(Written for the LOTR GFIC Yule Fic Exchange, for Celeritas)

Title: The Annals of the West, Part I
Author: Dreamflower
Recipient: Celeritas AKA labourslamp
Request: I'd like to see your take on the after-life of any of the Great Tales that make up Tolkien's legendarium and were written down for our (eventual) reading. What kinds of people wrote them down? Who made sure--and how--that they survived at all, let alone managed to reach Tolkien? I don't care which tale or era you choose to highlight (or even a collection?)--anything from Cuivienen* to that mysterious extra volume of the Red Book made by the Fairbairns--and I don't care which stage of the stories' lives you focus on (if you choose one at all!)--creation, transmission, reception (positive or negative?), duplication, up to translation and publication. Just give me something about manuscripts!
*Not the Ainulindalë in this case, since even though the events may have happened earlier, the Elves wouldn't have learned of it till later.
Author's Notes: This story turned out much longer than I had any intention of writing. For this reason I have divided it into four main story parts, plus a short epilogue and end notes. 

Merry pursed his lips and took off his spectacles, laying them to one side, and then looked up at his cousin, who sat across from his desk in the Master's study. "You've done a marvelous job with this Celandine. I think that some of it is as good as some of Frodo's work."

She blushed at his praise. "It was an honour to work on it, Merry. I am not so sure that any of it is as good as Frodo would have done; after all, he was taught by Cousin Calla! But I am more pleased than not with what I did. And writing the copy was a revelation to me. I have heard some of your story, from you and from Pippin. But this told me more than I ever thought I would know of what Frodo and Mayor Sam experienced."

"Well, I am very pleased to have a copy of the Red Book for Brandy Hall at last. And while the binding is not as fancy as the one in the Great Smials, I'd say your illustrations and illuminations put it ahead as far as beauty goes. And your hand is neat and legible through the whole thing. Why, even the original is not so pretty in the parts Cousin Bilbo wrote out. His writing was spidery, to say the least."

She chuckled. While Cousin Bilbo's handwriting was legible, that was the best that could be said for it. Frodo had a beautiful hand, an artist's hand. And Samwise Gamgee wrote in a practical round hand that was also attractive, if not artistic. "But as I said, it really was an honour. I only wish I could have understood more of it. There were so many references to ancient history, and people and places of which I've never heard. We hobbits are woefully undereducated about the past."

"As I learned on my journey. Fortunately, there was no shortage of Big Folk willing to educate us-- though Frodo, of course, knew much more than the rest of us."

There was a brief silence, and then Merry patted the book proudly. "I am sure that Moro is glad you have finished. I know it has taken a great deal of your time."

"I confess I shall be glad of a break from the work. But he's been very helpful with the children and the smial." She hesitated, and then said, "And you have no other projects for me, then?"

Merry shook his head. Was it only his fancy, or did she look just a little disappointed for an instant. But she stood and brushed out her skirts, and said, "Then, Cousin Merry, I shall go find my husband and children and see if they'd care to take a picnic by the riverbank."

He rose and nodded a farewell to her, and then sat down thoughtfully behind his desk.

No other projects. None for him, either. He had completed Herblore of the Shire several years ago. That was the first commission Celandine had done for him, the watercolours of plants that illustrated the book, and he had been so pleased with her work that he had asked her to scribe and illustrate a copy of the Red Book. The last few years she had worked steadily on it, and he had taken the time to consult her and to describe people and places for her illustrations. Now that was done, and he supposed that now he'd need to concentrate more on running Buckland. Though, as is the way of hobbits, Buckland mostly ran itself if there were no emergencies at hand.

He shook his head, and opened the book. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..." He could still hear those words in Cousin Bilbo's familiar voice, telling the story in the same way he had told it to generations of young hobbits before he left the Shire. Of course, they'd learned the hard way that time and long telling had rubbed the harder edges off Bilbo's story. Frodo's portion of the tale had come sooner, and was a darker and sadder tale, for all that it ended in victory. Merry felt his eyes burn, as he remembered Boromir, and Théoden, and the many others who had lost their lives. And then there were those lost to him by distance. They did not call it the "Sundering Sea" for no reason. He blinked, almost angrily, and closed the book. Then he got up and carried it over to put it upon the bookstand he'd had specially built just for it.

Many years ago, Cousin Merimas had succeeded to Uncle Dinny’s place as family tutor. He’d have a word with Merimas. None of the Brandybuck younglings should be considered to have finished their education until they each and every one had read every word of it. They would know just what Frodo had sacrificed on their behalf, to keep the Shire as safe as he could.

Brandy Hall
Sunday, 7 Halimath, S.R. 1458

My Dear Pip,

Brandy Hall’s copy of the Red Book is at last finished. Celandine did a marvelous job with the copying as well as the illustrations! I noticed that save for a map of the Shire at the front of the book, that your copy did not have any illustrations. Perhaps when you next visit, you might persuade our cousin to draw a few for the Great Smials edition.

At any rate, I am seeing to its return. Perry will be bringing it with him when he comes to visit Fam in a few days. In the meantime, I am making certain that Merimas reads our copy. I wish for the Red Book to become a fixture of study here at Brandy Hall.

Don’t laugh Pippin! I know that you believe I think too much about these things, but I am worried that Frodo’s part in things is in danger of being forgotten entirely. Remember what Sam said the last time we were all together at Lithe? That he overheard a little lass asking her mother “What was a Baggins?” That’s almost worse than the stories of “Mad Baggins”, which were told about dear old Bilbo.

Things are going quite well here in Buckland. The harvest was plentiful, and trade is brisk. Buckland seems to quite run itself, without any interference from me. At times I feel quite superfluous.

I look forward to seeing you at Bag End for The Birthday. Estella sends her love to Diamond, and has asked me to enclose that receipt for apple jam that Diamond wished to try. Don’t lose it.

Love,
Merry”

Merimas looked thoughtfully at Merry across the desk. "You wish me to make it a requirement that all my pupils should read it, then?" He gestured to the book on its stand.

