's have a look."

"No, Sam," Merry said firmly, "no outside help. If you get the fire going and we win, you'll call it an unfair contest."

"Well, I was just going to point out," Sam took his pipe out of his mouth again and looked at it thoughtfully, "if you were to empty a well-lit pipe into that there kindling and then cover it round and blow on it – just gently mind, you might have more luck."

With that Sam clambered back down and patted Pippin on the shoulder. "Best be off to the start," he smiled. "May the best hobbits win!"

Merry grimaced after Sam as he reached into his pocket to find his own pipe, begrudgingly remembering that, during the Quest, Frodo's gardener had done most of the fire lighting, sometimes under very difficult or damp conditions.

TBC

Chapter 4 - I Knew I Shouldn't Have Let Him Drive!

When the horn was sounded to signify the start of the race, at 7 o'clock sharp, the engine's fire was still smouldering and not nearly hot enough to heat the water. At one stage Pippin, in desperation, had piled more and more coal into the firebox with the result that the embryonic flames had been extinguished completely and they had to start from scratch.

Merry, glancing up from his cramped position in front of the furnace as he attempted to blow some life into the obstinate coals, was relieved to see that Sam and Frodo were not making much progress. They both seemed to be picking and stabbing at the field, rather than cutting the grass, although what they were up to was a mystery to him.

No one else was paying much attention to the gardener and his son as all the crowd were more interested in the antics of the Thain and the Master with their grand machine.

"Is it going to do anything?" Enquired a hobbit from Frogmorton. He was quite anxious for something exciting to happen as he and his family had spent the previous day walking the twenty odd miles just to see the bizarre apparatus that screeched like a banshee and drove along without any horses.

"Oh it'll go all right." Farmer Cotton was sitting in a large armchair that his sons had carried to the field for him. He was getting a little too long in the tooth and short in breath to stand for long. "It'll most likely go up like a firework before they're finished!"

Eventually the great engine was coaxed into life, amidst pillars of smoke, chuffing pumps of steam and cheers (and a few jeers) from the crowd.

"Ready Merry?" Pippin shouted from his perch at the wheel. "Let's get this grass mown." He threw the gear into place and the beast began to trundle forwards.

"Wait! Wait, Pip!" Merry shouted back, his voice drowned out by the sudden screech of the whistle as Pippin decided to delight the young lads who were making pulling signs to encourage him to scare some of the older hobbits.

"Wait!" Merry yelled again, running in front of the engine, to gasps from the onlookers. He waved his arms frantically, "I have to let the blades down. Stop!"

"Whoops!" Pippin, in his enthusiasm to get started, had forgotten the main object of the race. With effort, he disengaged the gear again, almost running Merry over in the process.

Meanwhile, Sam and Frodo-lad had finished their poking and scratching at the grass but, to Merry's relief and surprise, were still not wielding the scythes, but simply clipping at the edges with shears.

"Come on – heave!" Merry put all his weight on the lever and tried again. "Pippin! Are you even pulling?" Merry complained. "Put some effort into it!"

"I'm sitting on it," Pippin pointed out. "I'll jump on it if you think that will help!"

"Ha! The Thain's not fat enough yet!" A wit from the crowd observed. "You need to eat more pudding Cap'n Took!"

"You should fetch your brother-in-law Master Merry!" Another pointed out, "Good old Fatty'd shift it in no time!"

"You're pulling it the wrong way!" Matt Hammerstone, the Smith pointed out.

"Er um, Pip" Merry stopped pulling and stepped back to look at the machine, "I think Matt might be right."

"Wait a minute." Pippin clambered back onto the drivers perch and retrieved the great manual. He leafed through it frantically until Merry eventually took it from his hands and started to do the same. Eventually after some more thumbing, arguing and investigation, they abandoned the manual and tried hauling the lever the other way.

To great cheers and laughter from the crowd, the two embarrassed hobbits hauled the lever up and the mowing blades were lowered.

Pippin clambered back up to his position, sounded the whistle again and finally set off.

As the mighty machine lurched to a start Pippin engaged the gear for the blades and they began to spin at an alarming rate, churning up clods of earth and stones, although not too much grass.

Another stop and more tutting and muttering from the Master and the Thain as they tried to work out what was going wrong. Helpful advice was delivered in abundance.

"It's too big for the job!" Farmer Cotton decided.

"Hitch a team of horses to it!" suggested Ralf Bolger.

"Bury it in the sandpit, along with the other villains!" shouted Jolly Cotton. A suggestion that was greeted with gales of mirth and several 'hoorays'.

"You know Merry," Pippin shouted over the roar of the engine, "I think we might have overdone it with the whole blade lowering!"

Once again the engine was stopped and, after considerable differences of opinion, consultation with the incomprehensible manual and trial and error, they managed to adjust the cutting rotors to an appropriate level. The machine finally started about its business, mowing a great swathe of grass from one side of the field to the other in less than a minute.

There were finally gasps of awe from the crowd and several hobbits who, becoming bored had started to wander about the field, fled in fright back to the safety of the far side of the hedge.

The fleeing hobbits were undoubtedly shrewd in their flight as the Thain's tendency to wave to the crowd and sound the whistle, whilst steering with one hand did little to improve the steam engine's manoeuvrability.

On his second sweep, reaching the far end of the field at a breakneck speed of 15 miles an hour, Pippin suddenly realised that the hedge was looming and he should have started turning at least 15 feet earlier. To avert disaster, he jammed on the brake and wrenched the gear out of engagement, to the screams of tortured metal and several hobbit wives and lasses.

He only took a small part of the hedge down, which fortunately (or through the general good sense of the onlookers) no one was standing behind.

"I knew I shouldn't have let him drive," Merry muttered to Matt the Smith. "He gets far too excited." And he hurried up the field to attempt to curb his cousin's enthusiasm and any further accidents.

TBC

Chapter 5 - The Shortest Thainship Ever?

"Of course it goes backwards!" Merry sighed in exasperation. "It's got a double cone clutch system, with coaxial bevel reverse gears!"

"My dear Meriadoc," Pippin began with exaggerated patience, "it's all very well having read the manual, but you're not the one on the driving bench."

"That can soon be corrected!" Merry started to climb up. "Come on, move over."

"No, no," Pippin began to frantically heave at the lever again, whilst tugging at the steering mechanism with his other hand, causing the engine to emit a terrifying groan and deafening screech. "I'll work it out!"

Most of the hobbits, who had come to inspect the damage and see how the Thain was going to turn the engine around without knocking the rest of the fence down, ran for cover, whilst the bolder ones stood their ground, but clapped hands on their already over-burdened ears.

"The clutch!" Merry shouted. "You have to engage the clutch mechanism! You're grinding the gears to smithereens!"

"Oh! Ahhh!" Pippin's face lit up as he remembered the essential piece of tuition he had received when ordering the machine over a year ago in Dale. "This one!" He slammed the neglected bar down as hard as he could.

The engine, freed of its geared encumbrance, roared with new vigour, as Pippin finally managed to employ the reverse gear. The sudden exuberance of engine's bellow startled the enthusiastic hobbit so much, that the effect, plus a paucity of limbs required to operate all the levers at once, caused him to release the clutch mechanism rather abruptly and the steam engine lurched backwards with a mighty jolt.

Later reports claimed that the Thain had merely been showing off by executing a double backwards somersault from 10 feet up over the top of the mighty engine. Others, more concerned with interesting facts and figures, pointed out that had he not been facing backwards at the time he might well have landed under the rotating blades, thereby claiming record to the shortest Thainship ever and, at the same time, giving way to the youngest Thain in Shire history, as little Faramir was still only 5 years old.

Most were satisfied that he just fell off.

Notwithstanding the conflicting accounts of how the Thain came to abandon his precarious perch, hobbits land light, and Pippin sprang to his feet and joined Merry in chasing the reversing, albeit now driverless, Great Steam Vapour Spindle Activated Vegetation Dissection and Lubrication Apparatus across the party field.

"Pippin!" Merry shouted breathlessly. "You're supposed to stop it before you get off! Remember? They told us that was important!"

Pippin had managed to get ahead, or rather behind, the reversing machine and, flailing his arms wildly like a windmill to clear away stray youngsters from the path of the retreating behemoth, shouted back, "I didn't exactly mean to get off!"

"Well that's good to know!" Merry panted. "But we need to stop it, not show it where to go!"

"P'raps it'll run out of steam?" Pippin suggested, although not too hopefully. Worried by their earlier attempts to get the thing going, he had just banked the fire up as high as possible. "Or maybe it will reach the other side and the fence will stop it."

"Or you'll fall over again, and you'll stop it!" Merry was running beside the engine now, hanging on grimly to the rail by the steps. "Pippin! Get out of the way!"

"I'm trying…" Pippin puffed, "…to get everyone else out of the way! And Merry, I don't think I'll stop it. I think it will just run over me."

"I know!" Merry shouted back. "That's why… Oh never mind," he muttered and, with a supreme effort, hoisted himself up onto the moving machine.

Pippin, turning to see why his cousin had stopped mid-sentence, lost his footing and fell flat on his back. Gasps of horror went up from the crowd, several lasses screamed and Diamond, who had just arrived with Pervinca and Faramir, fainted clean away into her sister-in-law's arms.

To loud cheers and whoops from the crowd, Meriadoc the Magnificent (some historians claim it was at this moment that his epithet was coined) thumped down the clutch with his foot, jerked the gear into the central and neutral position and slammed on the brake.

Pervinca fanned Diamond with her bonnet whilst Faramir, temporarily unrestrained, jumped up and down in excitement shouting, "Do it again Daddy! Jump more Daddy!"

