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My entry for today's challenge is a tribble-- Today's Challenge, in honor of romantic Nan Elmoth: Charmed!
"Do you think it seduction, my Lady, when it is wholly innocent and unknowing?" Elrond asked Galadriel as they observed the festivities. The wedding celebration had turned lively as the hobbits persuaded the guests into attempting a Shire dance that seemed more game than dance. The King and his new Queen were laughing and flushed as the Ringbearer wove the line of dancers into an ever-tighter knot. At the end of the line Mithrandir danced between Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and Pippin, who had in his free hand a goblet from which he'd yet to spill a drop. Somewhere in the tangle near the center, Sam danced between Gimli and one of Arwen's Elven attendants, and Merry was between two lovely Gondorian maidens. The differences in height meant little to the hobbits. "You are more familiar with their race than I, my son," said his mother-in-law, a twinkle in her eye. "I have known a few, and not one who did not find a way quickly into my heart." "There is a seductiveness about innocence and trust; the willingness to share. Their light and warmth draws others like moths to a candle." The tangle of dancers was so tight that it was difficult to move. A few had broken away, though most were attempting to continue. The music ended. All broke apart, laughing and out of breath. They watched as Arwen bent to place a kiss on top of Frodo's head, Sam staggered as Gimli slapped his back, and Pippin drained the goblet he still held. Merry glanced in their direction, and came their way, his face red, his grey eyes determined. He bowed to Galadriel. "My Lady, would you honour me?" He held out his hand and she took it, following the hobbit into another lively dance.
Challenge for March 2, 2011 Defiance is defined as the willingness to contend or fight. Write a story or poem or create artwork where the characters defy authority in some way. Written for the B2MeM "Losgar" challenge.
Eleven Walkers "What do you mean they are gone?" "I am sorry, Elrond," Erestor replied, "but no one has seen them since before the Ringbearer's company departed." Elrond sighed. "I wondered briefly why they were not there to farewell their cousin, but thought they were still nursing their anger at my refusal to allow them to accompany him." He looked up. "Bilbo. Has anyone checked with Bilbo?" Erestor nodded. "It was Bilbo's presence in the dining hall for breakfast that alerted us. He was alone, and we had thought that they had been with him the last few days, taking their meals with him in his quarters, so as to avoid everyone." The Master of Rivendell narrowed his eyes. "And Bilbo usually takes his breakfasts in his rooms." He pursed his lips, stood up from his desk and swept out and down the passage. Bilbo looked up at the imperious knocking on his door. Ah, he'd been expecting this. "Come in," he called. He met Elrond's implacable gaze with one of mild defiance. "Bilbo, where are Meriadoc and Peregrin? They were to depart for the Shire today, and their escort is waiting." "I assure you, Elrond, I am not keeping them in my pockets. I have not seen them for three days." "Where have they gone?" "I couldn't say for certain." "But you suspect what they have done?" "Where else would they have gone? They are following Frodo, as they always meant to do." "Did you know they would do this?" "They didn't tell me in so many words, but I rather got the hint when Merry asked me if I thought escaping from Rivendell would be more difficult than escaping from Thranduil's halls in Mirkwood." "We must bring them back. They cannot be allowed to wander alone in the Wild, nor to endanger the Ringbearer's mission." "They are more capable than you think," said Bilbo, a tiny spark of anger in his own eyes. "They are a Brandybuck and a Took, and they love Frodo dearly. Did it occur to you, when you disregarded Gandalf's advice to trust to friendship, that your refusal to let them go might also endanger Frodo?" ******************* "How much longer, Merry, until you think it safe to join them without the risk of being taken back?" "They are sleeping during the day. I believe we can safely join them this evening before they break camp, depending on who's on watch." "That's good. The supplies Bilbo allowed us to pilfer from him are about to run out, and there's not a lot to forage this time of year." Pippin hesitated. "Do you think they will be dreadfully angry?" "Gandalf was in favour of our going, so he will only growl a little. I think Frodo and will be angry at first, and then relieved to see us. Sam will be glad. Strider will be surprised but I don't think he will be angry. I don't know about Gimli or the Elves." "We'll throw the numbers off. But that won't be our fault-- we should have been allowed to go in the first place." Pippin chuckled. "Very clever of you, Merry, to think of us slipping away ahead of time, and follow the company after they had passed us." Merry shrugged. "I hope Frodo wasn't too hurt over our apparent refusal to farewell him. But I suppose he will understand when he sees us." "Well, what else could we do? We told him at Crickhollow we were coming, or following him like hounds. I am sorry we had to defy Master Elrond, but he gave us no choice!"
March 3, 2011 Some people have difficulty embracing changes and moving on. Write a story or poem or create artwork that shows the consequences of refusing to change. (Written for the B2MeM "Mithrim" challenge.) Believe It or Not! "Sam's the new Master of the Hill?" The incredulity in Hamson's voice was nearly comical. Home for his first visit to Hobbiton in over three years, he’d found the changes wrought by the troubles hard to accept. "Aye," said the Gaffer. "Our Sam." Hamfast's voice held resignation. "But-- our Sam?" Sam's oldest brother shook his head. "But why would Mr. Frodo do that? I know he's fond of our Sam, but Sam? Master of the Hill?" He simply could not fathom his youngest brother, who in his own mind was still the child he'd been went Hamson had gone away on his apprenticeship. Yes, he'd seen Sam since, but once he away, the picture of his brother in his mind reverted once more to that of a child on the cusp of tweenhood. "When Mr. Merry explained it, he said it was because Mr. Frodo thought of Sam more as a brother than a friend. I know Mr. Frodo's not thought of Sam as his servant for a long time, but I never thought he'd up and give him Bag End." "Sam? The new Master of the Hill! Don't that beat all! I don't know as I'll ever believe it!"
March 4, 2011 Challenge: "There would be no one to frighten you if you refused to be afraid."-Ghandi Write a story or poem or create artwork where the character conquers his or her fears. A/N: The following poem is a sestina, a poem in which the same six words are repeated at the end line of every stanza, with each stanza in a different order; the last stanza has only three lines, and the words are repeated within the lines as well as at the end. Merry Waits... I thought that I could know no greater fear Yet not for long could I count as mine such joy.
Yet beyond all hope we learn the world will live
They'd carried out their tasks. They were so brave;
Shall I have all my bitter days to mourn?
Yet I find that after all, they've cheated death, They live for now, for now we're done with death.
March 5, 2011: One Is the Loneliest Number "Gollum threw himself backwards, and grabbed as the hobbit flew over him, but too late: his hands snapped on thin air, and Bilbo, falling fair on his sturdy feet, sped off down the new tunnel..." Missed! He'd missed his last chance! He gave a shriek of despair. "Precioussss!" and then "Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it! We hates it for ever!"* Gollum collapsed against the cold stone wall of the tunnel, hissing and cursing, weeping and sobbing until he very nearly felt sick. His precious was gone, gone, gone, gone! How could Precious leave him? It had betrayed him, it had, betrayed him with the Baggins! After all this time, all his time, devoting himself to the Precious, never speaking to anyone else, just him and Precious all alone together in the dark, hidden away from the Yellow Face and the White Face and the cold cruel stars, hidden away from others. Just the two of them! And now he was alone. So cruel, the Baggins was, speaking to him and riddling with him, and all the while stealing away his lovely precious. And he'd been kind to the Baggins! Why, he had not eaten him or throttled him! He had spoken with him. So nice it had seemed, to speak with another for a change, and to play at riddles, and to remember for a moment what it had been like, before the Precious, before he had been outcast. But he should have known-- everybody always betrayed him! Deagol had tried to keep his birthday present! And Grandmother had sent him away! The Baggins had cheated him! And the Precious had left him! "Alone...alone...alone...alone..." His sobs quieted, dwindled away to a hiccuping "gollum, gollum," in his throat. He was alone now, and in danger, for without the precious, how could he hide from the goblins? How could he catch things to eat? Who would he talk to without the Precious? Outside. The word came to him, and he shuddered. To live, he would have to go Outside, away from the goblin tunnels and all the danger in them. Outside, where the Yellow Face and the White Face could find him. But he would be safe from goblins. And he could find food there. There were birdses. And fishes. And maybe eggses. And other young small creatures, tender and juicy. And maybe... Maybe... He could find the Baggins and get back his Precious, and he would find out just how tasty a Baggins was. And then it would be him and his Precious, alone again... *From The Hobbit, Chapter V, "Riddles In the Dark"
March 6, 2011 Challenge:
March 7, 2011 Challenge Overcoming prejudices is as hard in Middle-earth as in our primary universe. Write a story or poem or create artwork where the characters try to reach across racial or gender or any other barrier.