Merry leaned back, and crossed his arms. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Only one," Merimas said. "I've yet to read it for myself. I cannot make such a judgement without knowing what's in it. I've heard some of the tales, of course, but that is not at all the same thing, as you well know."

"Of course I do. And there is, naturally, a solution to that." Merry arched one brow in challenge.

"There is, indeed." Merimas got up, went over to the bookstand, and sat down upon the high stool in front of it. He put his hand on the top of the cover. "It's weighty enough. A hefty tome."

Merry chuckled, but then his grey eyes grew serious and he sobered. "It's a weighty tale that it tells."

But Merimas had already opened the book and begun to read.

"Great Smials
15 Halimath, S.R. 1458

Dear Merry,

Perry arrived yesterday. He's fine and so is our copy of the Red Book. I look forward to seeing yours next time I'm at Brandy Hall.

You are bored. You need a new project.

Diamond sends her love to you and to Estella, and so do the children. The jam was very good.

I will see you at Bag End next week.

Love,
Pippin"

Merry blinked, and then chuckled. Seven whole sentences! Why, Pippin's letters were becoming positively garrulous as he grew older! He read it again, before putting it aside. Was he bored? He had to confess that the small doings of the Hall and of Buckland did not hold his attention as they once had. He had always had a project or two or three in hand as well as his duties as Master. But the copy of the Red Book was finished, he'd said all he could say about the herblore of the Shire, and it was not the time of year to be working in his garden. When Pippin and Diamond had dwelt at Crickhollow with him and Estella, he and Diamond often had work to do in her stillroom during the winter. But Berilac's wife Viola, who was the Hall's healer, would not have welcomed him in hers; she much preferred to do her distillations by herself.

His children were at the age when they did not care to spend so much time in his company anymore. He sighed. "Estella, Pippin and Diamond send their love."

She looked up at him from her knitting and smiled. "That's nice, dear." She put her needles down in her lap, and asked him, "Are you bored, Merry?"

"Pippin says I am," he admitted wryly. "I honestly don't know that I would call it boredom. But I feel at loose ends. The problem is, I do not know what I would do next."

Estella rose from her chair, and went behind his chair to drape her arms about his neck, leaning down to drop a kiss on top of his head. His sandy hair was not so light as once it had been for he seldom spent as much time in the sun as he had in his youth, but it was liberally sprinkled now with silver threads. But then her own brown hair had its share of silver as well. She chuckled and whispered in his ear. He looked up at her with a grin. "Well, I suppose that would solve the problem of boredom for a while..." and he allowed her to lead him from the room.

The Gamgees were well-pleased to welcome the Brandybucks for the annual party to celebrate The Birthday. Rose-lass had carted Wyn off almost immediately, full of gossip and excitement, while the younger Gamgees enveloped Dilly. Perry, of course, would be arriving with the Tooks.

“I’m expecting them to come up any time now, Merry! Pippin said he’d be here in time for lunch,” said Sam, after the two had exchange their first greetings. Rose and Estella had already entered the smial, and Merry could hear their voices as they went into the kitchen.

“He had better hurry, then,” Merry responded, “if those lovely smells are any indication, it won’t be long till it’s ready!”

Sam grinned, and turned an ear to all the clamour coming from the inside. “How ‘bout a smoke before we go in? Give the young fry a chance to calm down a bit?”

Merry took out his pipe, and he and Sam settled on the bench by the side of Bag End’s front step. It was well-worn now, but Merry could not help but remember the original, which had been destroyed during their year away. He recalled the pang he’d felt on seeing the new one, built as close to the original as possible, but the wood so raw and new. After all these years, it looked now almost exactly like the one he recalled from his earliest memories of Bag End.

He gave a pat to the back of it, and met Sam’s eyes. Sam nodded. “Looks just like the old one now, don’t it?” he asked.

“You would never know, just to look at it,” Merry replied. “So how soon will we be invaded by Tooks?”

“Any minute now, I’m sure,” replied Sam with a chuckle. “And your lad with them?”

Merry nodded. “Perry has been at Great Smials for a few days now—“ but what else he would have said flew out of his mind, for he heard the sound of ponies on the lane.

The Tooks had decided to arrive ponyback. It was the way the family had most often travelled in the years since the children had grown old enough to ride. Pippin looked well, riding at the head of the cavalcade, while his wife and three daughters rode just behind. Faramir and Peridoc brought up the rear.

Sam and Merry strolled down the garden path to the gate to greet the newcomers. Pippin swung down from his mount, and went over to help Diamond down from hers. Perry and Fam helped Fam’s sisters, and Sam opened the gate. “I see you made it,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Was there any doubt?” laughed Pippin. He turned to Perry and Fam. “You lads lead the ponies down to the Ivy Bush,” he said. “And hurry back or you’ll miss luncheon.” With that he lead Diamond through the gate.

Sam watched the two younger hobbits leading the ponies away. “They know Rose won’t start lunch without them.”

Pippin just laughed once more. “Their heads may know that, but their stomachs will worry!”

The afternoon passed in a flurry of activity and preparation. Sam felt that he owed it to Mr. Frodo to carry on the tradition of celebrating Bilbo’s Birthday, and since Mr. Frodo had honoured Bilbo long after he was gone, Sam did the same for Mr. Frodo as well. A couple of years ago, Merry had diffidently asked him if he thought the both of them were still alive in the West.

“I dunno, Merry, if Mr. Bilbo is still around, but I am sure as can be that Mr. Frodo is. And so I hope that Mr. Bilbo is still there, too, since it would be lonesome for Mr. Frodo without another hobbit there to keep him company. Anyhow, till I get some word to say otherwise, I’m going to keep on as I always have.”

Merry could not help his occasional doubts, though there were times when he too, was as sure as could be that his beloved cousin still remained in the world, if not in Middle-earth. Sometimes he could feel his presence still.