Sam and Frodo-lad, who had abandoned their labours to watch in open-mouthed horror, hurried over to retrieve their almost ex-Thain. But Pippin was already up on his feet and scrambled round to jump back onto the footplate.

"Come on Merry," he called impatiently, "let's get going again. This is a race, remember?"

Sam shrugged and beckoned his eldest son towards the scythes. "Best get on lad. I should know better than to worry about your Uncle Pippin – he always seems to bounce!"

TBC

Chapter 6 - Vinegar and Onions Were Brought

"I'm not telling you again, get down!"

"Now Merry," Pippin stubbornly kept his hands on the levers and his bottom firmly on the driving bench. "We agreed I could drive and the race was my idea! Just let me finish mowing the top of the field, then you can have a turn."

"At this rate there won't be a field left!" Merry pointed out. "You've already destroyed the top fence, bumped into the Mallorn tree, sprayed the crowd with mud when you got stuck in a rut, disturbed a wasps' nest, fallen off twice and almost run yourself over! You're not driving any more!"

The wasps' nest had probably been the most spectacular. The angry insects had swarmed around the engine, threatening to engulf the cab and driver. Pippin, always ready with a bright idea, had leapt down (this time after stopping the vehicle) and grabbed handfuls of mown grass, which he piled onto the fire. The fire billowed smoke that Smaug would have been proud to own and the infuriated wasps had abandoned the engine to turn their vengeance on the watching hobbits.

The crowd had attempted to scatter, many of them pushing and shoving and consequently being pushed and shoved, until there was a very large pile of hobbit arms and legs writhing on the ground with irate wasps taking pot-shots at the heap until, finally losing interest, they headed off to Bywater in a swarm and a huff.

There was an official truce in the race, while vinegar and onions were brought to rub on stings and the Thain and the Master were compelled to give the victims a jolly good listening to, as many lectures on the dangers and inconvenience of wasp bites were delivered.

Old Tom Cotton was particularly vexed, as he had received a spectacular sting on the end of his nose, to say nothing of having his armchair upset in the rush to evacuate the wasp invasion. "It's not so much the smarting," he waggled his finger at Pippin, "it's the indignity –at my time of life. Took my lads a lot of heaving and pulling to set me right again. I allus said no good would come of that contraption of yorn!"

"My dear Farmer Cotton," Pippin was all contrition. "I'm so sorry! Look I'll have someone fetch you a pint of ale, just to make up for your inconvenience." He thrust a coin into the hand of young Herbie Pottleshaw, "Go and get Farmer Cotton a mug of ale – the best mind you! Hurry now."

"Not from the Ivy Bush," Farmer Cotton was set in his ways and preferred the brew from the Green Dragon. "And make sure it's proper 1420!"

The lad hurried off, the hobbits rearranged themselves around the edge of the field, none now daring to set foot within several bargepole lengths of the ill-fated engine, and the race resumed.

That is to say, the race and several more accidents resumed and Merry finally lost patience; many said, not before time!

"Pippin! Are you going to get down? Or do I have to go and get Diamond?"

"Oh!" Pippin knew when he was beaten and reluctantly climbed down from the bench. Everyone in the Shire knew that Captain Peregrin was fearless in the face of danger and sometimes in the face of sheer recklessness and extravagant lack of caution. He had fought with goblins and dragons and even felled a great giant on the battlefield, or so the stories went. He had routed the villains out of the Shire when others had faltered. He had been known to stand up to Gandalf the Wizard and even the Great King of Gondor Himself!

But when it came to his darling wife, Diamond, Pippin knew he had met his match – in more ways than just matrimonially. One sunrise smile from her enchanting blue eyes and Pippin melted into abject and total obedience. Merry frequently used this cunning device quite ruthlessly to manage some of Pippin's more stubbornly destructive, albeit well-meaning, behaviour.

The rest of the mowing, with Merry at the controls, went surprisingly smoothly and there was much muttering as to why Captain Meriadoc had not just ridden the great machine in the first place. Then again, as Ralf Bolger pointed out, "there t'wouldn't have been half such a good show!"

TBC

Chapter 7 - Tell Me Mr Dandelion

by Llinos
beta Marigold

"Come on now lad," Sam heaved the great scythe with a strength that even surprised young Frodo.

At the tender age of 12, Sam's son had developed a sturdy physique and could normally almost keep up with his hard working father. But today Sam seemed driven with an unprecedented determination. Not since the last Mid-Summer Fair conker tournament final, when young upstart Timotas Burrows had smashed his father's champion thirty-twoer and Sam had retaliated with a virgin conker and reclaimed his title with a single hit, had Frodo seen him so resolute. (The resulting designation of "Supreme Conker Thirty-fourer" was still a Shire record).

"Dad, I don't think there's much chance of us winning now," Frodo leaned on his scythe and pointed to where the steam machine was triumphantly cutting vast swathes of field amidst whoops and cheers and much exuberant whistle tooting from Thain Peregrin, who had at last been allowed back onto the engine, in a non-driving capacity and under strict supervision of Master Brandybuck. "They've just about finished their whole half!"

"Aye well," Sam swung his scythe again with an effort-laden grunt, "there's still a job to be done lad and nothing's decided until it's all finished."

But even as Sam and Frodo set to work with renewed vigour, the great machine began to slow down and the mighty engine spluttered and hissed.

"What's happening now Merry?" Pippin frowned and pulled on the whistle lever once more. A sad squeak was the only result. "I think you might have broken it."

"Me broken it!" Merry spluttered in indignation. "After the devastation you've single-handedly inflicted on this field, to say nothing of the engine, the audience and my nerves!"

"Well you are driving," Pippin reasoned. "So it must be your fault."

"Of course it must," Merry pulled on the brake and began frantically thumbing through the great manual. "Your reasoning is almost as immaculate as your driving ability."

"Thank you," Pippin said, totally missing the point. He had a tendency not to notice irony when he got over excited. "Can you identify the problem?"

"Apart from you?" Merry frowned. "No!"

Matt Hammerstone, the blacksmith, strolled nonchalantly over. He had secretly being dying to get his hands on the great machine as soon as it arrived but he was not assertive by nature and he knew that the rules of the race forbade direct intervention by anyone else.

Matt peered up at the furnace and then walked round the engine placing his finger tentatively on the great tank in various spots. "Erm… I think you might find that the boiler has a reserve reservoir."

"Oh!" Pippin looked at him blankly. "That's good. Is it?"

"Yes! Yes!" Merry's face lit up with sudden recollection. "We have to switch it over. Only the men said it should run for several hours on the main tank."

"Well…" Matt looked up at the Thain with an embarrassed smile. "It probably would if you didn't blow the whistle so much."

"Right!" Pippin, for all his flamboyance, rarely got offended when the errors of his enthusiasm were pointed out, mostly because it never occurred to him he was being criticised. "Less whistle, Merry, remember that. So can you fix it?"

"Yes, because I bothered to read the book!" Merry located the valve, which released the reserve reservoir into the main tank and not a moment too soon, as the empty boiler was building up a heat that would have given Hobbiton a fireworks display to almost equal that of Bilbo Baggins' farewell party. "You pull that handle there, but…"

Pippin seized the handle and gave a triumphant tug.

As the cold water hit the super-heated tank; there was an explosion of steam and a mighty groaning of metal and Merry, who was sitting by the outlet, was enveloped in a cloud of boiling vapour.

"Ow! Ow! Pippin! You nincompoop!" Merry shrieked in anguish, and some considerable pain, as he flapped his arms about trying to cool his steam-heated body. "I was about to say, 'you have to stand well back!'"

"Well I did!" Pippin pointed out. "It was you who didn't!"

"Are you all right Master Merry?" Matt enquired politely. "Fire and water can be a tricky combination."

"Especially when you throw the Thain into the mix!" Merry's face was a delicate shade of beetroot by now, thanks to a combination of steam and Pippin. "Just a little hot under the collar, I'll live – for the time being anyway!" He looked pointedly at Pippin.

Sam, although intent upon his task, downed tools when he heard Merry howling, and came to see what was wrong. "Dear oh dear!" Sam exclaimed. "Looks like you've got some nasty burns there. Do you want to call the race off?"

"Of course not!" Pippin used his jacket to fan Merry's face. "He'll be fine in a minute. Won't you? Besides, we've almost won!"

"You'll be having to wait a while before she gets up steam again," Matt knew about such matters. Although he had never encountered a steam engine before, he had heard descriptions from dwarves who had passed through the Shire and occasionally stopped at his forge for repairs and news. He had listened to their instructions on such new machines with great interest. "She'll take a good ten minutes to heat up enough."

"Not to worry," Sam said with a broad grin. He had been keeping an ace up his sleeve, but couldn't resist playing it now. "It'll give you a chance to collect up the cuttings."

"The what?" Merry looked baffled. "You mean the cut grass? Why would we do that? No one will want it."

"It's in the rules," Sam was still grinning. "Field to be left clean and tidy, and all cuttings cleared away. It's all part of mowing you know."

"But, that's silly!" Pippin exclaimed, jumping down from the engine. "Surely you have people to do that?"

"No outside help, remember?" Sam nodded to where Frodo had begun to clear away their own cuttings. It was an efficient process. He hooked a sack onto the hedge, then used the two planks of wood like extensions to his hands to scoop up large wads of grass cuttings at a time and empty them into the sack.

"But it'll take us forever," Pippin scowled. "Besides, we don't have any planks – or sacks for that matter."

"No… no! It's all right!" Merry was always the innovator. "Matt could you fetch us a rake and some sacks? Fetching is allowed, right? We'll tie the sacks onto the back of the engine and rake it up and stuff the grass as she goes along – shouldn't take long at all!"