Babe in the Woods “Neddy!” “Neddy!” “Neddy!” More than one voice was calling the name. Aragorn and Halbarad exchanged a look. Clearly, someone must be lost in the woods. The two of them were passing near Staddle, on their way to the Shire. “Hobbits,” said Aragorn. The voices were higher and lighter than those of Men. Halbarad nodded. Normally, hobbits would have been so quiet that the two Rangers could have come upon them without ever hearing them. But these were making no effort at all to be silent, and their cries sounded on the verge of panic. Moving silently themselves, they approached the searching hobbits—as they moved around a bend in the path, they saw the hobbits before the hobbits saw them. There were three of them—one older, what the hobbits called a “gaffer”, an adult, and an older adolescent. “May we be of assistance, small masters?” Aragorn asked softly. The eldest, jumped, and then fixed them with a glare of hostility, while the other two scooped up stones in a blink. The youngest held his ready to throw. The two Rangers exchanged a glance; both of them knew of the skill of hobbits with a stone. They carefully stood with empty hands held away from their bodies and their weapons, and tried to appear harmless. "I am sorry if we startled you," said Aragorn, as softly as he could. "But my friend and I heard you calling, and wondered if you had lost someone?" "Don't trust'em," said the eldest instantly. "It's a couple o' them Rangers!" He said the last in a tone that indicated Rangers were something both nasty and perilous. "Da?" the youngest put a hand on the third hobbit's shoulder for reassurance. It was the third one who met their eyes, a defiant desperation in his own. "I'm Tim Underhill. This here's my older son Aragorn felt a chill of fear. A hobbit lad of nine would appear to Men's eyes to have no more years than a boy of six-- and would be very tiny and vulnerable prey in the woods. "We'll help you search, Mr. Underhill," he said. "I'm called Strider, and this is my kinsman Rover, at your service." He gave the brief little nod of a bow commonly used in the north when an introduction was made. "Don't have any truck with them," said Mr. Brockhouse fiercely. "You shouldn't've told 'em Neddy's out there alone-- who knows what they'll do to him!" Mr. Underhill shook his head. "Two more pairs 'o eyes can't help but be useful. It's going to be coming on for night soon enough. We have to find Neddy! You and Mr. Underhill looked at his son. "You go on with your Gaffer. You'll know who I'm with, and be able to tell of it, should aught go amiss." While Aragorn waited, pretending to be deaf to the insulting conversation, Halbarad was already casting a look around, searching for a trace of a small hobbit-lad's passage. "Strider!" he said. Aragorn and Mr. Underhill went instantly to his side. Mr. Brockhouse and "What is it?" asked Mr. Underhill. The two Rangers were inspecting a bilberry thicket. "I'd say a young hobbit has passed this way," Aragorn pointed to where Halbarad had been inspecting the bush. the bottom of the bush was completely stripped of ripe berries-- any that would have been in the reach of a tiny young hobbit. Mr. Underhill nodded. "Aye, my Neddy's right fond of bilberries." Aragorn peered at the ground closely for any sign of the child's passage. A little hobbit would not leave much trace, but there was very little that could escape Aragorn's expert eye, and in just a few moments, they had a direction. Less than a rod further on was another bilberry bush, stripped in the same manner, and just past that, they found a small handkerchief, stained with berry juice. Convinced they were on the right track the two Men moved swiftly, and Mr. Underhill was only able to keep up with them out of his desperate need to find his son. They travelled on quickly, every now and then stopping briefly to look for more sign of their small quarry. It was surprising how far a small child could have gone! The light was fading into dusk, and Aragorn had stopped to find another faint trace of the little one’s passage, when Halbarad’s eye was caught by another trace. “Strider!” he said urgently. Aragorn turned and joined his kinsman, and his eye fell upon a far easier spoor to read. He drew in a deep breath. “We must find the child as quickly as may be!” he said sharply. “What is it?” Mr. Underhill was breathless. It was all he could do to keep up with these long-legged Men. Aragorn gave the hobbit father a look of pity. “It’s fox sign…” Mr. Underhill made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob. “Go!” he said, “Go and find my lad! You can move more quickly without me! Please find him!” Aragorn and Halbarad moved swiftly away, but not before they heard him mutter, “Please let it not be too late already…” The Rangers were able to go more easily without having to wait for the hobbit to keep up. The fox at least was taking no trouble to hide its trail—and its trail was clearly following that of the child. It was with relief that both Men heard a sound, just a whimper, and then a yip. They put on a burst of speed toward the sound, and came upon a bramble-bush. A vixen was prowling back and forth in front of it. “Go ‘way!” sobbed a high childish voice. There was a thump, and the vixen yelped again and gave a little jump back. She backed up a little, but still paced back and forth in front of the child’s hiding place. Halbarad unslung his bow, but Aragorn put a hand of restraint on his arm. “She’s nursing kits,” he said. “Perhaps there’s another way!” He stooped and picked up a small stone, hefting it in his palm. “I said go ‘way!” came the voice from the bush, and the vixen received another pebble on the nose. As she jumped, Aragorn threw his stone with a shout: “Hoy!” It struck her on the rump. Finding herself attacked from two sides, she tucked her tail between her legs and ran away. “Hopefully she will find more acceptable prey now.” There was a rustle, and then a little face peered out fearfully from the bush. It was scratched and berry stained, and the brown curls were a tangled mess, with twigs and leaves ensnared among them. “Neddy?” Aragorn called softly. The little hobbits eyes went round, and the face vanished. “Go ‘way! I’m not s’posed to talk to strange Big Folks!” “That’s a very good thing, Neddy, but we are not strange. We know your name. Your father sent us to look for you. He has been searching for you, and so have your brother and your grandfather.” Aragorn and Halbarad both knelt down, so as to appear less huge and threatening. “Won’t you let us take you to your da?” “I don’t know your names.” “I’m Strider.” “And I’m Rover.” The little face peeked out again. “Those are silly names.” “Neddy, your da is worried about you. Won’t you let us take you to him?” Hesitantly the child came out on hands and knees. He winced as he crawled out, and then stood up and limped over to them, stopping about three feet away. His left leg had a ragged gash in it and both knees were badly scraped. He still looked rather nervous, and Aragorn feared he might dart back into the brambles if they startled him. “How did you get hurt, Neddy?” “I fell down when I was trying to get away from the fox. The rocks were sharp.” “Ah,” Aragorn was at a loss as to what to say next. He wanted to pick the lad up and examine him, and carry him back to his father. Halbarad reached into the pouch at his side and produced a pear. “Are you hungry, Neddy?” Food did the trick. Neddy came close enough to take the pear. “Thank you,” he said politely. It took only a little more coaxing, and Neddy allowed Aragorn to pick him up. He cradled the child in his arms; though Neddy was nine, he fit into Aragorn’s arms like a tiny babe. Aragorn cradled the little hobbit’s head against his shoulder, and they turned and headed back to meet with the worried father. The little face was warm and sticky with berry and pear juice, and as the child relaxed, his arms went trustingly around Aragorn’s neck. Aragorn softly sang a Sindarin lullaby as they walked, and before long Neddy was sound asleep. It was full dark when they came upon Mr. Underhill. His older son and father-in-law had joined him, and they could hear Mr. Brockhouse grumbling. “You see! They run off and left you! I knew you shouldn’t’ve trusted them two…” He broke off, startled, as he saw the Men coming. But Mr. Underhill had eyes only for his son. “Neddy!” he said, a sob in his voice. Aragorn bent and transferred his precious cargo into the father’s arms. Neddy stirred briefly, “Da,” he sighed, and then snuggled in more closely. “You have a brave little fellow there, Mr. Underhill. When we found him, he was holed up in a bramblebush holding the fox off by throwing stones!” “Indeed he did,” Aragorn answered. “Well, you have your little one back now. He seems to have suffered only scrapes and a cut. Had I light and water, I would tend them, for I have some training as a healer.” “Won’t you come back to the smial with us, Strider and Rover? I know the missus will want to thank you, and we can feed you supper.” Aragorn and Halbarad exchanged a look, and then a smile. “We’ve learned never to turn down a chance at hobbit cooking!” Aragorn answered. “And then I can check Neddy’s injuries, and make sure they are not more serious than I think.” Mr. Underhill held his child more tightly. “I will never be able to thank you enough,” he said. “It was our pleasure to be of service.” The small group walked in silence for a few moments. Mr. Brockhouse was lagging behind, walking with his head down. Halbarad dropped back to walk alongside him. “Are you all right, Mr. Brockhouse?” There was no answer at first, and then the elderly hobbit mumbled, “I owe you fellows an apology.” Halbarad did not ask why. “I never heard of no good about Rangers. I never really met one afore. You’re not like I thought.” “Appearances are against us, I fear,” Halbarad answered. Mr. Brockhouse gave a brief chuckle. “That’s so, I’m afraid. But someone as old as me ought to have more sense than to just go by appearances or what other folks say.” “Everyone does that sometimes,” Halbarad said. “Tell me, is your daughter a good cook?” The old hobbit laughed. Neddy stirred in his father’s arms. “Gaffer?” he asked sleepily. “I’m here, Neddy,” he said. He turned his face up to Halbarad. “I thank you, you and your friend, for the life of my grandson.” Halbarad reached down and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can show your thanks by thinking a bit more kindly of Rangers in the future.” “Aye, I can do that.”
March 8, 2011 Write a story or poem or create a piece of artwork reflecting identification with or connection to one’s land, country or culture. The words seemed like the very bones of the earth, strong and hard like stone, beautiful as the jewels Gimli described, bright as the lamps, rhythmic as the beat of the smith’s hammer, glittering as Gandalf's fireworks, ancient as kings, true as the Shire. The words beat into Sam’s own head, bringing to him a vision of the marvels they described. They seemed to come from the deepest part of Gimli's soul. He’d not thought that Gimli would have such power in his voice. The Dwarf was singing of his home, the true home of his heart, whether or no he had ever set foot there before. Gimli was longing for the Khazad-Dûm of his song, the way Sam longed for the Shire. Sam blinked and looked about him, the vision the song had given him fading... "I like that," he said, "I should like to learn it. In Moria, in Khadad-Dûm! But it makes the darkness seem heavier, thinking of all those lamps. Are there gold and jewels lying about here still?"* Sam winced inwardly to hear himself. His own words sounded so common. He hoped he’d not offended Gimli, but he had to say something after that song… *From FotR, Book II, Chapter IV, "A Journey in the Dark"
March 9, 2011:
Breaking the Rules "Sneaks, eh," said a rough voice. "Not a pretty word, Hayward." Hob turned from watching the four hobbits ride away, and the joy that had begun to bloom in his heart evaporated, turning to instant anger. "Sneaks! I said and sneaks I meant, Tim Hogpen! What kind of loyalty is it, telling tales to the Big Men?" "Loyalty to the Shirriffs," the other hobbit replied. "You're a shirriff, it's your duty to tell of aught that anyone does against the Rules!" "And betray hobbits? Betray our friends and neighbours, just for a feather in my cap?" Hob took his hat off. "I've had enough o' that." He threw the cap on the ground. "I'm off-- and don't think to stop me, for I'm going to Brandy Hall and tell 'em Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo's back! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!" "What do you think you're doing?" A new voice intruded. Otto Clayhanger was the Chief Shirriff at the bridge house, a cousin of Lotho Sackville-Baggins from the Southfarthing. "I'm doing what I should've done a long time ago. I'm quitting! And don't tell me I can't. You don't have no hold over me since my mam died last month!" "Well, you aren't going nowhere," he said. "Grab 'im!" Tim took hold of Hob by the arms, but Hob jerked loose. And then suddenly Tim went pale and stepped back. "What's the matter with you?" Otto yelled. But something in Tim's expression caused him to turn and look behind him. Almost all of the other shirriffs were surrounding him, arms crossed and looking grim. "I think we've all had enough," said one. "I'm fed up with being a traitor to the Shire. And you don't got Ferny to back you up anymore!" And he also threw his hat down. One by one, the other hobbits threw their hats away, some even stomping on them. In the end, Otto, Tim and two others found themselves locked in the nearly empty larder of the shirriff-house, while all the others marched away, following Hob on the road South to Brandy Hall...