And so that evening, amid the crowd of Gamgees, Brandybucks and Tooks crowded about the massive dining room table, when it fell to Merry as the eldest blood relative present, to raise the traditional toast. And he felt not at all foolish, but quite certain in his own heart on this night at least: “To the byrdings, to Bilbo Baggins, one-hundred-and-sixty-eight years old today, and to Frodo Baggins, ninety years old today, may they yet have many happy returns of the day!” The vintage was not Old Winyards, but a marvelous Dol Amroth wine sent to Sam on his own last birthday by the King.

Afterwards, the three of them retreated to the study, as the older children saw to getting the younger ones a-bed (including Elanor’s little son Elfstan and her baby daughter Aster), and Rose, Estella and Diamond saw to the washing up. In a little while, the older children and the wives would join them there to listen to Sam read from the Red Book.

“What part are you going to read tonight, Sam?” Pippin asked.

“Thought I’d read the part about Crickhollow, and how we told Mr. Frodo we was coming with him.”

The two cousins exchanged a look and burst out laughing. “I will never forget the gobsmacked look on Frodo’s face when he realised we knew all along about his journey and the Ring,” said Pippin.

“Merimas thought that part was quite amusing,” said Merry. “He said I must have looked very smug.”

“So Merimas has now read the Brandybuck copy then?” asked Pippin. “And he’s right. You looked insufferably smug. If I had been Frodo, I would have smacked you!”

“He’s still reading it. After all, it’s a rather ponderous tome.” He looked to Sam. “It’s my intent that reading that book becomes part of every young Brandybuck’s education.” He ignored the part about looking smug. He probably had—it was not easy to pull the wool over Frodo’s eyes, and even now after all these years, he found it remarkable that they had managed it.

“I’ve been thinking about it since I got your letter,” said Pippin, “and I think I will see to it at Great Smials as well! Of course, Fam already read the whole thing during one of his visits here, and the lasses have heard it read here as well, but I think all the other Tooks need to do so.”

The cousins looked at Sam, wondering how he would feel about it. He nodded. “All o’ mine save Ruby, Robin and little Tom have heard it all, and they’ve heard Mr. Bilbo’s part. Ruby turns twenty this year. I’ll be letting her listen to the other parts now. Elanor and Frodo-lad, o’ course have read it for themselves. Rosie-lass, Merry-lad and Pippin-lad have read bits of it, but Goldilocks asked t’other day could she read it for herself.”

“What about others?” asked Merry.

“Not many in Hobbiton has the interest.” Sam heaved a great sigh. “There’s them around here don’t remember Mr. Frodo at all. Jolly’s read it, though. He heard so much of it when he was away South, he said he wanted to know the right of it. Still, I wish more would care about it.”

“Well, Sam,” said Pippin, “most hobbits feel what’s done is done and over and done. Those aren’t the sorts of tales they want to know about. And if they aren’t family, you can’t make them.”

The three looked at one another, and nodded wistfully. This was quite true.

Merry had become used to seeing Merimas sitting in the middle of the Master’s study on the tall stool at the bookstand, silently reading. Every once in a while, he'd stop and look over and ask Merry a question.

"What was all that business about the Elves and the Dwarves? Why don't they get on?"

"What was Gandalf up to when he went off and left Bilbo and the Dwarves to fend for themselves?

"Who is Elbereth?"

"How come the Elves made all those Rings? Couldn't they tell who Sauron was?"

"A Balrog? It seems that all the Big Folk knew what that was, but it's not clear to me."

"I don't understand all that business with the Lady Galadriel. What kind of test was she talking about, and how could passing it diminish her?"

"Why did that Lord Denethor want to keep from turning the country over to the King? Come to that, why wasn't King Elessar king all along?"

“He’d been betrothed to the Queen the whole time? Why did no one know of it? And why did he not tell you that you were waiting for his wedding?

There were others as well, and Merry would try to answer, but sometimes he realised that his own information was scanty at best. Merimas would purse his lips and give Merry that sort of look he remembered getting occasionally from Uncle Dinodas, or rarely from Frodo or Bilbo-- a look that said he'd come ill-prepared for his lesson and was a disappointment as a scholar. It irked him to get such a look from a cousin who was the same age as he, or, come to think of it, younger by a year!

Sometimes Merimas would come in to read when Merry was not in his study. One afternoon, a few weeks after Merimas had begun to read, Merry returned after supper to fetch a book for himself and saw Merimas sitting there, just staring at the book, his face stricken.

“You’ve finished.”

Merimas nodded. “I never truly understood. I don’t think I understand now completely. But you are right. This is something our young people should read. Not too young, though.”

“I agree. Tweens, of course. I fear the tale would be far too frightening to the youngest of your pupils.”

“I wish I had known Frodo better when he was here.”

Merry felt that sharp stab of grief that even now would come upon him unawares. He swallowed it down, and took a deep breath. All he said was “I wish you had, too.”

That night a hard rain woke Merry from a sound sleep. He rose from his bed quietly, so as not to disturb Estella, and went to look out the window. Storms were far more disturbing to him since the big flood twenty-five years ago. This was just an ordinary Blommath storm, but he knew he’d not settle to sleep until it slacked off. Seventy-six was by no means old, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be either.

He put on his dressing gown and went into the small kitchen of the Master’s apartment, and made himself of a cup of tea, and slipped out with it and padded across the passage to his study. There he sat down behind his large desk, and sipped his tea. An idea was forming in his mind. Years ago, perhaps a year or two before the revelation of the Ring, Frodo had toyed with an idea of writing a history of the Northern kingdoms, but had put it aside reluctantly when he realised there was not enough information in the Shire to do the subject justice.

But of course, that was before he knew where such a source of information could be found. Merry knew he was not nearly the scholar that Frodo had been, but perhaps it would honour his cousin if he could take up such a work. And perhaps it need not be merely confined to the Northern kingdoms…

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment, and then pulled out a sheet of paper from his drawer, and picked up his quill. Dipping it in the ink, he began to write.