"Can I drive?" Pippin's face lit up.

"You," Merry growled, "can rake!"

Sam's face however maintained its grin, "then there's the dandelions."

"What?" Merry sighed in exasperation. "What else have you slid into those rules on the quiet Sam?"

"You are supposed to grub the dandelions and weeds out before you mow." Sam's grin had grown to a beam. "Don't see as how you're going to get them out now."

"Well there's no dandelions left on our side," Pippin swept his arm expansively over their half of the field, nearly knocking Merry over in the process. "They're all gone."

"Ah," Sam shook his head with grave solemnity. "They'll be back in a few days. You don't take out the dandelions and this field'll be more dandelions than grass in a month."

"Sam!" Merry tried to look shocked and indignant. "I'm shocked at you! That's very sneaky to put that in the rules without saying. Besides, I like dandelions – they're very pretty."

"Oh, don't you worry," Sam chuckled. "They'll be back! Dandelions won't never go away, no matter how much you pull 'em up."

"Well I object," Pippin folded his arms in defiance. "It's cruelty to dandelions to pull them up, and in any case, how's anyone going to tell the time?"

"Pretty much as they always do," Sam laughed at Pippin's odd logic. "By the sun and the moon or ask someone with a timepiece."

"Well that's not the way the children in Tookland go about it!" Pippin was adamant. "You need dandelion clocks or who knows how many meals you might miss!"

"He's right," Merry nodded enthusiastically, realising that Pippin might have hit on something. "There's a song about it and everything."

"The Dandelion Song? Hmm…" Sam glanced around; the crowd were starting to become restless. They had, after all, come for a day's entertainment and to see the miraculous machine perform, to say nothing of the Thain and the Master, who were always good for a spectacular diversion from the everyday humdrum. "I have a proposition," Sam announced in his best Mayoral tone. "You sing the song – here and now to the crowd and if it's word perfect and they like it well enough, I'll forgo the dandelion clause."

"That seems fair," Matt Hammerstone nodded to the cluster of hobbits that had wandered over to see what the hold up was. "A song from the Master of Buckland would be a rare treat."

"Now wait a minute," Merry was happy to show off his mechanical skills and engineering prowess, but he was not too sure about singing a children's song in front a large crowd in a field in Hobbiton. "This wasn't meant to be a concert, and I'm not some peripatetic player performing for pennies! I don't think…"

"Oh for goodness sake Merry!" Pippin had no such reservations. "I'll sing it. You just go and announce me and make sure everyone is paying attention."

"You don't know all the words," Merry frowned. "You always get stuck halfway through."

"Of course I know the words," Pippin declared adamantly. "Now go and announce me."

As Merry and he walked towards the impatient crowd, Pippin whispered to him, "Half of them don't know the whole thing anyway, I'll make up what I don't remember and say it's a Tookland variation. If Sam can cheat, so can we!"

There was a ripple of anticipation as Merry climbed up onto the gate and clapped to gain everyone's attention. "Friends and loyal supporters," he began. "It has been agreed by Mayor Samwise that he is willing to overlook the dandelion clause in our race contract on condition Thain Peregrin sings, in it's entirety, The Dandelion Song."

"And you like it," added Samwise, who wasn't about to give up his race ace that easily.

There were several cheers; a smattering of applause and a couple of boos, before the hobbits settled down to enjoy whatever tomfoolery would follow. Many had heard the Thain sing before, with varying degrees of tunefulness, depending on the hour and the strength of the ale. Nevertheless, melodious or off-key; sentimental, amusing or just plain bawdy, it had always been entertaining.

Pippin, ever aware of commanding his audience, demanded a stage and a sturdy bench was found. He climbed up, wobbled twice, coughed once and began.

"Tell me Mr Dandelion
What's the time of day?
I've no tick-tock or pocket watch
And the sun has gone away.
 
"Tell me Mr Dandelion,
My tummy's feeling hollow!
There's nowt to eat, but fields of wheat
And that is hard to swallow!
 
"One puff says it's one o'clock,
Two puffs means two instead.
Three puffs, four, or even more;
Don't say it's time for bed!
 
"One puff means it's time for lunch,
Two means lunch is spoiling!
Puff times three, it's time for tea,
Puff four, there's dumplings boiling.
 
"Five puffs means the table's laid,
Six puffs I need to hurry,
Seven or eight, I'm late as late,
Nine puffs, I'll start to worry!
 
"Ten puffs and my supper's missed,
Eleven, twelve, the stars are shining!
So Dandeli'n, without lyin',
What is my chance of dining?"

Pippin concluded with a theatrical bow, which alone gained him enthusiastic applause, especially as it was so ostentatious that he toppled off the bench, hitting the ground headfirst, rolled, gained his feet in one smooth action and repeated his bow more flamboyantly than before.

"I think that's pretty conclusive," Merry slapped Sam on the back. "No dandelions."

"He made half of that up as he went along," Sam frowned. "I don't remember those last two lines for certain."

"Oh come on Sam!" Pippin threw his hands in the air. "You've lost and you know it!"

"Race isn't finished yet anyhow!" Sam pointed out. "We're still going to win – dandelions or no!"

"You want to put money on it?" Merry demanded. "Because our machine can beat any twenty hobbits, even with those damn cuttings."

"A wager!" Sam's teeth were gritted. Things were getting serious now. "I'll lay you ten silver pennies and a barrel of ale, you'll lose!"

A gasp went up from the watching hobbits. Such an enormous sum was an uncomfortably large stake and boded ill for diplomatic relations between Hobbiton, Buckland and The Tooklands.

"Done!" The Master of Buckland spat on his hand and held it out to the Mayor. "In fact I'll raise you twenty silver pennies and two barrels of 1420!"

"Steady on Merry!" Pippin turned slightly green at the prospect of losing such a sum. Even if they won, he would not want to see Sam poorer by that amount. "This is becoming far too ruthless."

"Agreed!" Sam didn't flinch. He slapped his hand into Merry's and clasped it much tighter than was necessary. "Let the real battle commence and may the best hobbits win!"

T. B. C.

Chapter 8 – Please! Not Another Bloody Moot!

by Llinos
beta Marigold

The Great Hobbiton Race had developed into an event approaching all out war. Both Samwise and Meriadoc could be competitive when roused and their determination to win had turned into more of a grudge match than a friendly race.

Sam and Frodo-lad set to with a vengeance. They only had one long strip, about 30 feet long, left to mow and Sam directed his son to start at the Bywater end and he would take the Hardbottle end and they would meet in the middle. The lingering grass did not stand a chance as their scythes sliced and swished through remaining meadow with a syncopated rhythm that was soon taken up by the loyal, and mostly older, Hobbiton locals.

Swish! Whoosh! Swish! Whoosh! The blades sang. "May-or! May-or!" The hobbits chanted in time with their champions frenetic scything.

Much partisan feeling was beginning to emerge as an opposing team, consisting largely of younger hobbits and out-of-towners, started a conflicting mantra of "En-gine! En-gine!"

Merry, now firmly at the controls, his chin resolutely set, muttered along with his supporters under his breath as he steered the fired up monster over the patches of discarded grass. He kept the throttle low, although there was a temptation to let the engine roar as there was now a good head of steam on both the boiler and him.

Pippin proved to be an enthusiastic, albeit hazardous, rake wielder. His plan, in theory, was sound, and, it must be said, entertaining. However standing on the back of the moving steam engine and trailing the rake through the grass cuttings to scoop them up, whilst shouting "Faster! Faster!" went awry when he mistimed heaving the cut grass into the sack and sent the loaded rake flying into the air. The airborne rake quickly found it's way back down to Middle-earth and en route dumped its contents over the driver, who, sneezing and handicapped with not being able to see, ran the cutting blades over the recalcitrant rake, splintering it into a thousand pieces. Its raking, and indeed flying, days were sadly over.

Nevertheless, it had achieved fame and renown in it's last few spectacular moments and a great cheer went up from the Mayor's supporters as fragments were strewn across the field. For many months afterwards a shard of the Thain's rake was still a collector's item for those lucky enough to find a piece.

"Merry!" Pippin shouted in exasperation. "Now you've broken my rake! That's blown it! There's no time to fetch another. I said you should let me drive!"

Merry, busy with sneezing and trying to claw the verdure from his eyes simultaneously, had let go of the controls, forgetting in his haste to de-pollinate himself, that he was still meant to be driving. The Great Steam Vapour Spindle Activated Vegetation Dissection and Lubrication Apparatus, having now sampled the delights of Pippin's rake, appeared to be intent on finding something more ambitious to destroy and set off for pastures new.

Luckily Frodo-lad, although intent on the task in hand, was alerted by the amendment in tempo from the Hobbiton crowd as, "May-or! May-or!" Changed to "Look out!" and "Dog's teeth! Run Frodo – Run!"

In fairness to the opposition, it was not the engine that directly caused the demise of Frodo's implement and Frodo-lad himself was not altogether displeased with the roar of approval and the standing ovation that his spectacular pole vault over the hedge drew from the onlookers. Nevertheless, his hasty exit from the field had been prompted by a strong desire not to be run over by the out of control steam engine and his trusty scythe bore the brunt as the snathe snapped in two under his weight.

Merry, finally freed from his grassy headgear, brought the machine to a halt and climbed down to assess the situation. "All right Frodo-lad?" He called over the hedge, "no harm done I trust?" He was careful not to actually apologise, as that would imply fault on his team's part and Merry still had his eye firmly on winning.

"I'm fine Uncle Merry," Frodo-lad was not one to bear a grudge. "Just a bit of damage to my scythe but I daresay it'll mend."