March 10, 2011 Challenge: Start a story or poem with Charles Dickens' famous opening line from A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." (If you're creating a piece of artwork for this challenge, use this line as your theme or title.) (A drabble. Frodo ponders Bilbo’s departure…) September 23, S.R. 1401 It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. He'd read that in some old book of lore, in tales of great cities of Men and Elves, the glory and strife found in them. How could times be both "best" and "worst"? Here in the Shire, hobbits had their humdrum lives; only hobbits who went Outside found glory. But the phrase came unbidden, thinking of yesterday: it was the best of times, a party of special magnificence. Yet for him it was the worst of times, for now he was bereft of the one he loved most.
March 11, 2011 Challenge:
Write a story or poem or create artwork where characters make sacrifices in order to achieve their goals. "But the Queen Arwen said: 'A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Luthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been wound.' And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo's neck. 'When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you,' she said, 'this will bring you aid." (RotK, Book VI, Chapter VI, Many Partings) "It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger; some one has to give them up, lose them, so others may keep them." (RotK, Book VI, Chapter IX, The Grey Havens) "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy." (Matthew 5:7) White Stone White stone, gleaming like a star, One gave away immortality One cast away his very being, And when the course of time was spent White sails and the setting sun,
March 12: Falls of Sirion The gates and falls of Sirion are a must go location for the daredevils amongst us. The falls lend themselves for a daring bungee jumping adventurers, after one has recovered, the pools at the gates lend themselves for perfect fishing while one can rest and catch their breath in the hunting camps.
Today's Challenge: Elves are one with Nature. What about Men? Hobbits? Dwarves? Write a story or poem or create artwork where the way different races relate to Nature is shown.
Appreciating the View
The sun broke as the Company topped a rocky ridge. The windswept hilltop had a small copse of pine trees, but it faced southeast, with a view of the rosy dawn as it shone from behind the Misty Mountains. Below, somewhat sheltered from the north wind, they could look down on a small hollow and more trees that could shield them from unfriendly eyes-- the campsite which Legolas had scouted for them to spend the day. A stream ran west at the foot of the ridge, and from their vantage point they could see far across the deserted lands. Another, taller ridge, a purple mist in the distance blocked the horizon.
"Yonder is Hollin Ridge," said Aragorn. "A day and a half, perhaps two days distant."
"This is a lovely view," said Frodo. "The land is so different here than in the Shire."
"It does have a certain wild beauty," Boromir agreed. "It is very different than Gondor as well."
"There is good stone here," Gimli added. He leaned against a nearby boulder and placed his hand on it.
"The trees are young, though." Legolas looked down at the piney copse below. "They scarcely have voices."
Gandalf who was also looking ahead, said "You are quite right, Frodo. It is as different as can be from the Shire." There was no response. "Frodo?"
Frodo was trotting down the slope towards their proposed campsite, where the other hobbits had already headed. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam was calling. "I found wild onions!"
Merry and Pippin were conferring excitedly. "And I'm sure there are fish in the stream!" called Merry. “I have hooks and line in my pack!”
"What do you say to grilled trout and onions for supper-breakfast?" asked Pippin with a grin.
The bigger folk looked on. "Trust hobbits to have a true appreciation of nature," said Gandalf.
March 13 Challenge Turned Away Tibalt was surprised to see a gate across the Brandywine Bridge. Granted, it had been more than a decade since last he travelled this way, but there never had been a gate there before. He halted his mule and stepped down from the cart to approach it.
March 14 Challenge: Write a story or create a piece of art centred on freedom of religion (or lack thereof), heresy, and/or religious rites. A Question of Gratitude “Thank you for an excellent meal, Cousin Bilbo.” “You are most welcome, Dora,” Bilbo gave a gracious nod. He glanced at the mantle clock in the dining room. “I fear that the hour is later than usual; the Sun will have gone down.” “I will walk Aunt Dora home, Uncle Bilbo,” said Frodo. Dora looked pleased. “Why thank you, Frodo, dear! I would appreciate that very much.” Dora sat in the front hall, while Frodo quickly helped Bilbo clear the table, after which he would walk her down the Hill to her own hole. It had been a very pleasant meal. Whatever Cousin Bilbo’s other faults might be, one could never fault his hospitality. He laid a most generous and well-appointed table. The conversation, on the other hand, could be Quite Disturbing. They had been speaking, as was only Proper, about the food. Bilbo had prepared some lovely stuffed mushrooms, and there had been lamb chops and garden peas with tiny new potatoes, freshly baked bread and butter, a light soup of vegetables and noodles, for afters, a strawberry fool, and a platter of cheeses for Filling Up the Corners. Dora had spoken as she sometimes did, of the Respect and Gratitude one should show for the food. It was a commonplace sort of thing to say, often reiterated, and never before had she expected anyone to take especial note of it. She had been very taken aback, then, when Bilbo had said: “And to whom do we owe this Gratitude?” “Why to our Hosts!” Dora had replied. “Yet we are to show this thankfulness and respect even when we are the providers of our own meals, are we not?” “Well, yes…” Dora was not certain what her older cousin was getting at, but she feared it was not something she could Approve Of. “We are, I suppose, also thankful to those who have worked to obtain the food for us—the gardeners, the farmers…” “And,” added young Frodo, “we are thankful for the Sun and the rain, too.” Bilbo had grinned at Frodo and nodded enthusiastically. “Very good, Frodo!” Then he’d looked at Dora. “And of course, the Sun and the rain, and the good dark earth come from somewhere do they not? The Elves say that we owe the bounty in our lives to the Powers in the West, who helped to create this world, and that it is to them we should be grateful.” Elves! Dora refrained from sighing, but simply said firmly, “What are Elvish notions to hobbits? We are a practical people!” And then she had turned the conversation to inquiries of Frodo about his latest letter from his Aunt Menegilda. Frodo stepped out into the hall just then, with her shawl, which he carefully draped about her shoulders, and they walked out, her hand upon Frodo’s arm. He was a sweet and solicitous lad, as thoughtful and kind as her dear brother Drogo had been. They headed down the Hill, and Frodo turned his face to the sky. “Aren’t the stars beautiful tonight? I think we should also be thankful for their beauty, don’t you?” Had it been Bilbo making such an observation, she would, perhaps, have found something stern to say about fanciful notions. But Frodo’s joy was quiet and lovely to behold, so she simply murmured “You are a very dear lad, Frodo,” which made him smile and blush, but also silenced him as there was no real response to her statement. They finished the walk down and around the Hill in companionable and enjoyable silence, and Frodo said farewell to her at the door to Greenbriars. She gave him a little kiss on the cheek and entered her own door. She would never admit to such a thing to Bilbo, but sometimes his outlandish ideas did make her Furiously to Think. Could there possibly be anything in the idea that Powers that the Elves believed in could have anything to do with Hobbits? Perhaps he was right; nevertheless, she did not see what difference it made, whether it was true or not. A hobbit should still be Grateful, even if she did not know to Whom.
Hugo tidied up the parlour and banked the fire before he went to bed. It had been nice to have an unexpected visit from Frodo. It was hard to believe such a nice chap could be kin to Otho Sackville-Baggins. About a dozen medium sized mushrooms (button mushrooms will do) 1 stick of butter, softened 2 large cloves of crushed garlic The juice and grated zest of half a lemon 2 TBSP of finely snipped fresh herbs (I used chives, thyme and parsley, but you may wish to use different ones.) salt and pepper to taste
Picture of garlic-herb mushrooms:
March 16, 2011 Challenge: Clear View
March 17, 2011 Challenge:
March 18 Challenge: There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not pain around us. 'Tis good to give a stranger a meal, or a night's lodging. 'Tis better to be hospitable to his good meaning and thought, and give courage to a companion. We must be as courteous to a man as we are to a picture, which we are willing to give the advantage of a good light. - Ralph Waldo Emerson The act of kindness or hospitability usually comes from a generous heart. Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art where your character displays this virtue. "Life is mostly froth and bubble, "2758-9: The Long Winter follows. Great suffering and loss of life in Eriador and Rohan. Gandalf comes to the aid of the Shire-folk." (Appendix B: Tale of Years)" "And then there was the Shire-folk. I began ot have a warm place in my heart for them in the Long Winter, which none of you can remember. They were very hard put to it then: one of the worst pinches they have been in, dying of cold, and starving in the dreadful dearth that followed. But that was the time to see their courage, and their pity for one another. It was by their pity as much as by their tough uncomplaining courage that they survived." (UT, Part III, The Third Age, Chapter III, "The Quest of Erebor") Pity Gandalf pulled his threadbare cloak more closely, and bent his face into the wind. It was tempting, oh so very tempting, to call upon Narya ever so slightly to warm himself up. But he resisted. The Ring of Fire was meant for the benefit of others, not to be used lightly or selfishly. And while his body was not as impervious to the cold as that of an Elf, still he reminded himself he had his own small power as a wizard to keep himself from freezing to death, if not to be actually warm. He did lend some of his own warmth to his poor horse. Dear Borin deserved to be in a nice warm stable somewhere, not wandering about the wilds like this during a winter which should have been long past. Spring's first signs should have been showing up weeks ago. He did not share Elrond's suspicions that the lingering winter could be a device of the Enemy; it did not have that sort of feel to it. Nevertheless, he had fewer memories of Middle-earth than did his friend, and Elrond was a mighty loremaster in his own right, so it had seemed worthwhile to look into the matter. His investigations into the lands that had once belonged to Angmar had been inconclusive, but his consultation with Iarwain had been reassuring. "Do not fear: There is no weather-master. Naught that goes on two legs may make the year go faster. Spring will come when she will come, no sooner and no later." Bombadil, as he was calling himself these days, had cheered him and urged him to remain his guest until the return of milder weather. But Gandalf had declined. He had the nagging feeling his presence was needed elsewhere. Now he was wishing that he had taken his old friend up on the offer, as a particularly nasty gust of wind threatened to carry his tall blue hat away. He put a hand to it, and took a deep breath of bitter cold air. Realizing that he was actually in danger of losing the road, he decided it might be best if he could find a place to stop. He had come from south of the road, and there was nothing there which would provide good shelter, unless he wished to go and turf a wight out of its barrow. He was far too cold and weary to deal with such a nuisance. However, if he had not already passed it by, he seemed to recall there had been an abandoned farm nearby. The cottage had long ago been destroyed by a fire (which was why it had been abandoned) but the half-ruined stone byre had still been standing the last time he passed this way. If he could find it, it should provide enough shelter from the wind and enough protection that he could start a small fire-- Borin carried kindling and some firewood. He began to peer forward, and plodded on, leading his tired horse behind. Perhaps it was his earnest prayer that gave him his glimpse of it, or perhaps it was the working out of what was meant to be, but there came a lull in the howl of the wind and the swirl of the snow, and he was able to spot it ahead and to his right, about two rods to the right of the road, and about a half a furlong ahead. Shelter, he thought, more pleased than he could say. Yet as he approached he heard a sound, as of a sad keening-- it was not the wind, which had died down for the nonce. It had the sound to his ear of a creature in grief or pain. Perhaps more than one such creature... Moving carefully, lest he alert whatever it might be, he made his way to the ruined hulk of the building. As he drew nigh, it became ever more clear that there were at least two creatures. One was moaning, the other was attempting to offer reassurances, though the voice was laden with its own fear. Gandalf could not make out the words. The snow muffled his quiet approach. "Who is there?" he asked, as he led his weary horse around the end of the broken wall. He stared in surprise, and received a look of shock in return.