“Brandy Hall
5 Blommath, S.R. 1458, Fourth Age 37,

My Lord Celeborn,

Greetings from Buckland, and my wish that all is well in Rivendell.

I am writing to you in the hopes that you will be able to assist me in a project which I have in mind…”

The rain had stopped and the grey light of dawn had begun to light the sky above the Old Forest when he had finished. He’d time to slip back to bed for an hour or so. He was glad the weather was clearing. He’d have someone take the letter up to the King’s Messenger at the Messenger House by the Bridge today.

 Title: The Annals of the West, Part II
Author: Dreamflower
Recipient: Celeritas AKA labourslamp
Summary: ”In Brandy Hall there were many works dealing with Eriador and the history of Rohan. Some of these were composed or begun by Meriadoc himself…It was probably at Great Smials that The Tale of Years was put together, with the assistance of material collected by Meriadoc.” (Prologue: Notes on the Shire Records) In Part Two, Brandy Hall welcomes some very special guests at Yule…
Rating: G.
Word Count: total story count—13,570; Part II—2,631

The inevitable flurry of activity involved in preparing for Yule soon made Merry almost forget his letter. He did wonder from time to time if it had yet been delivered, but he did not expect a quick reply. This year it was the Brandybucks’ turn to host the Tooks, and so of course, Merry wanted everything to be perfect.

The Yule log had been seasoning for months. A perfectly huge oak had been downed by lightning during a storm at midsummer, and Merry had ordered it prepared for firewood, choosing one particular section of the trunk as the Yule log. It had been measured and cut just to the size of the hearth in the main hall, and had been drying out ever since.

Perry planned to see to the cutting of the greenery this year, assisted by Cousin Ilberic, and Berilac’s son Saramac, and Wynnie would be in charge of the children as they decorated. There were feasts to plan and music and musicians, and the refurbishing of the guest quarters, for there would be not only Tooks this year, but Gamgees and Bolgers and Burrowses and Bankses as well as the usual contingent of Brandybucks.

Estella was buttoning him into his jacket—“Tsk!” she muttered. “You are rounder than last year! I should have put the buttons over…” when there came a tap on the door.

“Come in!” said Merry crossly. What on earth needed his attention now?

Saramac opened the door, and Merry saw that his eyes were wide with astonishment. “Cousin Merry!” the lad exclaimed. “There are Big Folk at the door! It’s Elves!”

With an excited grin, Merry dashed past his younger cousin and darted down to the Front Hall. Apparently word had spread, and a good many gawkers were beginning to gather in the area. Merry saw no one taller than a hobbit, and turned to Saramac, who had followed on his heels. “Don’t tell me you kept them outside the door?” he said. And he went to the great door and flung it wide open. “Elladan! Elrohir!” he exclaimed. “Do come in out of the cold!”

The sons of Elrond had to stoop only slightly to enter through the massive front door of Brandy Hall, and they were able to stand upright without danger of banging their heads. Merry turned to see whom he could ask to bring refreshment, but saw that Estella had already taken the matter in hand, as she spoke to one of the serving maids. He grinned in approval, and reached to draw her forward by the hand.

“Elladan and Elrohir, do you recall my wife, Estella?” For the twin sons of Elrond had been among those, years ago, who had attended the King and Queen at the Stonebow Bridge.

Each one bowed over her hand in greeting, and Elladan said graciously, “Of course we remember Mistress Estella! How could we forget such a lovely lady?”

This made Estella blush, but she was able to respond with a polite “Thank you.” Merry grinned. He could tell she was having to make an effort not to simper like a tween.

Just then, Pippin came up. “Why, I was thinking the lads were making sport of me, but here you are!” he exclaimed to the twins. He glanced at Merry. “You can scarcely blame me for thinking it one of Perry’s and Fam’s japes, to tell me that we had Elves for Yule!”

The two were easily persuaded to remain for the festivities, but Elladan drew Merry aside and placed a letter in his hands. “This is our grandfather’s answer to your request, Merry.”

Merry nodded. He could not take the time to read it now; his duties as Master and as host had to be fulfilled. He placed the letter in his breast pocket. It was time to bring in the Yule log.

The log was brought in with much ceremony where it was carefully laid in the huge hearth, with kindling placed about it. Then many cheerful hobbit voices were raised, singing “No Shorter Now Will Grow the Days”, the traditional Buckland carol for such occasions. Merry was unsurprised to hear their guests singing along. He was sure they had heard it many times when Bilbo had lived among them.

There were other songs. Pippin took little persuasion to sing, and they finished up with “To Wait for Sun’s Returning”:

"When night is longest,
When dark is strongest,
We set candles burning
To wait for Sun’s returning.
To hope and home and hearth we hold,
Shutting out the dreary cold.
At this time when year has turned,
We think of all we’ve done and learned,
And look unto the coming days.
A song of light and hope we raise:
No night is so long,
No dark is so strong,
To dim the light of Stars above,
Or overcome the might of love."*

Merry felt a lump in his throat. He always thought of that song as the Quest carol, since he remembered the Company singing it as they walked along in Hollin many years ago. It reminded him sharply of Boromir.

Later that evening after the feast, as the dancers were gambolling to the music of Pippin’s fiddle and Ilberic’s pipes and Berilac’s drum and Wyn’s harp, and Mayor Sam had retreated with the children to the side parlour to tell stories, Merry led Elladan and Elrohir to his study and pulled out the letter from Lord Celeborn.

“Unto Meriadoc, Master of Buckland, from Celeborn, now of Imladris, my greetings, and the hope that this letter will find all well with you and yours.

I would be most pleased to place the resources of Rivendell’s library at your disposal. It seems to me a most worthy undertaking, and one that would have usefulness not only for your own people, but for a wider readership as well. Too easily it seems, the Secondborn lose the memory of their pasts, while the Firstborn, who remember only too well, neglect to pass much of that knowledge on to those who were not present.