"Aye, but not in time for this race!" Sam picked up the bottom end of the broken scythe, which had remained on his side of the hedge. "That'll need a new snathe, and I've none spare."

"What about the old ditch-blade?" Frodo suggested. "I could maybe use that?"

"No," Sam shook his head. "The snathe's wrong hold for you lad, and it wants peening, before it's used again."

"What are they talking about?" Pippin whispered.

"Secret gardening language I expect," Merry hissed back. "Don't let on we don't understand."

"So that's that!" Sam shrugged, turning to Merry and Pippin with a broad grin. "Since you broke your rake and our scythe, I'm guessing you'll want to forfeit?"

"Oh no!" Merry was having none of it. "We each broke – well, Pippin broke our rake, but Frodo-lad snapped his scythe all by himself. Besides," Merry waved his hand expansively at the meadow, "you're the ones who should concede. We've finished the actual mowing and you haven't!"

"Frodo-lad wouldn't have needed to vault over the hedge if you hadn't been going to mangle him in that there machine!" Sam pointed out. "As to conceding, you agreed that the grass cuttings had to be picked up."

"But we don't have a rake now!" Pippin put his hands stubbornly on his hips. "I'm not picking up grass with my bare hands."

"What's more, that wasn't really fair!" Merry was getting quite hot under the collar again. "You put those conditions in knowing that neither Pippin nor I would read them. This was really about trying to convince everyone that the machine could actually mow faster than hobbits with scythes – and we've done that pretty fair and square!"

"Maybe so," Sam too was getting frustrated with the whole business. "But that wretched thingamabob has caused more havoc and destruction than fifty Pippins put together could have done!"

"Oh Sam!" Pippin was horrified. "I don't cause havoc! How could you say that?"

Frodo-lad, who had made his way back into the field again, giggled. "I think Dad that machine just makes Uncle Pippin's destructive tendencies more effective than usual."

"If you want to carry on with this race – then we will!" Merry's voice had more than an edge to it now. "But if you don't want the steam engine just say so. We'll carry on for the sake of the bet – and the onlookers – and we're going to win!"

"Steady on Merry," Pippin was always the peacemaker, in spite of his propensity to cause most arguments in the first place. "We can always call off the bet, and if Sam doesn't want the engine, he could just put it in the Mathom Room at Michel Delving." If nothing else, the Thain was forever ambitiously optimistic, "It might fit, if we take the doors off and perhaps the back wall." Although I had hoped he would at least pretend to like it."

"Now, now," Sam realised he had overstepped the boundaries of hobbit courtesy and had also offended his two best friends. "It's a very nice engine. But you must agree there have been more than a few mishaps. I just worry that there could be a serious accident with it…" He paused and looked pointedly at Pippin, "in the wrong hands."

"Well," Merry calmed down a little, as he could not really dispute Sam on that. "It's a moot point."

"Good idea!" Sam ventured diplomatically. "We should put it to the townsfolk and see what everybody else thinks?"

"If you like! But…" Merry was determined on one thing, "I'm not calling off the race. Have your Moot, but we still have a wager to settle!"

"Oh no!" Pippin groaned. Sam's introduction of holding Moots whenever there was dissention or a serious matter to settle, severely tried Pippin's patience, especially as he was always, as Thain, required to attend and look attentive. It was not that he disapproved of democracy as such, just the time it took. Hobbits, he had concluded, possibly took longer than Ents to decide anything!

"Please! Not another bloody Moot! We'll be here until next Yule!"

0-0-0-0-0

TBC

 I'll Wager It's A Dragon!

by Llinos
beta Marigold

"Which first?" Pippin asked cheerily. "The Moot or the Race?" There was a frosty barrier developing between Merry and Sam, and Pippin was anxious that his two friends did not fall out. "I think the Race – yes that would be best. I'll just pop and get another rake, and probably better if I drive this time Merry – don't you think?"

"No one's driving," Merry growled. "Get some of those boards Pippin and roll your sleeves up. We're going to do something you've never tried before."

"What's that Merry?" Pippin was always ready to try something new. "Have you got a plan? What are we going to do?"

"Some hard work!" Merry stalked off before he could register the look of dismay, which he knew his plan would invoke in Pippin, mainly because he knew it would amuse him, and Merry did not feel like being amused right now.

"No, seriously… Merry?" Pippin importuned his cousin's retreating back, optimistically hoping he had misheard. "What's the plan?"

"I think he means it Uncle Pippin," Frodo grimaced in sympathy with the Thain's panicked expression.

"Us too lad," Sam nodded towards the remaining intact scythe. "We'll mow and tidy, turn and turn about. Now grab hold of that scythe before your Uncle Pippin can think of any other ways to sabotage our work."

"Oh Sam! That's a bit…"

"Pippin!" Merry barked it out so sharply he even woke old Farmer Cotton, who had dozed off during the prolonged interval. "Stop nattering and get on with it!"

Pippin opened his mouth for an indignant retort but, seeing the look on his cousin's face, closed it again and hurried over to liberate two of the opposing team's boards.

Frodo paused his scything to nudge his father and nod towards their purloined equipment, which was now vanishing northwards under Pippin's arm, totally oblivious that he might have done anything untoward. Sam gave his head the slightest shake and winked at Frodo-lad. Frodo nodded in understanding and set to his scything with renewed vigour, suspecting that his canny Dad had convoluted something else into The Rules about "borrowing equipment".

"I don't see what you're making such a fuss about." Pippin dropped the boards beside his cousin, who was now on his knees frantically cramming grass cuttings into a sack with his bare hands. "I mean it's all getting a trifle out of hand don't you think? I've nothing against entertaining the masses with the engine driving and such, and singing a song is fine, but really Merry!" Pippin waved his hand expansively at the crowd, who seemed as bemused as Pippin himself. "This race was about demonstrating less hard labour, not more!"

"Well it's moved on!" Merry snapped. "It's now about winning – don't you want to win Pip?"

"Not really," Pippin sighed. "I'll pay the wager myself if you're that bothered about it."

"Not the money you clot!" Merry did not look up from his frantic grass shovelling and was obviously becoming more exasperated. "I mean winning; coming first; beating the odds! Honestly Pip, it's just a little hard work – that never killed anyone!"

"Yes it did!" Pippin began to count on his fingers. "There was old Jeb Bracegirdle, worked in his garden till he was 102 and was found dead next to his wheelbarrow. Harbo Banks, went up to mend the roof in a thunder storm and got hit by lightning. And don't forget Jess Fulburrow! Whistled his dog in the wrong direction just as he tangled his feet in his crook and was trampled by his own sheep!"

"Pip!" Merry looked up briefly. "He didn't die! He just suffered a severe case of embarrassment and you can't actually die of embarrassment!"

"I'm not so sure," Pippin frowned. "There are an awful lot of hobbits here and for me to get down on my hands and knees to scrabble around picking up grass – I could well make medical history!"

"You could," Merry agreed. "You could be the first hobbit to die from lack of hard work – when I murder you! Now get on with it!"

Pippin, having run out of arguments, coupled with Merry's increasing threats of violence, finally took the boards, one in each hand, and knelt to scoop up his share of grass, at the same time praying desperately for a celestial intercession, a humorous disturbance or even a minor accident to divert his cousin from his insistence that he participate in irrationally arduous labour.

Answers to gratuitous prayers often come in perverse and startling ways. Before Pippin's boards had touched the offending grass cuttings and his unblemished record of never actually setting his hands to major toil, an hysterical cry rang out across the party field.

"Help! Help! Every… everybody – c-come quickly!" The voice paused, obviously out of breath, but all eyes turned upon young Herbie Pottleshaw, running frantically up the Bywater Road, waving his arms crazily as he came.

Sam was first to react, throwing down his scythe and rushing over to meet the panic-stricken lad. A crowd of worried onlookers followed the Mayor; such a display from a hobbit must mean serious tidings indeed.

Before Herbie could gain his breath, rumours had already begun to fly around the field, possibly even faster than the great engine had done and perhaps with as much devastation.

"It'll be them scoundrels again, you mark my words!"

"Are the wasps coming back?" Several lasses pulled their aprons over their heads in panic at the prospect.

"Yes – and where's my ale?" Tom Cotton had just remembered why the youngster had been sent off to the pub. "A hobbit could die of thirst left to your mercy, you young scallywag!"

"Wolves! Got to be wolves at least."

"Not this time of year – I'll wager it's a dragon!"

"It is!" Herbie was still panting for air. "It's… Th… the Green Dragon…"

"Aye, I bet Belco Pinchpurse offered to buy a round!" Gusts of laughter drowned Herbie's frantic efforts to communicate.

"Hush!" Sam demanded. "Let the lad speak. What's happened Herbie?"

-TBC-

A Balrog Is Come!

by Llinos
beta Marigold 

Herbie Pottleshaw had felt decidedly miffed when he was ordered by the Thain to fetch a pint of ale to make reparations to Tom Cotton. After all, it was Thain Peregrin himself that had caused the wasps to sting the old farmer and now he, Herbie, was going to miss all the fun. And why did he have to go a mile and a half to the Green Dragon when the Ivy Bush was just round the corner?

Nevertheless, he was not one to argue, especially with such important hobbits as The Thain, The Mayor and The Master giving the orders. Besides, he was bound to get a good tip from Farmer Cotton, just so long as he managed to wheedle a pint of 1420, a fermentation that was becoming increasingly rare, out of the barmaid.

Herbie had expected to find the inn deserted, so he was quite surprised to discover a bustling trade going on.

A couple of gaffers sat by the fire, which burned summer and winter alike, partly for the atmosphere and partly so they could bang their pipes out into the embers and relight from the copious spills provided there.