******* Rumble was doing his best to keep from despair, but Bard's moans and Hammie's illness weighed on him, dragging him down even as he tried his best to cheer his cousin. They had Hammie between them, but there was precious little warmth to be had from their own bodies, and Rumble feared they would not be able to keep the younger hobbit from freezing to death. He lay between them silent and still, and only the tiny plumes of his breath gave Rumble to know he was still alive. He reached across, and pulled Bard as close as he could with Hammie between them. "Come now, cousin," he said as lightly as he could manage past the lump of sorrow in his own throat. "Just think how often we used to wish for snow when we were younger!" It was a foolish thing to say, but he could not bring himself to utter false reassurances that everything would be all right, and it cut him to the quick to hear Bard grieving already. But what hope had they, really? What a failure their errand had been! A forlorn hope at best: to buy food and bring it from Bree. They had managed to purchase only a few bags of barley-flour, not even enough for the needs of the Tooks, much less the rest of the Shire. Bree was not much better off than the Shire. But it was useless now-- the pony had died, and now it looked as though they would as well, and the food would not even get back across the Brandywine. Their family would never know what happened. They could not hold out much longer-- the meagre journey food they had with them might make two more scant meals, and they could not eat raw barley-flour. Then they could all huddle together in the snow, and fall asleep never to wake again. If it were not for his fears for the family members awaiting their return, he could almost welcome it. Suddenly, there was a noise above the howling of the wind. A deep voice called out, "Who's there?" Bard ceased his keening, and Rumble sat up, and stared in astonishment. One of the Big Folk! A tall and elderly Man with a worn grey cloak and a tall blue hat, a silver scarf wrapped about his mouth, and a long grey beard extending below, he led a perfectly enormous bay horse. The two hobbits gaped in astonishment and received just such a look in return.
******* Halflings! Gandalf had seen a few in Bree, where they were known as hobbits, but they had all been very shy of him. He had not actually spoken to any of them, though he thought they were rather curious and interesting little people. It had been in the back of his mind for some little while now to find out more about them. But this was most unexpected-- what were three of them doing out in this sort of weather? And in such sad condition? The one on the left stared for an instant longer. Then he gently shifted the one in the middle closer to the other hobbit, who still gaped fearfully. Slowly and stiffly, the shuddering halfling arose and gave a little bow. "I am Ferumbras Took at your service," he said in a voice that stammered with cold. "These are my cousins, Flambard Took and Hamilcar Bolger. I am afraid that we cannot offer much in the way of hospitality, but you are welcome to shelter with us out of the wind. We have a little journeybread and some dried fruit, if you are hungry." Few things could surprise Gandalf, but this did. Their faces were blue with cold, and the one who spoke could scarcely stand. The one who was still sitting gazed up at him, his green eyes huge in the thin and shadowed face, but making an effort to show interest. And they had greeted him kindly and offered to share, even in their dire circumstances. As he gazed down on them he felt humbled and a great swell of Pity filled his heart. He blinked back unaccustomed tears. “I am called Gandalf the Grey, and I thank you, Master Hobbits, for your kind offer. As it happens I also have some small provision. Perhaps we can put them together, and thus have more for us all. I see too, that you are suffering from the cold.” He indicated the kindling and small amount of firewood that Borin carried. “I can start a fire.” “Oh, could you?” asked the one who’d introduced himself as Ferumbras. His face lit up with hope. “We had no kindling, and the wind is too fierce, even here, for us to have much luck.” It was the work of only a few minutes to lay a fire. Looking at his shivering companions, Gandalf thought it would not be an abuse of Narya’s power to manage the fire, making it burn with a steady heat, that was warmer than usual. He looked with concern at the hobbits, especially the one that seemed to be unconscious. “May I ask how the three of you come to be here?” “We were on our way back from Bree, where we had hoped to buy some food for our family. We weren’t able to find much.” Ferumbras shrugged sadly. “Then Hammie got sick, and the pony died.” Flambard made a gesture, and for the first time Gandalf noticed a shape half-buried in snow just beyond the edge of the ruined byre wall. It was a small sleigh, and clearly another shape completely buried by the snow must have been the body of the pony. Gandalf now took the time to look at the sick one. “Hammie” the others had called him. He appeared much slighter and younger than the other two. He was alarmingly still, and for an instant, Gandalf thought his spirit had already departed. But he gravely inspected the small form. “His breathing is laboured; I am no healer, but I very much fear lung sickness…” The other two nodded sadly. “So do we,” said Flambard. “Poor Hammie! He’s so young…” the hobbit’s voice choked in a sob. Ferumbras patted the other on the back, and gave a sigh. “You mentioned journeybread and dried fruit. I have also a bit of journeybread, and some cheese, and a small flask of spirits in my saddlebag.” He rose and removed the saddlebag and the kindling from his horse. He handed the saddlebag to Ferumbras, and set about arranging the fire. He used a little power to start it, and kept it small, that their wood would last the longer. After a few moments the four companions were settled. Borin was brought close, and his bulk blocked a bit more of the wind. They had shared out their meagre supplies, Gandalf taking only a small portion, for he was not particularly hungry. He had hoped to rouse the unconscious hobbit enough to get him to take a sip of the spirits, but he was unresponsive, and Gandalf feared to try and simply pour some down his throat, even a few drops might choke him, weak as he was. However, he drew Hamilcar into his lap, and with the other two hobbits at his side, he arranged his cloak about them all, and began to sing in a low voice, a song of the coming of the Sun and the Moon…
******** Rumble allowed himself to lean into the warmth of this Big Person. He did not know why, but somehow this Gandalf felt very safe. Perhaps they would get out of this situation alive after all. He bit his lip. Perhaps all of them would. How could he possibly return home without young Hammie? He was only twenty-nine, after all. But even if they did, what would they find when they got home? So little food! Yet they had found a new friend all unlooked for. Poor Gandalf, wandering about in the Wild with no companion save his horse! How lonely the old fellow must be—what a pity he had to be on his own! Rumble was glad they had found one another. But Gandalf was very warm, and it was very comfortable beneath the cloak. And Rumble was so weary…
******* Gandalf felt the two older hobbits fall into slumber, and he bent his thought to the one he held. So young, he was, but his hold on life was very thin. He was already on the path that would lead him out of Arda, but he was young and alone and confused. Gandalf had not the power to call him back, but he did have the power to lend him comfort and his presence so far as the Gates. He could not read the little one’s thoughts, but he could feel his fëa, as it turned from confusion to joy, and there was a brief instant of gratitude sent his way before it flared and went beyond his ken. And Gandalf sent forth his own prayer of gratitude. And then wondered what he would tell the youth’s remaining companions when they woke to find their kinsman gone from them.
******* Morning came, bright and blue. The fire was down to mere coals, but the snow had stopped and the wind no longer howled. The cold felt less brittle. But Rumble and Bard could take no joy in it, for they had wakened to the news that Hammie had died in the night. He and Bard clung to one another, weeping silently for a while. Bard had done much of his grieving the day before when they realized this outcome was all too likely, but Rumble had held on to some hope once their mysterious new friend had arrived. Still, he did not blame Gandalf—it was unlikely he could have saved poor young Hammie. And at least the lad had been warm and comfortable in his last few hours. But now what were they to do? They still had no pony, and very little food was left, even with Gandalf’s contributions—only a tiny bit of the journeybread. And—he hated to think it—but what about Hammie? Were they going to have to leave him here, in this forsaken place? Gandalf had laid Hammie’s body out very gently and with dignity. Rumble thought that in death, his young cousin actually looked less blue than he had the day before. At least he no longer felt the cold. He was startled when Gandalf spoke. “I know that it might be somewhat awkward, but I think it might be possible for Borin to pull your sleigh. I know the shafts will be short, but I think we can make the adjustments necessary…” Given a practical problem to think about, both Rumble and Bard were able to put their grief aside for the moment. The three of them went over to the cart, and Gandalf used his long arms to sweep much of the snow off of it. He banged his staff on the sides, and soon it was cleared off. It was indeed a makeshift and awkward arrangement in the end, and Borin did not look very happy. But he was a placid-natured horse, and accepted his new role with only a little snorting. Hammie’s body was laid in the back, and Rumble and Bard sat in the seat. Gandalf was going to walk and lead the horse, for there was no way that the hobbits could handle driving such a large beast, nor any way Gandalf could fit upon the seat of the sleigh. “The only question now,” said Gandalf, “is where are we going?” “If there’s no more snow,” replied Rumble, “we could make it to the Bridge Inn in half a day.” “Very well,” replied the old Man. He urged the horse forward, and they began their journey in silence.