While I have no qualms in lending you various books and scrolls for you to consult in Buckland (for I know that Elrond sent such things to Bilbo when he yet dwelt in the Shire, and all were returned in good time and in good condition) it might be more useful for you to spend time in the library here.

We have many chronicles of the Dúnedain here, as well as histories of the earlier Ages, and it might be more convenient for you to have them all to hand from which to make your notes. Therefore, I should like to extend an invitation to you to visit here, perhaps this Spring, so that you could do so.

I would be very glad to see you once more, and any of your kin whom you would like to bring with you. It would please me to once more offer the hospitality of this place to your kind. My son-in-law was very fond of hobbits, and the laughter and good cheer of your people brightened these halls for several years. I know that he would be glad to know that the kinsman of his dear friend Bilbo would feel welcome here.

Please send your answer back with my grandsons. I hope that their arrival has not been too disruptive! And give my fond greetings to your cousin, Peregrin.

May the stars ever shine on your path.

Celeborn, Lord of the Galadhrim, formerly of Lothlórien ”

Merry looked up at the twins. “I will have to give some thought to my answer, but I am almost certain that I will accept this kind invitation. But I need to speak to Estella and to Pippin.”

“We can stay a few days,” responded Elladan. “We have no pressing business to take us away.”

There was a tap at the door. Merry chuckled. “Come in, Pippin!”

Pippin grinned at the twins and nodded to Merry. “If your mysterious business is finished, will you be joining the dancing? We musicians are taking a break; but we’ll be starting up again as soon as we’ve had the chance to wet our throats. We have many hobbits eager to see our tall guests at the festivities!”

“We would be delighted to join in the dancing!” answered Elrohir. The two rose, and with a nod of the head to Pippin as they passed him in the doorway, went out. Merry lingered, glancing once more at the letter.

“Out with it, cousin!” said Pippin. “What message did they bring?”

“An invitation. Would you be up to a jaunt to Rivendell this spring?”

Pippin shook his head. “I am surprised at you Merry. Remember that this spring they are to begin building the extension of the Post Road from Pincup to Willowbottom and then Newbridge. Sam’s going to need my help with overseeing that.” But Pippin looked decidedly disappointed. “Otherwise I would love to come.”

“Ah!” Merry looked downcast.

“There’s no need for you not to go, Merry.”

“By myself? Where’s the fun in that?”

Pippin shook his head. “Now you sound like I did as a tween, when you could not accompany me to someplace I wished to go! I am not the only hobbit you could ask.” He cocked his head. “I hear the other musicians warming up. I think my fiddle is required.”

Merry followed, looking thoughtful. But he followed Pippin back to the Hall. At the very least, they’d be needing him and Estella to lead the Tangle Dance. He’d need to speak with her this night, before they retired.

"Estella, my heart?"

"Yes, Merry?" Her husband had been very quiet and thoughtful during the evening’s festivities, and Estella was quite sure it was the message from Rivendell that was on his mind. In the busy rush of Yule, the two of them had found no opportunity to speak of it. She knew he would tell her sooner or later-- she just hoped that the message would not be one to take him from her side.

"You are half-Took. Would you like to have an Adventure?"

She blinked. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, tell me straight out what is on your mind!" She was not cross, but she was firm. He could be maddening with his hints sometimes.

He chuckled. "Elladan and Elrohir brought me an invitation. Lord Celeborn says I am welcome to come to Rivendell and look through the histories there. I was thinking of going in Solmath, after my birthday. The journey is safe enough now. We'd have an escort of Rangers."

"Rivendell?" Her thoughts were in a whirl. "But the children..." Merry and Pippin had made occasional brief visits there in the past, but she had never thought to go with them, not with the children so young. She had not accompanied them on their visit to the South, either, though she'd been to Annúminas a time or two, and to Bree more than once. The children had accompanied them on those short travels.

Merry shook his head. "Wyn and Perry are of age..."

"Only just. And Dilly..."

"Would be pleased with the opportunity to spend time at Bag End with Goldilocks and Daisy."

"Is Diamond accompanying Pippin?"

"Pippin is not going. It would be just the two of us."

"The two of us?"

Merry knelt before her chair and took her hand. "Estella, I've often wanted you to see some of the places I've been. Rivendell is a beautiful and peaceful place, and there is much I could show you. I promise I will not spend all my time immured in the library."

She laughed. She did not know if it was Frodo's early influence on him or simply his own curiosity, but Merry had become more and more of a scholar as he grew older. And she had to admit, she was curious as well. She looked into the serious grey eyes, and saw how much he wanted her to say yes. She nodded. "Yes, Merry. I will go with you to Rivendell to see the Elves."

And his grin, as it had so often over the years, made her heart turn over.

"You wanted to see me, Da?" Perry stood leaning against the doorjamb of the Master's study.

Merry stood up from his desk and walked over to one of the armchairs that flanked the hearth, gesturing for his son to come in and join him. "Close the door, Perry."

"What's this all about, Da?" Perry was puzzled. He knew he'd not been in any sort of mischief that called for a reprimand. There must be news of some sort.

"Your mother and I are planning to be gone from Buckland for several weeks this spring. As you are of age now, I am leaving you in charge."

Perry gaped. "In charge?" His voice cracked for the first time in ten years. "Where are you going? Rohan? Why? Did Éomer King send for you?"

Merry shook his head. "Yes, in charge, although I am also asking Berilac to help you out. No, we are not going to Rohan, although if my liege sent for me, I should go at once. We are going to Rivendell, at the invitation of Lord Celeborn. I've a project in mind that requires I consult some of the records kept there."

"Oh." Perry could not imagine himself in charge of Buckland! Why, he'd only just come of age a few months ago! "Do you..." he stopped short of asking his father if he were sure he could do the job.