An assembly of dwarves sat pie-eyed before a mountain of empty beer mugs, having taken a detour in their journey from the Glittering Caves to Bree to sample the renowned ale of The Shire.

Some rowdy tweens were taking advantage of the freedom from mature stern gazes upon their antics. The Engine, they had decided could be seen in action later; why waste an opportunity to have the inn to themselves for once, with no parental reprimands about their drinking and smoking. They were clustered around the long table and engaged in a tale telling contest, which obviously involved a great deal of imagination and a lot of very real drinking.

Young Poppy Hollowtree was minding the bar, not her usual task, as she normally only collected dirty beer mugs and washed them. But today the landlord and his wife had taken a chance that she would manage and joined the throng in the Party Field to see the amazing new engine. Besides, Gammer Barlimow was upstairs, elderly and bed-ridden though she was, the old landlady could still be called upon for lucid instructions and guidance.

"Oi there Herbertimus!" Rolando Puddifoot called out from the table as he entered. "You got bored with the great engine already?"

"Not at all!" Herbie did not like to be called "Herbertimus". "You don't know what you're missing!"

"Oh I seen engines going afore," lied Rolando. "Tain't as good as a day in the pub without your gaffer breathing down your neck."

"It tain't the engine as is the entertainment!" Herbie grinned knowingly. "It's watching the Thain and the Master trying to make it go! You wouldn't believe what they got up to!"

"Well get yourself a pint of best and tell us!" Rolando, full of largesse and ale, flicked a ha'penny at Herbie.

"I'll get my own, ta muchly Rolly." Herbie knew he should not stop for a sup, but he did not want to be outdone by a know-it-all Puddifoot and he certainly had a tale to tell.

A pint and a half of best bitter later, Herbie was in his element. Even the old gaffers had joined the table and were guffawing loudly as Herbie related how the Thain had leapt at least 30 feet into the air, performed a double backwards somersault and then described the Master's daring feat of stopping the engine single-handed with his bare teeth. Ale and enthusiasm were great aids to story telling, besides these hobbits wanted a good yarn, not boring facts!

Herbie had just reached the end of his second pint and the part about the wasps, when he suddenly remembered his mission. "I'm sorry lads," he noisily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Got to go. I'm on a special errand for Cap'n Peregrin himself, I don't doubt he'll give me a ride on his engine when I get back."

Slightly unsteadily Herbie rose from the table and slapped the Thain's coin on the bar. "A pint of 1420 for Cap'n Peregrin," he announced grandly, well aware of the gasps that went up.

"I'm so sorry sir," Poppy bobbed a curtsey, now quite in awe of Herbie after his grand stories and clearly important social connections. "I'm not allowed to draw that, it has to be done by the landlord hisself, and he be away at the Party Field with the Missus."

"Well the Thain is going to be mightily put out and I comes back without it!" Herbie said in his sternest tone, which would not be that intimidating to most hobbits, but young Poppy was suitably impressed.

"I'll go and ask Gammer Barlimow," Poppy curtseyed again. "She'll know what to do." And without waiting for further remonstrations she hurried off upstairs to consult with the matriarch.

"Hoi Poppy!" Rolando called after her. "We need another round here."

"And the fire's gone out!" One of the old gaffers shouted. "You need to fetch some kindling and more logs."

"Don't trouble her now," Herbie sniffed imperiously. "She's about the Thain's business."

"The Thain can mind his own business!" The gaffer retorted indignantly. "My old bones need a bit o' warming and how am I supposed to light me pipe?"

"I'll see to it," Rolando announced pushing himself up from the table rather unsteadily. "No need for kindling, I've seen the landlord do this many a time. Then I'll get another round in." He winked conspiratorially at his comrades. "After all, a bit o' work deserves fair pay. One of you fetch the logs and I'll get the cinders."

Indeed the landlord of the Green Dragon was famous for his sprint through the main bar with a shovel full of hot cinders and cries of "mind yer backs!" Using burning coals from the kitchen stove was an expedient method of lighting all the fires in the pub without messing about with bellows and bits of sticks.

However, it must be said, that there was more skill in the operation than met the eye. Rolando found the shovel with no trouble and loaded it with red-hot cinders. Then he added a couple of burning coals, just to be sure, and pushed open the kitchen door with the landlord's signature cry.

"Mind yer baaaacckkkkssss! Aaaiiiieeee!" Rolando, full of ale and bravado, in his attempt to imitate the landlord's sprint caught his foot in the rush matting and the shovel full of burning coals went flying into the air.

Unfortunately the coals did not stay in the air. They landed in the crisp pile of new dry rushes set carefully aside to renew the flooring. The two elements blended well together and a crackle of flame started immediately.

Herbie, seeing the imminent danger, seized a jug from behind the bar and threw the contents onto the flames. Sadly, his prompt action was in vain. The jug actually contained lamp oil ready for replenishing the pub's lighting.

A wall of flames engulfed the corridor and quickly took hold of the well-seasoned timbers of the stairs, fanned by the draught from the back kitchen door, left open by the lad collecting logs. The fire also decided to follow another interesting route, as the oil ran along the rush-coated floor into the main sitting area.

"Everyone out! Everyone out! Quickly!" Herbie grasped hold of Rolando, who was still floundering about on the floor, and pulled him to his feet. "Come on Rolly, this whole place is going up in flames!"

The younger drinkers, none too steady themselves, helped the two old gaffers to the door, while the dwarves, still drunk but sobering up at the sight, made it through the front entrance in record time, all screeching, "Ai! ai! A Balrog! A Balrog is come!"

"Quick!" Gaffer Appleby urged, showing the wisdom of years. "Fetch some buckets."

"Where are they?" Rolando looked frantically around.

"I don't know," Herbie was, like his comrades, not a frequent patron of this particular hostelry.

"In the back of the kitchen!" Gaffer Appleby shouted. "Fetch some water from the Pool."

"Wait Rolly!" Herbie caught his arm. "You can't go back in there, the fire is right in front of the kitchen."

"At least everyone got out," Rolando exclaimed with relief. He turned questioningly to Herbie. "They did, didn't they?"

"Poppy!" Herbie started back towards the entrance. "And Gammer Barlimow – they're both upstairs!"

-TBC-

A/N: The landlord racing through the pub with a shovelful of hot coals is a childhood memory of my grandfather. He lit all the fires in his pub, The Red Lion, by this method and the cry of "Mind yer backs!" was his. Oh, but he never actually managed to burn the place down - as far as I remember.

An Infernal Behemoth From The Bowels Of Isengard

by Llinos
beta Marigold

"Hush!" Sam demanded. "Let the lad speak. What's happened Herbie?"

"It's… It's the Green Dragon – It's on fire!" Herbie was still panting from his mammoth run, especially tricky with 2 pints of ale in his belly. "And… and… Poppy Hollowtree and Gammer Barlimow are trapped upstairs!"

"Get the ponies," Merry shouted to Pippin. "We'll get there faster."

"No time for that," Sam decided. "Everyone, grab what you can to douse or beat out the fire and let's go!"

A great clamour immediately arose again. The landlord of the Green Dragon set off at once with a lolloping gait that belied his portly frame, whilst others who lived locally ran off to fetch buckets or bowls or whatever containers might hold water.

Pippin, reacting swiftly to Merry's command for once, rushed off to fetch their steeds, which were stabled at the back of Bag End. By the time he returned with the unsaddled mounts, the Party Field was all but deserted.

"No time for saddles Merry," Pippin gasped. "I've put bridles on but we'd better hurry. Where are Diamond and Vinca and Farrie?"

"I sent them off to the Ivy Bush, with the other womenfolk and youngsters." Merry had not been idle in Pippin's absence. "You can see the smoke from the Green Dragon, the fire must have reached the thatch by now!"

"Wait!" Pippin snatched the reins away from Merry's grasp. "The thatch! How are we going to put the fire out if it's reached so high?"

"We'll work that out when we get there!" Merry snorted impatiently. "Give me my pony and let's go!"

"No!" Pippin slipped his leg over his own pony and jumped down. "Think! We could use the Engine! It's not just for cutting grass – it's got a great big water tank and a hose!"

"Pippin!" Merry's face lit up with excitement. "For once, you're actually right. Come on, she's still got a good head of steam, we'll be there in half the time at full throttle." He was halfway across the field and still running when he thought to announce breathlessly, albeit sternly, "and I'm driving!"

Halfway along the Bywater Road they caught up with the throng. Pippin, mindful of Matt's advice, resisted the urge to blow the whistle and instead shouted at the top of his voice, "Hi! Hi! Out of the way! Clear the way!"

It was hardly necessary advice, since all the racing hobbits had heard the engine's chugging from quite a distance. Several cheered, a few booed and Sam shook his head in dismay. "Why are you still messing around with that thing? This is an emergency!" He shouted up at them.

"No!" Matt Hammerstone pointed towards the billows of smoke, now easily visible. "They're right! The engine can pump water onto the fire! Come on Mr Mayor, climb up, we'll get there quicker."

"Me? Climb on that thing!" Sam gulped back his dismay. "Well I suppose…"

"Come on Dad!" Frodo-lad clutched his father's arm with one hand and with the other grabbed hold of the brass handrail and jumped up onto the running plate, dragging Sam after him. Pippin reached out and caught Sam's braces to haul the reluctant Mayor to safety.

Matt and several other livelier lads, including young Herbie, also managed to leap onto the back of the engine and, once all were safely aboard, Merry opened the throttle as wide as it would go, soon outstripping the rest of the running hobbits. "Must have been 30, if not 35, miles an hour!" He would later claim.