******* The Sun continued to be bright, and lend her warmth to the three weary travellers. Perhaps, thought Gandalf, Spring was on the way at last. He noted the melting snow dripping from branches and heard the occasional “crack” of breaking icicles. He looked at his small companions, who grieved as they were over the loss of the younger one, still looked about them. Ferumbras spoke. “Perhaps Spring’s come at last!” There was a note of hopefulness in his voice in spite of all that had happened. “If only we could have found more food in Bree,” said Flambard. “I do not know what we will tell Aunt Miradonna; it seems as if poor Hammie died without purpose.” Ferumbras shook his head. “Hammie would insist on going, you know—he might even have followed us if we had not given our permission. And his heart was in the right place.” “It was,” Flambard agreed. “He was a brave lad, and he worried so over the others. I know it weighed on him, the hunger of the younger children.” “It weighs on me as well,” said Ferumbras, “the hunger of the children, and of the old folk, too. Not to mention everyone else. But winter can’t last forever. Things will come ‘round soon, you’ll see.” “I know. And we’ll see to it that everyone honours Hammie for his courage and great heart.” Flambard took a deep breath. “And we are not home yet; we may still find some provisions along the way to take back with what we’ve got. And though what we’ve got isn’t much, it’s better than nothing at all.” “You’re right, cousin,” said Ferumbras. “And word was sent to Brandybucks in Buckland before we left, and to Bandy in the Northfarthing! Hobbits will help each other, you’ll see!” Gandalf, walking alongside the horse, looked in amazement at his small companions. There was no sign of defeat about them, sorrowful though they were at the loss of their cousin. They clung to hope, and spoke lightly and without doubt. What amazing creatures these little people were—such great hearts as he had not encountered before, out of all proportion to their size, and filled with Pity and kindness. He was glad of this encounter, and he would accompany them home if they would allow it, and do what he could to succour them and their people. It felt right somehow, almost as though it was a memory of something that had happened already. He knew in his heart that he had found friends, and he could not think their meeting now was Chance.
(This story is not mis-numbered. My March 18 story is not yet finished! I will post it in its proper place when it is!) March 19: Challenge: "But all the while I sit and think Listening for Returning Feet Was it his imagination, or was the sky over Rivendell greyer this autumn than he had ever seen it before? Had the leaves turned sooner? Was the wind more chill? The sun less bright? Bilbo gazed through his window, abandoning any pretense of writing, and sighed. All those whose presence had made the waiting bearable when all was in doubt and fear were now gone, and he felt that he waited alone, for only a few caretakers had been left to mind Imladris when the others went South. The Hall of Fire was nearly empty in the evenings, and he took most of his meals here in his rooms when he felt like eating. Often he did not, which was dreadfully unhobbity of him, but his appetite was not what it used to be. He was at last, not growing old, but old indeed. He felt every one of his one hundred and twenty-nine years. Well, tomorrow, at any rate. But there was no one here to whom he could give his gifts. What was that? Did he hear voices in the corridor? The aches in his joints forgotten, he rose and was at the door when the first knock fell. He flung it open, tears of joy in his eyes. "Frodo, my lad!" And the child of his heart was once more in his arms.
March 20, 2011 Back-to-Middle-earth Month Challenge: (A/N: This was the drabble that inspired my WIP, "The Invasion".)
March 21 Challenge: The words West and East are often used in the works of Tolkien. Write a story or poem or create an artwork that uses these words as the central focus, whether as cardinals, regions, or as metaphors. To illustrate this particular challenge, I chose to do a calligraphy piece of the song that Aragorn and Legolas sang as they prepared Boromir's boat for his funeral. I felt the invocation of the West, North and South Winds, as well as Aragorn's remark about the East Wind were appropriate to this challenge.
Done on 10"X13" Bristol board with steel dip pen, using gold Sharpie and gouache for the illumination.
March 22 Challenge: What We Can
March 23 Challenge: Everyone avoided the tower. It was believed to have...
Write a story or poem that starts with this line or create a piece of art that reflects this line.
This is quite different than my usual. I began with our starter sentence, and just began to write, with no idea of what or how it would turn out…
There was echo of song
Everyone avoided the tower. It was believed to have been a place of the Little Folk long ago, and none wished to offend them if they lingered yet. After all, their good will would sometimes mean chores done secretly in the night, but their ill will could mean mischief. Some of the farm wives would occasionally leave an offering of a saucer of milk on the worn stone that was believed to have been the front step. Children would sometimes dare one another to go into it, but none ever did. They would stand about and boast, and once in a while a bold one would dart towards it, but always stop short.
But the young man on his walking trip had never been there before, did not know the local legends. He was fascinated by the tower, so tall and straight, seemingly deserted. It was ancient and fair, and he was sure it held secrets. He explored all around it, and then entered the ruins. While the outside of the tower looked strangely untouched by time, the inside was another matter. A portal where once must have been a stout wooden door was long rotted away, and where windows had once been sealed by shutters, the same had occurred. Inside the tower was bare enough. A stone stairwell went up to nowhere. Presumably there had once been a landing there, but now the stair clung in a graceful curve against the inner wall, and came to an abrupt end about twenty feet above his head. Leaves had blown in, and littered the broken flags of the floor. He stared above his head, to see a perfect circle of blue sky. What must the stars have looked like from there at night!
He went back out, circled the place, and then made ready to set up camp for the night at its base. Perhaps he could have cleared out a space within the tower which would have been out of the wind, but somehow that did not seem right. The weather was mild, and he needed no fire. He ate and drank what provisions he had with him, and unrolled his bedroll. He lay beneath the stars and looked up into the clear sky, amazed at how bright and numerous the stars appeared from this hilltop. They seemed much brighter, much larger...they were the largest, brightest stars he had ever seen...he thought he could almost reach out and touch them...they swirled in patterns, and it seemed he was there among them, looking down upon the starlit world. Then, as it seemed, he could see the Tower standing fair and intact. There was light shining from the windows, and from below as well, from little round windows in the hill on which the Tower stood. It seemed a rosy dawn came and he knew that the little round windows looked out upon fair gardens, and a path of white stone leading down to a winding road. Over the winding road came a small figure on a pony. He could see a grey-green cloak, and silver hair where the hood was blown back...a round door opened, and a small woman came out, not young but very comely, her golden hair shot with threads of silver. She greeted the rider, and assisted him to stiffly dismount. They embraced, and somehow he knew they were father and daughter... they faded from his view and he found that he was once more among the swirling stars. A song, a haunting song of piercing beauty in a fair tongue he could not understand filled his mind, and he saw he was now looking down upon a sea-strand. Two walked there, one in robes of white, an old man venerable and wise, with a beard as white as his shining robes, and at his side walked one whom he took at first for a child, in a cloak similar to the one on the rider in his first vision. But it was no child he saw...they walked upon the beach, and left no footprints...the song faded, and all he could hear was the sound of the waves, growing louder and louder...and then, one great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness inescapable...
He woke with a gasp, blinking in confusion. As he came to himself, he sat up and saw to the east the pinks and purples of the coming morning, snatches of the strange song and the strange tongue lingering in his mind...
________
Author’s Notes: The title comes from JRRT’s poem “The Sea-Bell”; the last portion of our unknown hiker’s dream is from Faramir’s dream which he recalls to Éowyn in the chapter “The Steward and the King”.
March 24 Challenge: Does a nursery rhyme from the Shire have a hidden meaning? "What? The crebain? No, not exactly. But there is very little difference when you see them," answered Gandalf. "They are slightly larger and you never see them alone, they are always in large flocks and fly in patterns that crows do not. But to one who does not know, they are very like crows." "So if people didn't know about crebain they might think they were crows. Which might explain it-- the not-counting, I mean." The Big Folk looked puzzled. "Pippin, that's just a child's game!" said Merry. "It doesn't really mean anything." "Well, Mr. Merry," Sam put in, "I know I never count crows. Just in case you know. As the Gaffer always says, 'Better safe than sorry!' " Gimli shook his head as if he were going to regret his question: "What are you hobbits on about?" "It's a clapping game." Pippin stopped walking. "Merry, should we show them?" "Pippin, I am not going to play a silly child's game!" Frodo smiled indulgently at his younger cousin. "It's been a good many years, Pip, but I daresay I could still remember the pattern." He turned and faced Pippin, palms out. Pippin nodded and put his hands out similarly, and began to recite, and as he did, he and Frodo began to clap in a pattern, clapping one another's hands and their own: "One for Robin-red-breast, the messenger of spring. The two began slowly enough, and gradually picked up speed, not missing a beat until Pippin was nearly finished, when his right hand failed to connect with Frodo's left. Frodo laughed. "I've not thought of that in years! I think we did very well all things considered!" Boromir nodded. "Children in Gondor sometimes play such games, though I have never heard a rhyme about counting crows before." "Yes," added Legolas, "I recall such games from my own childhood, though I have never heard that one before." "But see," said Pippin earnestly, "if folks thought that crows and crebain were the same, then they'd learn it wasn't very good luck to stop and count them!" Merry rolled his eyes, but Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. "Oft times there are reasons behind the doggerel of children. It is a possiblity." "Well, let us continue," said Gandalf, "if we have quite finished playing!"
March 25: Lothlórien Visit the Golden Wood! See historic Cerin Amroth, site of the betrothal of Aragorn and Arwen! Climb the flets of Caras Galadhon! Today's Challenge: She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke?
Start a story with this two lines and answer the question of what was once broken. Or create a poem or piece of art that pictures this scene. Sometimes history repeats itself...