But his father was a perceptive hobbit. "You know, your Cousin Frodo was of age less than one day when he became Master of Bag End and Head of the Bagginses. At least I will be coming back in a few weeks, and not staying there, as your Cousin Bilbo did when he went to Rivendell the last time."

"When are you going?"

"Right after my birthday, weather permitting. Now, there are certain things that will need to be seen to. You know the spring routine. The ferry landings on both sides of the River will need to be seen to, as well as the ferry itself. You will need to check with the farmers, to see if they have all they need for spring planting. And of course you need to schedule an evacuation drill against the possibility of a flood..."

Perry leaned forward, trying to keep up with the flood of instructions, although if he knew his father, there would also be a detailed written list for him as well.

Once he had settled things with Perry, he saw Elladan and Elrohir off with the answer to the invitation. “Do not be strangers,” he said, as he bade them farewell. “You are not Men, and are welcome here anytime; and you know that you may go elsewhere in the Shire as well. I am sure that Sam and Pippin would love the chance to host you as well.”

They both laughed. “Perhaps we may make such a visit!” said Elladan.

Elrohir patted his stomach. “Hobbits are very hospitable! I am sure we should like to do that someday. But we will look forward to seeing you in Rivendell in a few weeks, Merry!”

They rode off, followed by a small crowd of children, all waving and shouting “Good-bye!”

Merry watched them ride away, and then turned to go back inside Brandy Hall. He had lists to make and letters to write, if he were to be gone so soon.

*This Shire carol first appeared in my 2008 Yule fic, To Wait for Sun's Returning

Estella found that she was still somewhat intimidated by the buildings in Bree, although not so much as before she had been to Annúminas. But still they loomed over one. Merry, of course, paid no attention. He had been there many times to her three. She turned to look at him, riding so confidently. He was not dressed in his armour or livery, but he had his sword at his hip. He met her eyes with a smile, and she felt better immediately.

They rode up to The Prancing Pony, where they were met by Dib Mugwort, the son of Bob, who had succeeded his father as a groom there. “Hullo, Mr. Brandybuck, Mistress Brandybuck!”

Merry dismounted, and reached up to assist Estella, his hands firm about her waist. He kept her steady as her feet touched the ground. She’d been in the saddle several hours, after all.

Merry turned to Dib. “We are to meet some Rangers here. Have any arrived?”

“Ranger Mellor is here, and a younger one, I don’t know as I’ve heard his name.”

“Thank you, Dib!”

They entered the Pony where they were greeted effusively by Barliman Butterbur’s son, Barnet. Yes, yes, their usual rooms were available, no other Little Folk here right now, and how nice it were to see Mistress Brandybuck again, and weren’t Thain Peregrin coming? Well, that was a shame, but it was right pleasant to see Mr. and Mrs. Brandybuck again, it was! Estella was quite breathless just listening to him prattle! Good heavens, he could outtalk Pippin!

When he finally left, with a promise to send his nephew along with hot water and clean towels, Estella let out a deep breath, and then meeting Merry’s eyes, they both burst out into laughter.

“He’s just like his father,” said Merry between chortles and snorts.

The hot water was soon brought, along with their things from their ponies, and they took a few moments to freshen up before heading to the common room to see if they could find Mellor.

Mellor was indeed waiting for them there, sitting at one of the tables with another Man much younger. “Greetings, Merry! This is my great-nephew Meldil, who is learning to become a Ranger. He turned to Estella, and bowed over her hand. “It is good to see you again, Mistress Brandybuck.”

“Thank you, Mellor,” Estella replied. She studied the Dúnadan. He still looked strong and unbowed, though there were more lines in his weather-beaten face, and his once-dark hair was nearly completely silver. She knew that he was of a long-lived line, although he was only very distantly related to the King. Merry assisted her into one of the two taller chairs that had been placed at the table, and then he clambered into the other. She smiled at the younger Ranger. “It is nice to meet you, Meldil.”

He gave her a gracious nod. “At your service, Mistress Brandybuck.” He turned to Merry. “And at yours, Sir Meriadoc! It is an honour to finally meet you! My uncle has told me so much about you and about Sir Peregrin!”

“Please, call me Merry! And I can imagine the stories he’s told. Don’t believe half of what he’s told you!”

“You are too modest, Sir…er…Merry! After all, you were one of the Nine Walkers! And you slew the Witch-king of Angmar…”

Merry shook his head. “No, at the most I hamstrung him. It was the Lady Éowyn who actually killed him.”

Mellor shook his head. “From what I know of the events, you share equally with her in that great deed!”

Merry flushed, and Estella knew he’d rather give all the credit to the one he called his sword-sister. But he let it pass. He’d mellowed over the years—she could remember a time when he’d have argued the point. She placed her hand over his, and he turned to give her a smile.

Barnet Butterbur came over to the table just then, and they were soon involved in the intricacies of ordering their meal. Soon enough, freshly made bread, mutton stew, cheese and ale were set before them, and conversation lagged as they gave full attention to the food. But when Merry and Estella were filling up the corners and while the Men sipped their ale, the conversation turned to the journey ahead.

“We’ll stay the first night at The King’s Rest, that used to be called The Forsaken Inn long ago. And we will also stay at the watchtower at Amon Sûl. They have accommodations there for guests; but we will need to camp most of the nights upon the road. I have arranged for a packhorse and a tent for the two of you, Merry.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mellor,” Merry replied. “I don’t mind sleeping under the stars myself, but I am quite sure that my wife would much prefer the comfort of a tent!”

Estella had known there would be some camping involved, but she was dismayed to realise they would be camping nearly every night of the journey save two! The comfort of a tent was better than nothing, but she’d much prefer a cosy inn like this one! She suppressed a sigh. It wasn’t as though she had never camped. But it was not her favourite activity. Still, she did not wish to make Merry feel guilty for the inconvenience to her. She’d not complain for all the world.

”The Watchtower at Amon Sûl
25 Solmath, S.R. 1458

Dearest Wyn,

Your father and I arrived here yesterday just before suppertime. Since there is a King’s Messenger here, who is to depart tomorrow for the Shire and Annúminas, I thought to take the time to send a letter to you.