"Watch out! Watch out!" The former drinkers, now auxiliary, albeit still tipsy, fire-fighters were badly shaken when they saw the engine, like an infernal behemoth from the bowels of Isengard, lumbering towards them.

The dwarves, however, who had been attempting to form a wobbly dwarven pyramid to the upper floor, but were beaten back by the flames from the thatch, gave a mighty cheer. "That's just the thing!" Dorin exclaimed to his brother Florin. "It's a genuine steam vapour spindle activated vegetation dissection and lubrication apparatus! There should be a good pump and hosepipe on board."

"Over here, by the Pool!" Dorin, who was slightly less intoxicated than his comrades, directed Merry to park the vehicle midway between the Pool and the pub. Pippin immediately, and surprisingly efficiently, began paying out the hosepipe to the dwarves, making sure it did not snag or twist in the process.

Sam, leaping boldly, and extremely thankfully, from the engine, grasped Rolando by the lapels, shaking the shocked and inebriated youngster to get his full attention. "What's the situation Rolly? Who's still in there?"

"Poppy Hollowtree and Ga- Gammer Barlimow," Rolando stuttered. "Poppy was at the window, screaming her head off. But she's stopped now! I don't know what's happened. We tried to get water up on the thatch – but it's too high!"

The dwarves meanwhile had sprung into action. "You stay up there Master," Florin shouted to Merry. "Keep the engine just ticking over until we get the hose set."

"I need more fuel!" Merry shouted back. "The fire is getting too low. Here Matt, you take over the engine and I'll organise it."

Matt could hardly believe his ears, but leapt willingly up into the cab and took over the controls from Merry. As if born to the occupation, the mechanically minded smith eased the throttle to produce a low thrum from the engine.

Merry meanwhile, with the help of Frodo and Rolando, began to demolish a beautifully crafted garden bench and table. The landlord, at first horrified at this desecration of many hours of loving work, began to stop them, but suddenly realised what the need was and, fetching a sledgehammer from his shed, shattered his handiwork into fragments which were then quickly fed into the engine's dwindling fire. He then started to lay about the shed, in case more fuel was needed.

Several of the dwarves reeled the feeder hose into Bywater Pool and connected the pump to fill the engine's main reservoir, while the others attached the lubrication hose to the output pump and elected Pippin to direct it. (Dwarves generally acknowledge that hobbits are more keen sighted and have better aim than they.)

"Steady now," Dorin warned. He and Florin braced Pippin from behind. "The pressure will have a mighty kick in it!"

"All right Matt!" Pippin cried. "Let her go – full steam ahead!"

None of the hobbits, including Pippin, had anticipated the force that water pumped by an engine through a narrow pipe would generate. The Thain would have been knocked off his feet, but for the sturdy weight of the two dwarven pillars propping him up from behind.

The effect was also something none of the hobbits had seen before, let alone expected. Within seconds, Pippin made good the dwarves' expectation of his heritage and directed the jet of water straight into the heart of fire. Within minutes the thatch was doused into a smoking ruin.

"Quick! Move the engine closer," Merry waved Matt towards the pub. "Under the window. We can use it to get up there."

Matt, grasping the controls so quickly one had to wonder if he had been taking secret lessons, manoeuvred the engine to the right spot, even managing to avoid running Pippin over in the process.

Merry and Pippin, together with Frodo-lad and Rolando, scrambled up onto the roof of the engine. Wordlessly, the two younger hobbits made a step with their crossed hands, enabling Pippin to be tossed up into the burnt-out window.

Merry followed and, with damp handkerchiefs held to their mouths, the pair quickly discovered Poppy and Gammer Barlimow, huddled in a corner, beneath a tent made from a soaked sheet. Fortunately the Gammer's washstand and hot water bottle had provided enough water to keep them from the worst of the smoke and flames.

Nevertheless the danger was still imminent as part of the floor was gone, cutting Poppy and Gammer Barlimow off from escape through the window, added to which, burning rubble from the thatch had fallen into the room. The flames still licked mercilessly around the door and threatened to engulf the two sheltering females at any moment.

Mentally closing his eyes, but for safety's sake actually keeping them wide open, Pippin made a mighty leap across the chasm that separated him from the womenfolk.

"Don't be frightened Poppy," he gasped. "You need to jump, but Merry will catch you." He pulled the terrified lass to her feet and urged her towards the edge of the gaping hole.

"I can't! I can't!" Poppy wailed, "I'm too scarded! I'll fall!"

Pippin looked frantically round the room, remembering for a second how afraid he had been in Moria to leap across a yawning chasm. Through the stinging smoke, he could see that the bed had remained virtually intact. Quickly he pulled back the thin mattress to find good oak boards beneath. Ripping two from the frame, Pippin laid them across the narrowest part of the gap and gently manoeuvred Holly across to Merry's waiting arms.

Gammer Barlimow, now almost unconscious, looked up blearily at Pippin. "Well done, young Master," she wheezed. "Now get yourself out of here while there's still time."

"I'm not going to leave you!" Pippin choked back. The Gammer was frail and thin, but a dead weight and as Pippin hoisted the old hobbit matriarch onto his shoulder he staggered slightly under the burden.

Summoning his last ounce of strength, for it had been a long, hard day, Pippin began to blindly pick his way across the oak boards.

He had almost reached the far side, when there came an ominous cracking sound beneath his feet. The weight of Pippin, combined with the Gammer, proved too much for the weakened remains of the bedroom floor and, as he felt the oak boards dislodge, he frantically flung Gammer Barlimow forward into Merry's arms, before plummeting into the blazing room below.

-TBC-

A Hundred Engines Laid End-To-End

by Llinos
beta Marigold

"Pippinnnnn!" Merry's crescendo cry of anguish and dismay rang out from Bywater to Hobbiton. But in spite of his horror at seeing his cousin vanish into the burning building, he managed to catch Gammer Barlimow and pass her safely to Frodo and Rolando.

Merry flung himself to the floor frantically trying to see Pippin and was about to leap into the hole, regardless of the flames and smoke below, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Steady Merry," Sam had climbed up onto the engine and in through the hole where the window used to be. "Think! You jumping down there isn't going to help Pippin. Use your head!"

A voice from below shouted up, "I can see Mr Pippin, but we can't get to him. The door's caved in and there's too much rubble. We're trying to shift it but it's awful smoky in there!"

"Think… use head? Pippin! Think!" Merry did not even seem to realise he was muttering out loud. He clutched Sam's hand on his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut, not, Sam immediately realised against the smoke, but in frantic concentration.

"Right!" He shouted so loudly Sam jumped in fright. "Everybody off the engine! And stand well back!"

Many willing hands had quickly lifted the Gammer to safety and as Sam and Merry emerged once more from the upstairs, everyone quickly obeyed. The lads both jumped down in mighty leaps and Matt quickly relinquished the controls to the Master once more and slid to the ground.

"You too Sam!" Merry's chin was firmly set as he backed the engine up from the building, swinging the rear end round towards the pool as he did so.

"No!" Sam could also set his chin when the need arose. "I know what you're planning and it needs two! Now let's see what this precious engine of yours can do!"

Most of the upper floor was now gone, but the ground floor, built of bricks and plaster, was considerably more solid. The door itself was filled with rubble from the collapse of the storey above and the building seemed totally impenetrable.

"Let the steam build," Dorin advised, seeing immediately what Merry intended. "Then engage her lowest gear and open the throttle as far as you can."

"Open the damper on the fire first," Matt added his wisdom. "Make sure it's good and hot!"

Sam reckoned later he could almost hear Merry's teeth grind over the racket of the gears' own grating rasp. The two brave hobbits braced themselves as Merry ran the engine at full pelt into the side of the ailing pub. Timbers cracked and bricks splintered as the mighty machine split the wall asunder.

Merry's aim was good. He had positioned the engine to bring down the wall far enough away from Pippin that he would not be hit by any falling masonry. As soon as the engine arrived in the pub's front parlour, Sam leapt down and raced to the unconscious Thain, lying prone in the midst of charred beams and debris from the roof. The deluge from above had doused most of the fire in the front of the building and, although the kitchen and bar were blazing merrily, the flames were mostly spent where Pippin lay.

"Pip! Pip! Can you hear me?" Merry, pausing only to ram the engine into neutral gear, was soon at Sam's side. "Is he breathing? Pip! Pip?"

"He's breathing," Sam released his own breath that he realised he had been holding. "Don't move him! I think his leg may be broken, and who knows what damage he's done to his back in that fall."

"We can't leave him here!" Merry, with great trepidation, lifted his cousin's weight slightly so that he could straighten Pippin's bent up leg from under his body. "There's still more of the roof that could come down."

Pippin's eyes fluttered open with the movement. "Merry?"

"Hush now," Merry soothed. "You're going to be all right, my gallant knight!"

"Why did you say that?" Pippin frowned, then winced with pain. "Did I do something stupid or brave?"

"Both," Merry smiled down at him and tried to wipe some of the black soot smudges off Pippin's worried face. "As usual."

I knew it must be one or the other," Pippin sighed, his eyes closing again. "Because I hurt all over."

I think he's passed out again," Sam patted Pippin's hand and got no reaction. "Look, we'll use one of those boards to carry him, carefully now."

With as much speed as they dared, Sam and Merry eased Pippin's limp form onto one of the oak planks that had, unlike their liberator, remained intact during their fall. As Pippin was carried out on the improvised stretcher a great cheer heralded the rescuers, from hobbits and dwarves alike.

"Three cheers for the Thain – hero of the hour!"

"Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!"

"Three cheers for the Mayor and the Master!"

"Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

"Three hearty cheers for the Great Engine!"

Hip, hip… Arrgggghhhhh! Watch out!"