What Goes Around She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this that broke? Primrose shook her head sadly, and looked down at her son, who stood before her with his grey eyes swimming in tears. "I'm sorry, Mummy, I didn't mean to break it." "You didn't mean to break it, but you did mean to handle it by yourself without permission." He turned bright red, and stared at his feet. "I just wanted a look." She gave a sigh as she placed the shattered fragments of the lens on her father-in-law’s desk, and then the separate parts of the wooden casing. "I will not punish you. It is your grandfather's spyglass. You will tell him what you did, and he will set your punishment, Theodas Brandybuck." Merry would not give his grandson a severe punishment-- he was a very indulgent grandparent, but she knew how hard it would be for Theodas to see the disappointment in Merry's face, and the sorrow over the broken spyglass. Her own father would not be happy either; the Took was nearly as fond of that spyglass as his older cousin. "Can't you tell him, mummy?" Theo asked plaintively. "Tell me what?" The Master of Buckland entered his study, and the Thain was right behind him. "What have you done, Theo?" Pippin asked. The child gulped, and looked up at his mother for support. She kept her gaze unyielding and implacable. With a sigh, he gazed down at his feet once more. "I broke the spyglass..." he whispered, and waited miserably for his doom to fall. There was a brief moment of silence, and then a most unexpected sound, the last sound either Primrose or Theodas expected: a chuckle, and then two chuckles. Theodas looked up to see both his grandfathers laughing. "Ah, Pippin!" Merry said. "What goes around comes around." "It would seem so, Merry." Merry went and sat down in his big chair behind the desk, and motioned the lad to come to him. He sat Theo on his knee, and said, "Do you wonder why your Grandper* and I find this so amusing?" Theo nodded, still uncertain of what would come of his mishap. "Because when the Thain and I were just little fry ourselves-- he was about your age, in fact, while I was a bit older-- we were responsible for breaking a spyglass that belonged to your Great-Grandfather Saradoc." "But I thought that was his spyglass, Gaffer Merry." "Yes. That was the spyglass that I got to replace the one we broke. It took me years and years to find a new one for him. In fact, I was a grown-up hobbit, and I found it and bought it for him in the King's City after our journey long ago**." "Oh. Would you tell me about it?" "Do you deserve a story right now, Theo?" His crime recalled to him, Theo blushed and hung his head. "We'll tell you all about it another time. Right now we must decide on your punishment." Merry picked up the casing, and examined it. It appeared that it had simply come apart. The real problem was the shattered lens. "I believe that this can be fixed, Theo, but not in the Shire. Here is your punishment. You will take the broken parts and see to their mending. I suggest that you send them to Uncle Gimli in Aglarond. But you will box them up. You will earn the money for the message. And until you have seen to it, and I receive it back from your hands, you may no longer come into my study unless one of your parents brings you in here." "But Gaffer Merry! That will take forever!" "It could take as long as a year, perhaps. Pippin and I broke the first spyglass completely by accident-- we had permission to handle it. You had no such permission, and so you must bear the blame yourself." “Oh.” “Now I suggest you go along with your mum, and tell your da what you’ve done. They will help you decide how you will earn the money to see to the repair of that spyglass. And fetch along a box to put the pieces in.” He slid the child gently off his lap, and watched him walk dejectedly out of the Master’s study at his mother’s side, then turned to glance at the broken parts of the spyglass on his desk with a sigh. Pippin shook his head. “You were harder on him than Uncle Sara was on us. I’m surprised at you.” “As I told him, we did it by accident. Da was standing right there when it happened. He did not have permission to touch it by himself. And,” added Merry, “My punishment for him is much milder than the one I imposed on myself to replace the original spyglass!” Pippin laughed. “That’s quite true. And at least you gave him some guidance as to how to go about it. Gimli will be sad to see that it’s been broken.” “I suspect,” said Merry, “that he will find it quite as ironic as we did.” The two exchanged a look, and once more broke out into laughter. “As I said, Pip, ‘what goes around comes around’!”
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*This is a nod to one of my favorite authors. In Elanor’s "A Secret Gate” she has Pippin’s grandchildren call him “Grandper”. ** My story, “A Different Kind of Quest” tells of how the original spyglass was broken, and describes among other things, Merry’s quest to replace it.
I believe this is the first time that I've been actually inspired by the location of the day! March 26 Challenge: "Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel." --Alexander Pope How would a character not allowed to express his or her thoughts, creativity, or opinion act out? Capture this in a story, poem or piece of art. "He who breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom." (FotR, Book II, Chapter II, "The Council of Elrond") (A double inverted dribble; the POV should be obvious.)
The Path of Wisdom Power to order and do all things as I will, Yet (Author's Note: Perhaps part of why Saruman became so destructive was because of his lengthy efforts to dissemble and hide his thoughts from Sauron.)
March 27 Challenge: A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence. --Pam Brown
Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art where your character rises above themselves to follow their dreams. When Pippin first meets Menelcar the Minstrel in "The Life of a Bard" , his new friend has been on the road for many a year. But how did he come to choose the life of a wandering singer? Here we meet young Menelcar who is not yet a minstrel, nor even an apprentice bard...yet. Time for a New Song "Ow!" Menelcar's practice sword went clattering to the ground as he brought his stinging knuckles to his mouth. His opponent stood back, an expression of mingled exasperation and disgust on his face, followed by one of worry. "Little brother, not only will you never get into the Tower Guard, I do not believe you will even be accepted into the City militia!" Menelcar's face flamed. Sullenly he said, "Of course I will. They take anyone who is yet breathing, and can still stand upon two feet." Valandil put an arm around his younger brother's shoulders. "Menelcar, that's why I was hoping to help you get into the Guard. The militia's not safe-- most of them are poorly trained, too old, too young, or are those who could not get into the Guard because they are brutes and bullies." "Or because they are completely incompetent with their weapons, like me." "Menelcar, you are not that bad." Menelcar just gave his older brother a look. He knew better. He was no good with a sword, and even worse with a bow. All of his brother's encouragement would not change that fact. The truth of the matter was, he did not want to be a soldier. It was not cowardice, it was simply a deep down knowledge that he was not fitted for the life of a warrior. Of course, like anyone, he feared being killed. But what he truly feared was having to kill someone else. There were those who were able to do that when needed to protect their land. But he was not one of them. "I have no more time today," said Valandil. "I must report to my captain for duty in a few minutes. I will see you tomorrow-- I have leave tomorrow and will join the family for supper. Perhaps we can try again afterwards." He tousled his brother's hair, even though at nearly seventeen, Menelcar was almost as tall as Valandil. Menelcar stood and watched his brother walk away, looking handsome and confident in the livery of the Tower Guard. He should go back into the house or the shop and find out if his father needed his help. He was not totally useless in the cobbler's workshop, not like he was with weapons, though he knew his father was sadly disappointed in his lack of talent. But he knew that it was his sister's betrothed who would be following his father as master of the shop. Galdor had been apprentice to his father and soon would take his mastery. Maybe he could sing at his sister's wedding-- he was good at that, at least. Instead of going in, he turned away, and headed down the street, headed for the second level. He would find old Galennur. The old bard often busked by the gate between the third and the second level of the City, and he was usually glad to see Menelcar. Perhaps they could sing together for a while. Galennur thought he sang very well, and had been teaching him to play a harp as well. What his parents would think if they knew of that he hated to imagine! They had their heart set on his joining his brother in the Tower Guard, and seemed completely unable to understand that he simply was not fit to be a warrior. The Lord Denethor had made many stirring speeches about how important it was for as many young Men as possible to become warriors, to protect and defend their land. Menelcar shook his head. He would probably be of more service to his land if he fought for the enemy, because surely he was worse than useless to his own people. He would surely endanger anyone he fought alongside! Galennur was indeed there by the gate, and he was singing the song he always sang when he completed his day's entertainment, the song of the King's return: "Then forever rejoice, As the last notes died away the old bard swept down in a low and graceful bow, and there was scattered applause from the gathered crowd. Several coins made their way into the hat that lay upon the pavement, and Galennur started to stoop and pick it up as Menelcar made his way to his friend's side. "I see I came too late today," he said. "You have already finished." "The crowd was small today," Galennur answered. "But I am glad you came by--" suddenly he froze, and looked over Menelcar's shoulder with alarm. Two Guardsmen were approaching them, their faces grim. "Are you Galennur" one of them asked. "I am." "You make your living busking on the street?" "I do, as I have always done." "I must tell you then, that as of today, you must find another way to keep yourself. By order of the Lord Denethor and the Council, performing on the street has been banned." Menelcar's jaw dropped in astonishment, but Galennur simply sighed and shook his head sadly. "It has come to that, then? I am not surprised. Alas, I know no other means of keeping myself and am too old to learn other ways." The Guardsman who had delivered the message flushed with embarrassment, but said, "You know none may live in the City without some means of support, whether it be family or gainful employment. You will have two days to leave. If you are found singing in public between now and that time, you will be arrested and forcibly removed from the City." "Thank you for the warning." The Guardsman went red once more. "I am only doing my duty." He paused a moment before turning away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible, before he and his companion left. Menelcar was shocked. "That is not fair! They cannot do that to you! You should appeal to the Lord Denethor!" Galennur turned and looked at Menelcar. "Why should I do that? I have long known that my songs of ancient tales and my song of the King's return would not please him. It was only a matter of time before he decided to be rid of me." He placed a hand on Menelcar's shoulder. "I have enjoyed your friendship, Menelcar. Few young men pay much attention to me. If you would farewell me, I will be leaving by the main Gates at sunrise." Menelcar caught the old man in a fierce embrace. "I will be there!" All the way home, Menelcar found himself blinking away angry tears. Lord Denethor asked Gondor's young men to fight to defend the realm, to lay down their lives for the kingdom of which he was Steward. Steward only! He held Gondor against the coming of the King one day, and to forbid it being sung of-- that event that every Gondorian should hope for-- it was not right! And now Galennur was being forced to leave the White City just because he sang of the King's return. Or was it simply because he sang? There was precious little to enjoy in Gondor in these days when all was duty, and all must be serious. In any case, it was not fair! When he arrived home, just in time for supper, he told his family angrily of the new edict. His father looked at him disapprovingly. "Why were you down there, anyway? I am sure there are better ways for you to spend your time!" Before Menelcar could respond, his mother said mildly, "Well, it seems a shame. Galennur is a nice enough old fellow. But I am sure that the Lord Denethor knows what's best for us. And, after all, it cannot be good to get people's hopes up for a king who likely will never return, when there are more important things to worry about." She then turned the talk to his sister's upcoming wedding. That night Menelcar was wakeful. If Galennur left Minas Tirith there would not be much left for him to enjoy in life. He would never make a fighter at all, and he would never be much more than barely adequate as a cobbler. He had dreamed, oh how he had dreamed, of being a bard himself one day. He had never said anything to his family; he knew how scornfully they would treat such an ambition. And yet... Perhaps this was his chance. He knew if Galennur remained, he would never be allowed to be his apprentice. His family would never have agreed, and could have made things difficult for Galennur. But if he left, if he went with him... Quietly, he rose from his bed, and gathered up a few possessions and a change of clothing. He was a useless burden on his family, but he could be of help to Galennur on his lonely road. At dawn he was at the main Gates, his pack in hand. Galennur looked at him. "Are you sure?" "I thought perhaps-- you could use an apprentice?" The old bard stared at him for a long time, and then nodded. "The road is long and the way is hard." Side by side they trudged out of the White City towards a new life. ____________________ *A very old song, which I modified and used in "The Life of a Bard" and "Chance Encounter".