We met Mellor in Bree, and his nephew Meldil, who are to be our escorts. You may remember Mellor’s partner Eradan? Mellor told us that after many years, Eradan had finally returned to Gondor to visit his parents and other family. While there, he met a woman, and they were wed! They now make their home in Ithilien, and Eradan is part of the White Company in service to Prince Faramir, instead of a Ranger. Mellor says that Eradan said in his last letter that he misses Eriador in the summertime, but not at all in the winter!

We stayed only the one night in Bree, and left early the next morning after first breakfast. We ate second breakfast and elevenses while in the saddle—apples and cheese pastries and water from our bottles. You know that your father is quite used to travelling that way, but I must say I do prefer to stop and have a real meal, which we did do at luncheon. Your father insisted I rest, and he did the cooking. We did not stop for tea, either, but we had tea with supper when we finally made camp for the night. This set the pattern for our days of travel.

It took us about five days to arrive here from Bree. We are setting a leisurely pace, for your father says we should enjoy the journey, as nothing is chasing us—though we are making better time than Bilbo and the Dwarves did! We are more closely following his route than the one that your father and the others took so long ago. The weather has been cold and damp, but more of a misty drizzle than a steady rain. The tent, however, is dry enough, and the new cloak your father gave me for his birthday is wonderfully warm and repels the water quite well.

We have not strayed from the Road. The first night we stayed at an inn, “The King’s Rest”. It once was known as the “Forsaken Inn”, I was told. It is quite a pleasant inn, and it is run by the son-in-law of Barliman Butterbur. We had a very nice evening there, and a good night’s rest, and left the inn behind shortly after second breakfast. The innkeeper’s wife, Mistress Molly, makes an excellent tea-bread, and on the way home she is going to give me the receipt for it. I look forward to staying there again on the way home.

I was somewhat apprehensive about coming here to Weathertop, after all I had heard about it. I feared it might make your father melancholy, recalling that fearful event that took place here. But the tower is new and large and altogether dominates the hill, and Merry said he scarcely recognises the place.

However, there could be no mistaking. Captain Anardil, who is part of the Arnorian army and in command of this fortress, showed us around. In the courtyard is a large stone plinth, and it is engraved upon the top in Westron. This is what it says:

‘On this spot, on the Sixth Day of Narbeleth, in the Year 3018 of the Third Age, five of the Nine Nazgûl, fearsome creatures of the Enemy Sauron, attacked and gravely injured the Ringbearer, Frodo son of Drogo, a hobbit of the Shire. The Nazgûl were driven off by Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who was at that time Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain, and not yet crowned as King Elessar Telcontar.

The Ringbearer bravely bore with his injury, which could have proved fatal or worse, and recovered from his wound in Rivendell, ere setting off on the journey to destroy the Enemy’s Ring.’

Your father and I were very moved by this evidence of the honour the Men hold for Cousin Frodo.

Along with Mellor and Meldil we dined privately with the captain that evening before we went to stay in the guest room prepared for us.

The room is, of course, meant for Big Folk, and the bed was perfectly enormous, and I should scarcely have been able to clamber into it, save for a footstool kindly left for our use. We also used it to be able to reach the ewer and basin on the washstand. I’ve no complaints at all of the Men’s hospitality, and in spite of its size the bed was quite comfortable, neither too hard nor too soft and the linens were smooth and clean and smelled of lavender.

We will remain here one more day and one more night, to rest and to allow the ponies and horses to rest as well, before we travel on.

I hope that you all are well at home, and that you are being a support to your brother. Please give him my love, and that of his father—who also sends his greetings to you. While I am enjoying this journey, I miss both of you and Niphredil as well. I hope she is not giving Sam and Rose any trouble at Bag End.

I will write to you again when we finally reach Rivendell.

With all my heart, I remain

Your loving mother.”

It was about a week later that Estella found herself gaping alongside her grinning husband.

“Good heavens! I had no idea!” She stared at the three weathered stone figures. Years of rain and ice, sun and wind, had taken their toll on Bert, Tom and William, but their faces could still be seen, and Estella had to admit to herself that they were far uglier than she had ever imagined. And their size! She shuddered.

“Pippin…” she whispered. “How could he have survived?”

Merry looked at her, suddenly somber. “The one which fell on him was head and shoulders bigger than these. I still wonder how he lived. Strider thought it was due to the Ent-draughts. But, oh Estella! If you could have seen him: so bruised and in pain, I scarcely recognised him.”

Estella drew him into the circle of her arms, and leaned against him. “But our Pippin is a fighter, Merry! And he’s most definitely recognisable now! There is no mistaking that sharp Took nose! And he has, after all, survived that troll by many, many years!”

Merry laughed, and his arms tightened about her. She felt his chuckle rumbling in his chest against her ear. “Thank you, my heart! You know just what I need to hear!”

* * * * * * * * *

Five more days brought them to the Ford of Bruinen. Estella’s pony, Dearie, a heretofore placid and agreeable little mare, suddenly balked at the idea of entering the noisy river. After much coaxing failed to move the stubborn creature, it was decided to leave her on the western bank with Meldil, and Mellor took Estella up in front of him on his great horse. It was the first time she had ever been upon the back of so large a creature, and she would have much preferred to ride with Merry upon his sturdy Rohirric pony, Brytta. But Merry thought her safer with Mellor as they negotiated the ford, so she did not object aloud.

She averted her eyes as they rode up a steep path; there was a gulley to the left that seemed perilously close to the verge. Ahead she could see a waterfall, and then suddenly as they rode round a curve in the path, she could see ahead to the valley. There were many waterfalls to be seen now, as the path led in a zigzag fashion into the valley. The pines soon gave way to oak and beech, and finally a grassy sward that lead to a narrow bridge across a wide ravine. There was a river rushing below, and Estella ventured to say, “That looks like the river that we just crossed!”