Even as the salutation to the mighty machine, that had saved at least three lives that day, went up, a cracking and groaning emanated from the building as it finally collapsed inwards like a giant mobile tomb upon the Great Spindle Activated Vegetation Dissection and Lubrication Apparatus.

"Oh Merry!" Sam's mouth dropped open in genuine dismay. "Your magnificent engine!"

"Ha!" Merry shrugged dismissively. "No matter. I'd rather have my magnificent cousin. After all, Pippin is capable of causing more excitement on his own than a hundred engines laid end-to-end! Besides, Sam," Merry grinned at the Mayor's slip, "it was supposed to be your engine!"

"Oh yes," Sam's face turned beetroot. "Now why do I keep forgetting that?"

TBC

You Never Did Like That Engine

by Llinos
beta Marigold

"Crushed! What do you mean crushed?" Pippin had been allowed to sit up for the first time in a week and the specialist healer, brought all the way from Tookland to set his fractured leg, had decreed the Thain was fit enough to hear some news.

"Underneath the Green Dragon," Merry explained. "The whole building collapsed."

"Well I don't know which is worse!" Pippin sighed. "Losing the engine, or the Green Dragon."

"The important thing," Diamond soothed, "is that we didn't lose you!"

"Besides," Merry grinned. "It's not all bad."

"No," Sam nodded in agreement. "As my old gaffer always used to say, 'it's an ill wind as blows nobody no good, and all's well as ends better!'"

"Better?" Pippin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You two are keeping something from me. How can losing the pub and the steam engine be better?"

"Well you see," Merry looked just a little shamefaced, "Sam and I agreed that the whole race, wager and engine situation was getting rather out of hand, that and the fact that you nearly killed yourself and quite a few of the local population in one day, to say nothing of the incidental injuries and a mounting bill for damages, so…"

"…yes, so Merry and I decided," Sam interrupted quickly, "we thought it best if we each donate the amount of the wager towards the various repairs, so that way nobody wins and nobody loses."

"I wouldn't say nobody loses," Merry said sternly. "Pippin, you caused more damage in one day than Sharkey's men could manage in a week."

"I wasn't that bad!" Pippin protested as loudly as his sore throat would allow. "It wasn't me that set fire to the Green Dragon!"

"Not directly," Merry agreed. "But it was you that sent young Herbie Pottleshaw to fetch the ale, so indirectly…"

"That's hardly fair!" Pippin muttered. "I don't go looking for disasters you know."

"True," Sam nodded, "but they do seem to have a knack of following you around."

"But don't worry about it," Merry added cheerfully. "You just take your time and get better and then we'll buy you a drink to celebrate your grand rescue."

"Yes but not in the Green Dragon," Pippin pointed out gloomily.

"Oh well," Sam shrugged, "we can always drink in the Ivy Bush."

"So it's really all gone?" Pippin's looked sadder than his friends had seen him since Frodo left. "Pub, engine, race, everything?"

"Yes, but don't you fret about anything," Merry added kindly. "It was a grand day, and nobody was permanently injured. Even you will heal in time." Then added softly, "you frightened us Pip love, nearly thought we'd lost you there for a moment."

"Could you at least get me something to lean on?" Pippin asked hopefully as Merry seemed to be softening. "Maybe help me out of this bed. I want to go and see for myself? Perhaps I can help."

"You must stay where you are, my precious," Diamond's smile lit up the room. "I've been looking forward to making a big fuss of you for the next few weeks and you wouldn't want to disappoint me, now would you dearest."

"Of course not my sweeting," Pippin lay back down on his pillows, knowing well when he was beaten. "Oh well, I suppose you're right. It might be for the best. You never did like that engine Sam."

The Thain did not make a good invalid as a rule. Diamond would frequently chide him for going out in all weathers with a bad chill, which she would describe as a possible onset of the winter sickness but which Pippin merely laughed off as "a bit of a tickle". He never reported headaches or twinges to his beloved wife for fear of being restricted to her special herbal diet and banned from pipe and brandy. But on this occasion he had had little choice.

The smoke Pippin had ingested had made breathing and talking difficult for several days, which in turn made protesting his fitness rather ridiculous. Added to which even Pippin knew he could not convince Diamond, let alone the local healer, that his leg was not broken and was just a bit of a sprain. Admittedly he had felt much worse after being flattened by the great troll in the Battle of the Black Gate, but this was certainly enough to keep him flat on his back.

Diamond had been in her element, lavishing care and healing upon her poor husband, whilst Rose had sustained a constant supply of jelly and soup to ease the invalid's throat, which Diamond had delighted in spoon feeding to the prone Pippin.

Eventually Pippin had capitulated and, taking Merry's advice to lie back and enjoy it while he could, luxuriated in the tender care of two doting females. He even tolerated Merry coming to read to him now and again from the new book he was writing on herb lore, which was a good indication to everyone (except perhaps Merry) that the Thain was decidedly under the weather.

So it was two whole months before Pippin was eventually given a pair of crutches and, aided by his attentive wife, hobbled to the front entrance of Bag End.

As the round door swung open, Pippin let out the breath he had been holding, ready to take in a deep lungful of fresh air and comparative freedom for the first time in eight weeks.

But as he started to draw in that first heady inhalation of liberty, the Thain of the Shire gasped, then choked and seemed on the verge of an imminent relapse.

"Merry!" Pippin gasped. "Me-rrrry!"

TBC

You Knocked The Green Dragon Down!

by Llinos
beta Marigold

Pippin dropped one of his crutches with the shock and his doting wife immediately caught him under his arm to bolster him up. "I told you it was too soon!" Diamond remonstrated at Merry. "I'm taking him back to bed at once!"

"No… No!" Pippin steadied himself against Diamond and held out his arm for Frodo-lad to hand him back the errant crutch. "I'm fine, please dear, in fact I'm… I'm… simply splendid!"

If possible, the great engine that stood outside Bag End was more magnificent than anything Pippin had ever seen in the Shire. The glistening red enamelled paintwork was set off by the gleaming brass funnel and railings. The running boards and the wheels were coated in a deep ebony material, which had a spongy, porous quality and even the drivers' platform and the four-seater pillion behind were upholstered in the finest black leather.

To add to the splendour, the whole contraption had been decked out in flowers and ribbons and young Faramir was seated proudly next to his Uncle Merry at the controls, ringing a magnificent brass bell.

"Look Daddy! Look!" Faramir shouted to his wobbly father. "I'm on top!"

"Indeed you are, Farrie!" Pippin grinned at his excited son, as elated as his child.

"You be careful Faramir!" Diamond warned. "Hold on tightly."

"Don't worry Diamond love," Merry called back. "It's quite safe – now! Even Pippin won't fall off this time."

"We'll see about that!" Pippin lurched forward with crutches and grin firmly in place.

It actually took a good twenty minutes for Pippin to even get on this time and be safely ensconced in the centre of the leather pillion, Diamond seated nervously beside him. First he had had to limp all the way around the shining engine, inspecting every aspect of it. Then, before boarding, it was necessary to engage in a protracted argument with Merry and Diamond about why he should be allowed to drive.

"I'm sure it must be my turn," Pippin had tried, hopefully.

"You've still got a metal brace on your broken leg," Merry pointed out. "And there are now two foot pedals to operate."

"I could poke them with my crutch." Pippin knew he was on thin ground and tried one last ploy. "Besides, the last time you drove Merry, you knocked the Green Dragon down."

"Pippin!" Merry and Diamond spluttered in unison, finally putting paid to any further debate and Pippin settled back to enjoy the ride.

"How did you afford a new one?" Pippin knew the Brandybucks were rich, but he also knew how much the engine had cost, to say nothing of the transportation costs from Dale. "And how did you get it here so quickly?"

"Silly!" Merry laughed affectionately. "Though I can understand you not recognising it. This is our original engine!"

"But you said it was crushed?" Pippin patted the fine leather upholstery. "And it didn't have these seats on it before, nor half the things it's got now. What's that lever for?"

"Don't touch that!" Merry knew Pippin could not have reached the lever from behind, but old habits die hard. "It was the dwarves," Merry explained. "Florin and Dorin mostly, but they all helped – them and Matt Hammerstone. It was badly damaged but most of the bodywork and engine were still intact so they sent for new parts, from the Glittering Caves and from the Blue Mountains – got here in record time. We used those carrier pigeons Gimli left to send out the orders for what was needed."

"And you did it all in eight weeks?" Pippin was visibly impressed. "The exact time it took for me to be allowed out!"

"Well," Merry grinned sheepishly. "The healer actually said you could go out six days ago, but we weren't quite ready, so we persuaded him to… um… prolong your convalescence a tad."

"Merry!" Pippin gasped. "That was just heartless and cruel!"

"I know," Merry agreed, "but it was worth it to see the look on your face."

"Traitor," Pippin poked Merry in the back with his crutch. "So where are we going? At least I can enjoy you driving me around until my leg's better and I can drive again."

"Pippin," Merry turned to look at his cousin with a serious frown. "I'm not going to drive you all over the Shire for the next six months! However, we are going to take a little run today, to Bywater."

"Yes," Pippin's face fell. "I should survey the damage. See how it can be rebuilt, although I suppose it will take an awfully long time to get the right timbers if we're going to put it back as it was."

"Indeed," Merry let out the clutch and young Faramir blew the whistle as the engine trundled forward. "One of the few half-timbered buildings in the Shire and the only one in the East Farthing since the Grange went."

As the shiny machine progressed along the Bywater Road, hobbits began emerging from everywhere, cheering and throwing flowers and waving scarves, running alongside and behind the engine (although they all now had the sense not to run in front of it). The lasses were all decked out in their finest party frocks and the lads wore their best braces and waistcoats.