March 28 Challenge: "There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed..." Who will receive this letter? An uncle? A lover? The High-King? Why is there "no avoiding it"? Circumstances? Or is Mother watching with arms crossed? Will the letter be written in haste? Or will each phrase be meticulously crafted?
Write a story or poem inspired by this line (you do not need to use the exact quote), or create a piece of art that reflects this situation.
Messages Home There was no avoiding it. The letter had to be composed. It was after all, the only chance they'd have to let their families know they were safe, and the King's messengers were leaving for the North the very next day. He had told the hobbits that if they wished to send word to their families of their safety that they could do so. Now Merry looked down at the blank page and wondered what to say. Well, he had better get to it. He dipped the quill into the ink; Shire Reckoning would have to do, Gondorian dates would convey nothing to his parents... "7 Thrimmidge, S.R. 1419 "Dearest Da and Mum,
I am so sorry that this is the first chance I have had to send you a letter. Our journey turned out to be a lot further and take a lot longer than I could ever have anticipated. I cannot hope in a single letter to explain everything. There is so much to tell that it will have to wait until I arrive and am able to tell you in person.
Suffice it to say, I am safe, and Frodo, Pippin and Samwise are also safe. We have all at times been in dreadful danger, but the worst of the danger is done with now, thanks to Frodo. We will be starting for home soon, but I am not certain how long it will take us to arrive as we have a long way to travel. However, the Road is safer now than it once was, and it should not take quite so long to return as it did to get here.
Please assure Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine that Pippin is just fine, and tell them that they should be very proud of him, for he has been brave and cheerful all through our difficult journey. I know that he plans to write to them today as well, but as you know he is not a very eloquent correspondent.
Mum and Da, I miss you so very much. I cannot wait to be once more in Buckland, to see you both, and to walk along the banks of the Brandywine, or enjoy tea with you by the hearth.
With all my heart, I remain always,
Your loving son,
Merry" There was no avoiding it. He had to write this letter. If Uncle Sara and Aunt Esme had a letter from Merry, then he'd have to send one to his own parents or they'd be dreadfully hurt. But he hated writing letters. Oh well, might as well get started... "7 Thrimmidge, S.R. 1419 Dear Mother and Father, I guess you will be surprised to get this letter. I did not get a chance to send one any sooner. We are all the way down in Gondor. We are all alive.
Please give my love to Pearl, Pimmie and Vinca, and also to the Aunties, and hugs to Flora and Alyssum from their Uncle Pip.
I know you are probably angry Father. But I will explain when I get home. It is NOT Frodo's and Merry's fault! I miss you all dreadfully.
Love,
your son,
Pippin" There was no avoiding it. Of course, the Gaffer couldn't read it, but Marigold could read it to him. He was ever so glad that he'd taught his sister to read after old Mr. Bilbo had taught him. But he'd never written no proper letter before. Just short notes. But as the Gaffer said, "It's the job as is never started as takes longest to finish." "Dear Gaffer and Marigold, I am writing this letter to let you know that Mr. Frodo and me are just fine. We had kind of a long journey, and our errand took a lot longer and was harder to finish than we thought it would be. Right now we are in a big city of Men called Minas Tirith down in Gondor, which is a far ways South, and a longer piece to travel than what Mr. Bilbo did that first time when he went away. By the way, Mr. Bilbo really is still alive. We saw him, where he is living with the Elves in Rivendell!
Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are fine too. We are all dreadful homesick though, as this place is nothing like the Shire. I miss the gardens something awful. We hope to head home soon. I hope you both are keeping well and that the Gaffer's joints are not ailing him too much. Please Marigold when next you see her will you tell Rosie Cotton hello for me?
I miss you both something awful.
Love,
Sam"
There was no avoiding it. His hand was not nearly so fine as it once was, and to anyone who knew his handwriting the change would be apparent. Still, he could not wait until it looked as good as it once had. And it was improving, in spite of his maimed hand. "7 Lótessë, T.A. 3019 My Dearest Uncle Bilbo,
I am at last afforded a chance to write to you. Aragorn's messengers will be headed North tomorrow, and so I am taking this opportunity to send you a brief letter. There is so much to tell you, and it would take days to even write a brief account.
However, let me assure you of one thing: all four of us are safe now, and alive. Sam and I came to the end of our journey, and the quest was completed. We soon will be heading for home and we will be coming first to Rivendell to see you and tell you all about it.
You should be very proud of Sam, and Merry and Pippin. All of them came through their own adventures with courage and determination. And, if you would believe it, Merry and Pippin have both grown somewhat-- in fact, I think both have passed the Bullroarer. I shall let them be the ones who explain it to you!
I wish you could have been here to see 'the Dúnadan' crowned as King. Oh, Uncle Bilbo, he shone with a light beyond this world as he accepted his destiny. He is going to make such a great King!
Uncle, the world is so full of a number of things. I have seen marvels and horrors, beauty and terror. I am glad that I did get to see them, but I am ready to go home. I look forward to talking to you once more, and telling you all of the details you will need to write down in that great Book of yours. And I so want to see you again; I have missed you dreadfully.
With all my love,
your Frodo"
******* The messenger looked at the gates of Bree in frustration. "I told you to go away! No strangers are allowed!" shouted the gatekeeper from the top of the wall. "But I have messages, important messages! And I have some messages that need to be sent on to the Shire!" "A likely story! As if you don't know that none comes nor goes from the Shire these days! Be off with you!" With a sigh of frustration, the messenger turned back. He would seek to rejoin the others and return to Rivendell before the wedding party set out. Ah well, at least that one letter got delivered, to the old pherian there...
My entry for the Back-to-Middle-earth-Month 2011 challenge is this calligraphy piece:
Sam never knew a darker hour than when he thought his Master lost from him forever in the pass of Cirith Ungol, nor a finer one than when he renounced despair on the steps in the Tower there. I chose the following two quotations to illustrate that. "And then black despair came down on him, and Sam bowed to the ground, and drew his grey hood over his head, and night came into his heart, and he knew no more." (TT, Book IV, Chapter X, "The Choices of Master Samwise") "I will not say the day is done
March 30 Challenge: "You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right." --Maya Angelou
Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art on the theme of leaving or returning home. Merry and Pippin on another adventure. Meriadoc and Peregrin, S.R. 1484 Two there are who are leaving home, Two there are who are leaving home, Two there are who are leaving home, Two there are who are going home, ______________ Author's Note: 1484 "In the spring of the year a message came from Rohan to Buckland that King Éomer wished to see Master Holdwine once again. Meriadoc was then old (102) but still hale. He took counsel with his friend the Thain, and soon after they handed over their goods and offices to their sons and rode away over the Sarn Ford, and they were not seen again in the Shire. It was heard after that Master Meriadoc came to Edoras and with King Éomer before he died in that autumn. Then he and Thain Peregrin went to Gondor and passed what short years were left to them in that realm, until they died and were laid in Rath Dínen among the great of Gondor." (Tale of Years, Appendix B, "Later Events Concerning the Members of the Fellowship of the Ring")
March 31 Challenge: "Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain." Friedrich Schiller
Stupid Is As Stupid Does Sam and Merry sat in the courtyard of the guesthouse in the Sixth Circle, enjoying the Sun. Pippin was lying stretched out upon his back with his eyes closed. Frodo was with the King, who had wished to consult him about some documents he was preparing. Pippin gave a sigh, took a deep breath, stretched, and rolled over upon his stomach.