Mellor chuckled. “That is because it is a part of the river that we just crossed. The Bruinen’s course is as winding as that of our path down into the valley!”

The hooves of horse and pony clacked and clattered on the wooden bridge, and Estella was not sure if it was only her fancy that it swayed as they crossed. But Merry was riding just in front and seemed perfectly calm, and behind her, Mellor was relaxed, so Estella tried not to dwell on it.

As they crossed the bridge, the Last Homely House came in view ahead. Estella had heard many descriptions of the place, but the reality was far beyond her imaginings. It was both grand and yet comforting, and it seemed in a way to be growing right up out of the ground.

They were riding through groves of beeches on either side of the path, and Estella could hear singing. It teased at the edges of her memory, the tune sounding faintly familiar, the words almost but not quite, familiar—they were being sung in a language that she recognized as Sindarin. She’d heard that language a few times before, from Legolas when he had visited, and occasionally from her brother Freddie, who had applied himself to learning it—but that did not quite explain the familiarity of the tune. “That song?” she asked. “What is it?”

“It’s a song of greeting,” said Mellor. “It is often, although not always, sung for guests as they enter Imladris.”

Ahead of her, Merry laughed. “I’ll explain it later, Estella!”

And then, they were riding into the courtyard of the house, and several Elves came to meet them and to take the horses and to help them dismount.

Merry took Estella by the hand and Mellor followed, as they went towards the house.

And then the doors opened, and an Elf came out. He was tall and grave and beautiful, all clad in white, with hair like silver. His eyes were keen and wells of wisdom, and Estella felt sure he could see right through her if he wished. She found him almost terrifying, until he smiled, and then she felt her heart lifted away from all her fears and worries and weariness.

“Welcome once more, Meriadoc, to the Last Homely House,” he said.

Merry drew up in a very formal manner. “My Lord Celeborn, may I present to you my wife, Estella?” And with his hand on hers, he brought her forward.

Estella gave a brief curtsey. “Estella Brandybuck at your service, my lord.”

“And I am at yours, Mistress Estella,” and he gave a gracious nod of his head. “Do, please, enter in. I am sure that you are weary, and would rest somewhat before the evening meal. And you will find something to sustain you in the meanwhile in your quarters.” He turned and gestured, and an Elf-maiden came forward. “This is Camireth. She will show you to your rooms, and bring you aught that you need.”

Merry and Estella followed Camireth, although somehow Estella had the feeling that Merry already knew where they were going. He held her hand lightly, and strode along confidently behind the Elf-maiden. Estella did her best not to gawk at all that there was to see. She reminded herself that she was the daughter of the Bolger, the Mistress of Buckland, and Lady to Sir Meriadoc, and not merely some rustic! Her surroundings were beautiful and very alien. She had thought she’d know what to expect, after having seen Annúminas and Bree, but this was completely different to anything she had seen in either of those places.

“Merry!” she whispered. “You said you’d explain about that song.”

He gave her a grin. “That was Bilbo’s ‘Tra-lalley’ song.”

Even as her mouth opened to say “No!” she suddenly realised that it was so, and yet…”It was different?”

Merry nodded. “Bilbo did not know any Elven languages when he came through here the first time. Those were the words his mind fitted to what he thought they were singing! And I’ve since been told that his ideas were not too far off the mark—you will often notice that Elven song will make sense to your head and heart even when it does not to your ears. He learned better years later when he began to learn their languages, but he never corrected his version. He said it was because it would make more sense to hobbits that way, but I think it also was rather a joke on the Elves as well! There are more than a few who think that the Elves actually sang that silly song!”

Estella burst out laughing, and then blushed when Camireth laughed as well.

“Master Bilbo had a very droll sense of humour,” she said, “and there were certain Elves among the singers who quite deserved what came of his account of their song!” She led them around a corner, and Estella blinked.

There in a wall of this very elegant Elven corridor, was a perfectly round, perfectly hobbity door! It was bigger than the door at Bag End, about the size of the front door of Brandy Hall. She stared at Merry, astonished.

“These are the rooms where Bilbo lived when he was here. Perfect accommodations for us hobbits when we visit,” said Merry.

Camireth opened the door, and Merry led Estella within. She gazed about her surroundings in fascination. Yes, she could easily see Cousin Bilbo living here comfortably for years on end. There was a hearth, small enough for a hobbit to be able to manage the fire, yet large enough to warm the room, which was bigger than hobbit sitting rooms usually were. A merry blaze crackled there now. The furniture was a mixture of comfortable hobbit-sized chairs and tables, and a few others large enough for guests of the Big Folk to sit upon. A desk of hobbit-size, very similar to the one that stood in the study at Bag End, save for the lovely and elegant carvings that proved it was made by Elves, stood beneath a large window that had a splendid view of the wooded valley walls and many waterfalls.

A small round teatable stood between two armchairs, pulled up beside the hearth, and the scents of bread and spices and teacakes teased her nose in a most delightful manner. There was a teapot covered with a cosy, and teacups and plates, all of them sized just right for hobbit hands. Estella heaved a sigh of happiness, scarcely noticing that Merry was relieving her of her cloak. She turned, and saw him hang it beside his own, on a peg by the door.

“Tea, or explore our rooms first?” he asked.

She smiled. “Tea! Glorious tea!”

Merry laughed and they sat down in the chairs. “Will you pour, my dear?”

 Title:  The Annals of the West, Part IV
Author:    Dreamflower
Recipient:    Celeritas AKA
Summary: ”In Brandy Hall there were many works dealing with Eriador and the history of Rohan.  Some of these were composed or begun by Meriadoc himself…It was probably at Great Smials that The Tale of Years was put together, with the assistance of material collected by Meriadoc.” (Prologue: Notes on the Shire Records) In Part Four: Even with Erestor's help, Merry finds he's taken on a daunting task...
Rating:   G.
Word Count: total story count—13,570; Part IV 3,115