As the procession steamed into Bywater, the band waiting there struck up a new and lively arrangement of the Dandelion song. The Mayor, resplendent in his official robes, complete with tri-corner hat and Chain of Office was seated on the podium in front of the band. Across the top of the platform was a large banner with the legend, "Bravo Peregrin I – Thain of The Shire, Hero of the Day!"

It seemed as if everyone in the Shire had turned out for the celebration, and as Pippin's amazed eyes scanned the crowds he saw to his delight a group of Dwarves to the left of the platform, led by none other than Gimli and to the right was an assembly of Elven folk, and at their head was Legolas.

But even these wonders could not compare to the most stunning sight of all. Pippin's mouth dropped open and stayed open for several seconds before he could find the words. "Merry! But how?"

The Green Dragon stood there as if nothing worse had happened to it than a speedy whitewash and a severe case of new thatch. The thatcher had even woven into the roof, alongside his trademark swan, a dragon made of green rushes.

"Of course we probably couldn't have rebuilt it so quickly on our own – not to its original state but you know how news travels," Merry brought the engine to a halt in front of the pub. "But once the elves heard how the dwarves were helping us out with the engine and all, they brought new timbers from Fangorn."

"And you did all this in eight weeks?" Pippin's amazement was swiftly turning into total delight, followed by excitement, which automatically led to his next question. "Can we have a pint?"

"Not yet!" Merry hissed. "You've got to cut the ribbon first, I hope you have a good speech ready."

"You might have warned me!" Pippin muttered.

"I know," Merry whispered back. "But it would have spoiled the surprise. Besides, when were you ever lost for words?"

"Never as a rule," Pippin mumbled half under his breath. "But I'm thinking of making an exception for today!"

It took another 30 minutes for the Thain and his party to be seated on the podium. There was much shaking of hands, embracing, pats on the back and, of course, a long and joyful reunion with Legolas and Gimli.

"My dear hobbits, esteemed elves and noble dwarves," Sam opened the proceedings with what all could tell would be a long speech. But for once nobody minded, as all were eager to hear what he had to say, notwithstanding that many all ready knew the events that had taken place.

"We are here today to honour first and foremost, Captain Peregrin, Knight of Gondor and Thain of the Shire." Cheers erupted and Sam waited for the clamour to die down.

"But also to extend our heartfelt thanks to Lord Gimli of the Glittering Caves and his industrious and clever companions." There were more cheers. "Their work in restoring the Great Steam Vapour Spindle Activated Vegetation Dissection and Lubrication Apparatus has been without equal," Sam paused. "Except perhaps for the inestimable labours of our dear friend Prince Legolas Greenleaf and his people, whose loving work and timely procuring of the necessary timbers has restored our beloved Green Dragon to its former glory!" Great cheers at this.

Sam went on to congratulate and thank many others who had helped in the work, naming each in turn so that they could receive their due hoorays and applause.

"And finally," there was by this time a small ripple of relief. "To the Great Engine itself. Matt Hammerstone has worked closely with our dwarven friends to not only restore the marvellous machine, but has also incorporated many safety features and improvements to its design and purpose. I will now ask Matt to explain the quality and functions of the new design."

There was a definite groan as Matt stood up and shuffled a sheaf of papers in his hands. "Thank you Lord Mayor," Matt began nervously, he was not accustomed to speaking much at all, let alone public speaking. "In the new, improved engine we have incorporated a double spring loaded brake responder, coupled with a reverse observation reflection device and a two-tier balustrade enclosure system designed to prevent accidental egress and unmanned operation. Furthermore, the appliance is now fully equipped with a retractable conflagration extinguishing and irrigation apparatus as well as a wholly extendable turntable building entry device."

The hobbits were starting to mumble and mutter amongst themselves and it was not just the youngsters that were beginning to get restless. Matt had obviously been spending a lot of time working with the dwarves. Too much some might have said.

"Thank you Matt," Merry came to everyone's rescue. "It's good to know that there's an emergency brake, reversing mirrors, a new hose for putting out fires, a ladder for rescuing trapped hobbits and…" he finished with a flourish and a pointed look at Pippin. "No one should fall off it again!"

"What about the grass cutting?" Old Farmer Cotton, seated once more in his armchair, which had been specially transported to Bywater for the day, shouted. "You going to do any more of that?"

Merry lifted up his hand to silence the barrage of similar questions and general hubbub. "No," he stated firmly. "The cutting blades have not been reinstated. We have decided that the new improved engine is now to be used solely in the event of an emergency – to put out fires or to pump flood water – that type of thing."

"So what about the name?" Pippin asked with a grin.

"Ah yes!" Merry grinned back, then turned to the expectant crowd once more. "Esteemed dwarves, Florin and Dorin," Merry bowed to them each in turn, "have informed me it is now called, A Steam Vapour Spindle Activated Conflagration Extinguishing and Predicament Liberation Apparatus." The hubbub swelled once more with much shaking of heads and looks of puzzlement.

"However!" Sam took over. "With their honoured permission, we have decided to call it..."

Sam paused and everyone waited with bated breath.

"...A Fire Engine!"

The End
(except for the Epilogue)

A/N: Thanks for reading (and if you have) reviewing! Nearly finished now - just the epilogue, (well I couldn't end it there!)  So no more cliff-hangers, just a neat bow on the loose ends!

Dignified Vegicide For A Noble Cause

by Llinos
beta Marigold

There were of course many more speeches during the afternoon. The whole story of the fire and daring rescues were recounted many times over from various points of view, sometimes by hobbits who had not even been there.

Gammer Barlimow was wheeled in her bath chair to the podium by Poppy Hollowtree to present bouquets to Diamond, Estella and Rose and give their personal thanks to the Thain, the Master and the Mayor, which they both did many times over.

It was announced, with due ceremony, that Captain Peregrin, in appreciation of his amazing act of courage, in addition to his title of Thain and Took, would also have the title, Fire Captain General of The Shire.

Captain Meriadoc, also in gratitude for his outstanding bravery, would act as Tactical Fire Battalion Commander.

However Matt Hammerstone, "in recognition of his extensive work with our esteemed dwarven colleagues and his exceptional expertise in modifying the new Fire Engine, would be…" (from a purely practical point of view, although this was not actually announced, but generally understood) "…Fire Shirriff in Charge." As Sam announced this there were not only great cheers but quite a few sighs of relief.

Then Pippin had cut the ribbon to open the new Green Dragon and put a substantial, albeit undisclosed, sum behind the bar to buy drinks for everyone. Sam and Merry had donated two barrels each, as per the wager, of 1420 from their personal store, so Farmer Cotton eventually got his promised pint.

Everyone's health was drunk and everyone was happy. There was even a precious cask of Sylvan wine especially for the elves and the Green Dragon soon felt as if it had never been gone.

Pippin was particularly fascinated with how the necessary timbers had been acquired, and so quickly. "Legolas," he asked his old friend, "I thought elves didn't approve of chopping down trees."

"We do not!" The elf's serene smile became serious for a moment. "Not without discussing it with them first."

"Oh," In spite of his former associations with Treebeard, Pippin was still confused. "So they volunteered to become part of a hobbits' pub? A kind of dignified vegicide for a noble cause?"

"Of course not," Legolas laughed merrily. "We discussed with the ents which branches we could take, so as not to do any harm. It is similar to the tree having a haircut."

"Well that's a relief!" Pippin took another hearty quaff of his ale. "I was worried for a moment that it might have been someone we knew."

In the months and years that followed Matt Hammerstone took his duties very seriously. The engine was kept tuned and polished to perfection in its new home, a smart wooden shed, built next to the smithy. The addition of the brass bell meant hobbits could be warned of its approach without the need to waste valuable steam on blowing the whistle.

Herbie Pottleshaw and Rolando Puddifoot were enrolled as Active Service Fire Shirriffs (second class) and were trained in all aspects of Fire Engine maintenance and operation, especially how to operate the new turntable ladder and hoses. Rolly was even persuaded to modify his drinking in case of the event of a fire occurring and he and Herbie became the closest of friends. This was just as well, as the other tweenagers began to regard the pair as a trifle boring since all they wanted to talk about was the Fire Engine and they could often be seen huddled together in the Ivy Bush discussing possible new innovations or rescues they would like to make.

In the event rescues were rare. Widow Shortshanks' cat was liberated from a fairly high tree and in a particularly alarming incident, young Hamfast Gamgee's head was finally released from a particularly tricky set of railings. (This last was actually achieved by Matt lifting the lad upside down so that his rather large pointed ears could slide through easily – and did not really require the Fire Engine, but was still claimed as a victory for the Hobbiton Fire Brigade.)

But probably the most important function of the Fire Brigade was at the mid-summer Free Fair. The Fire Engine was polished until it shone and decked out once more with ribbons and flags and stood in honour at the front of the Fair entrance.

Hobbit children, and quite a few adults as well, were happy to subject themselves to a long lecture about fire safety and proper respect for machines and engines in return for a ride upon the Great Machine itself. Particularly attentive young hobbits were even allowed the ring the bell.

In spite of his new title of Fire Captain General of The Shire, Pippin somehow never quite got to drive the Fire Engine himself. For some odd reason, there always seemed to be grounds why someone else (usually Matt) should drive.

"Pippin, people will want to see you, and you are much more visible on the pillion!" Merry reasoned.

"I think it's important that everyone knows Matt is the official driver," Sam had pointed out.

"Dearest, you have a bit of a cold starting," Diamond insisted. "I don't want you breathing all those nasty coal fumes."

It was never, of course, suggested that Pippin was a bad or dangerous driver. Some things just don't need to be said!

The End
(Really this time!)