Pippin put out a finger, and allowed an ant to crawl up on it. He watched it crawl across the back of his hand, over his palm, down his thumb and then back into the grass. "I wonder," he said, "if the S.-B.s ever solved their ant problem at Bag End..." Sam took his pipe out of his mouth in an offended manner. "Ants! At Bag End! There weren't no ant problem there!" Pippin chuckled and sat up. "Not when Frodo lived there. But I am very sure they had such a problem after we left..." Merry looked at Pippin an arched an eyebrow. "Ah-ha! And just what did you do, Pip-my-lad?" "Oh," he said, putting on his most innocent expression, "I just left them a hole-warming present..." Sam and Merry both gave him a sharp look of inquiry. "I thought that they might be bored with the state of perfection in which Bag End was always kept, so I arranged a little diversion for them: a plate of honey and a jar of ants under the bed in Gandalf's guest room. Oh, and I might have left the window in there just slightly open." Merry gave a loud guffaw, and even Sam burst out with a bark of surprised laughter. He shook his head. "I have to say, Mr. Pippin, it's no more than they deserved." "I know Lotho provided me with diversion more than once when I was a child. Did I ever tell you about what Rusty Cotton and I did to him and to Ted Sandyman at the Free Fair in Michel Delving the year I was fifteen?"* Both of them looked at him in surprise. "No," Merry said flatly. "Well, first we managed to cross his braces with Ted Sandyman's without their noticing-- until they stood up and found they were tangled together. But even better, when he was in the privy, we jammed the door so he couldn't get out." Pippin grinned as he remembered that long ago day. He looked at Merry. "We overheard him plotting mischief to Frodo and to you. We couldn't let that happen." "I seem to remember another occasion when you and Rusty tried to play a trick on Lotho that did not work out quite the way you hoped." Pippin turned bright red. "Oh, don't remind me of that one!"** Merry looked at Sam. "You were not the only one who managed to pull Lotho's foot hair, Peregrin Took," Merry said. "Sam and I managed to deal him quite a blow ourselves once." Pippin looked at the two of them avidly. "Do tell!" "It was about three years after Bilbo left, during one of my Spring visits. You'd already returned home to Whitwell about a week before... "What is Lotho Pimple doing in Hobbiton?" Merry asked Frodo angrily. "I thought the S.-B.s had moved to the Southfarthing!" "Merry, please. I know he's unpleasant, but I don't care for that particular name for him." "Very well. What is Loathsome Lotho doing in Hobbiton?" "I'd no idea he was here. Did you see him?" Merry nodded. "I saw him coming out of Sandyman's mill." "That explains it, then," said Frodo. "Otho has a part-interest in the mill. He probably sent Lotho up to check on Sandyman and collect his share of the profits. No need to worry, Merry. He'll avoid me like the plague." "He had better. If he comes around and tries to bother you, this time I will be the one to bloody his nose." "Merry, that was years ago. I wish you would forget it." "Forget the sight of you felling him with one swift blow? It's one of my very fondest memories."*** "Well, I would simply prefer to avoid him, and I wish that you would as well." Frodo dismissed the subject. "Come now, Merry, it's time for tea." Merry had mostly forgotten about Lotho himself the next day, when he went out to the kitchen garden to fetch some greens for a salad at lunch, and found Sam weeding in a temper, muttering under his breath some rather salty language. "Sam? Is something wrong?" The gardener jumped, startled. "Mr. Merry? No, nothing, really." Merry looked skeptical. "Sam, I've never seen you angry. Did I do something to offend you? Or did Frodo?" "Snakes and adders, no, Mr. Merry! It's that Lo-- never mind!" Sam turned red and put his full attention on yanking out a small but tenacious weed from among the carrots. "Loathsome Lotho?" "I didn't say that." "You almost did. What's he done to put you in a temper?" Sam sat back. "You have to promise not to say anything to Mr. Frodo." Merry pursed his lips. "No? If Lotho's been up to something underhanded, Frodo has the right to pull him up short. Frodo's Family Head after all." "He would and he could too. But you still have to promise not to tell him." "I promise." "You know he's always been one for gawking at the lasses, and not one for hiding what he's thinking when he stares. He and Sandyman were heading into the Post Office when my sister May was coming out. He looked, well, he looked down her dress, Mr. Merry, and not just a glance as she told it. He took himself an eyeful and give her a bold look that made her feel, well," Sam stopped speaking for a moment, nearly overcome with anger. "Anyhow. You know. And that weren't the worst of it, because as she hurried off to get away from 'em, she heard 'em laughing at her." He took a deep breath. "May told me and Daisy about it, but she told us not to tell the Gaffer or Mr. Frodo. She said she'd just feel too humiliated for them to know. And she knows how angry they'd be." Merry gave a low whistle. "That's hard, Sam! Lotho needs a lesson in manners, the cad! I'm surprised you didn't go smack him on the nose." "I'd like nothing better. But you know I can't. And if I did happen to do it then I'd have to explain why." "I know. And it would probably make more trouble for you than it's worth." While Merry did not care to think about it, Sam was a working hobbit, and Lotho was gentry even if he did not act like it. Sam would be in a world of trouble if he assaulted Lotho. Just then Frodo called out the kitchen door: "Merry! Are you growing the lettuce from seed?" "I was just talking to Sam for a minute, Frodo! I'll be right in." He quickly gathered some lettuce and some rocket from a nearby bed. "Lotho still needs a lesson. Let me think about it." That night as he lay in bed, Merry turned over one plan after another, thinking of any possible flaws. He discarded one after another until, yes, that one would do. He would tell Sam the next day. He grinned in the darkness, imagining Lotho's face at the end. It would work. Lotho was too stupid not to fall for it. The next morning he found a few minutes to present his idea to Sam, who went from looking dismayed, to skeptical, to gleeful. "And you're sure, Mr. Merry that we won't be found out?" Merry shook his head. "Lotho's never had any correspondence from me at all. I'll be careful as careful can be. The only question is, will May go along with it?" "She's gone from being embarrassed to being downright furious. I believe that she will think it's no more than he deserves." "Now, from what I was able to glean from Frodo, these little jaunts of Lotho to Hobbiton to tend to his father's businesses here usually keep him here a couple of weeks. We'll put the first part into motion tomorrow. I need a few supplies of course..."
Lotho was staying at The Ivy Bush. He had just finished dressing for the day when he heard a tap on his door. "What is it?" he snapped. "The Post, Mr. Lotho!" came the voice of the innkeeper. "There was a letter for you." Lotho opened the door in surprise. He rarely got letters when he travelled, although he supposed his father might have sent word of some business he had forgotten when Lotho set out. But the slight smile on the innkeeper's face as he handed him the envelope surprised Lotho. As he took it, he realized why. The envelope was very slightly scented with lavender. And the seal was a flower embossed on pink wax. There was no return address on the outside. Intrigued, he opened it.
Lotho felt a jolt of shock. While he often behaved as though he thought the lasses found him irresistible, he sometimes had doubts about their reactions to him, which were not at all the reactions he hoped for. But apparently his charm had worked on someone! He took a little extra care that morning in brushing his head and his feet, and went out upon his business of the day with a jaunty swagger and a smirk, giving every lass he passed more than his usual leering scrutiny. Could she be the one? How could he find out who she was? He was so busy staring after two buxom lasses who had just passed him that he completely failed to notice Frodo on the other side of the street, as he was coming out of the baker's. This suited Frodo just fine, but he could not help but notice his cousin's self-satisfied air.
Frodo returned to Bag End where Merry and Sam sat in the kitchen having elevenses. "Well, Merry, I saw Lotho myself this morning, looking more than usually full of himself, like a cat that's been at the cream! I do hope that doesn't mean he's been up to any mischief here." As Frodo put away his purchases, Merry and Sam exchanged a grin. But all Merry said was, "Maybe he is just having a good day." Frodo sniffed doubtfully, but dismissed the topic. He preferred not to dwell on Lotho if he could help it. Merry walked outside when Sam did. "It looks as though the first part is working. Is May ready for the next part?" Sam nodded. "Her friends was right put out at how he acted to her, and some o' them have got unpleasant attention from him, too! They think it's no more than he deserves. But I hope he don't get too much encouragement from it." "It's only a few friendly smiles," said Merry. "But they should keep moving. As long as it is coming from several directions, he won't fix on any one particular lass. The idea is to keep him confused." Two days later, Lotho received another anonymous letter.
If the first letter had surprised him, this one gave him an upswell of pride and a feeling of victory. Here was a lass who appreciated a proper hobbit! And sheclearly had good sense as well, since she knew that he should have Bag End instead of Frodo! He was feeling decidedly happy as he set forth for his business that day, still wondering who she might be and how he could find her. He saw one lass, walking on the arm of an older hobbit, clearly her father. And as he gazed after her, she looked back and smiled. His heart gave a lurch. Could she be the one? Usually the lasses looked away from him, being properly modest and shy. But that one's boldness made him giddy. Surely it had to be her! But then two more lasses passed him, walking together, and also returned his look with smiles. It seemed that many of the lasses were smiling at him today! He began to be completely confused. Had his time away simply made them able to see him differently? Made them forget they had previously blushed and tried to avoid his gaze? Perhaps that was it. He had long suspected that Frodo's popularity was due to his having come to Hobbiton a stranger, and so was a novelty. Certainly this seemed to prove it. His swagger became even more pronounced. "Tomorrow is Trewsday, Sam. Frodo and I are going down the Hill to Greenhill for his weekly tea with his Aunt Dora. I'll see to the last part of it. Can you slip the last letter into the Post?" Sam nodded. "Are you sure it will work?" Merry looked at Sam. "It's Lotho, Sam. We have him hooked; all we need to do is play the line and bring him in. But we have to do it soon, he'll be leaving in a couple of days."
This latest letter stunned Lotho. Some young lass wished him to steal her away, take her away even though they did not really know one another, even though there was no chance they'd be allowed to wed unless they put the dessert before the main course. And he could find out who she was! After tea, Frodo, as was his habit, offered to clear up the tea things for his aunt. He carried the tray from her sitting room to the kitchen. "I'll be there in a moment to help, Frodo. I just want to ask Miss Dora something!" Dora Baggins fixed a suspicious eye on the young Brandybuck. "What is it you wish to ask me, Meriadoc?" "I'm planning a surprise party for someone, and I could use your advice, Miss Dora," he said with his most earnest expression. "I was wondering if I could prevail on you to walk with me tomorrow evening, and we could look over the Party Field?" She pursed her lips, her suspicions not completely allayed. But it might be interesting to find out just what he had in mind. "Very well, Meriadoc, I will do so. Is Frodo a part of this venture?" Merry shook his head, and Dora thought perhaps it was as he said. Perhaps he was planning a surprise party for Frodo. Knowing how the lad doted on his cousin it would not surprise her. She nodded at him, and he gave her a cheeky smile, before getting up to help Frodo in the kitchen. Lotho had finished his business for his father, and had his belongings packed. He'd load them in his trap and drive down the lane where he could park and see if his admirer was there waiting. If she was, well then, easy enough to spirit her away with him. His mother would probably not be happy to see him bring home an unknown bride, but his father would be happy enough. Merry solicitously escorted Miss Dora across the road, talking of all the parties he'd seen here, then suddenly, he slapped his forehead. "I'm sorry, Miss Dora! I seem to have forgotten my list! My list with the questions I needed to ask you, and my ideas for the party! I'll just run up to Bag End and fetch it! I promise I will be right back!" Without waiting to hear her answer he sprinted off. Lotho pulled his pony trap up to the verge and peered into the shadow beside the great tree, and felt a sense of triumph! She was cloaked, but it was clearly a feminine figure that stood there. He got down from the trap, and made his way quietly across the field, planning what he would say when he finally reached her. He crept unseen behind her and put his hands over her eyes from behind. "Oh, my dearest! I can't wait to see who you ---" He was interrupted by a screech. Then she turned around, and in his shock he fell backwards, landing with an undignified thump. "Of all the nerve! Lotho Sackville-Baggins I know you for a Bounder, young fellow! But to accost a Respectable Hobbitess when you clearly have no idea who she is? And to speak in that Manner?" Lotho gaped. At one-hundred-and-four, Dora Baggins was as formidable as ever! She was the only hobbit his mother feared this side of the Brandywine (the one on the other side being Menegilda Brandybuck who loathed Lobelia heartily ) and he had no idea what she was doing here instead of his ardent admirer. He tried in vain to get a word in edgewise as she informed him tartly of all of his shortcomings. Finally he got to his feet and fled to the trap, and drove off as fast as the pony would go. On the other side of a nearby hedge, Sam held his sister May as she laughed hysterically into his shoulder, trying not to be heard. Although he was grinning, he shushed her, and told her to look. Merry came rushing up to Miss Dora. "I heard you cry out, Aunt Dora! Is something wrong?" She gave him a Look, one that said more clearly than words that she knew he had been Up To Something, and glanced at his hand, where he carried a roll of paper. She pursed her lips and shook her head. But at that point, Frodo himself joined them. "What has happened, Aunt Dora?" "Apparently young Lotho, in addition to Being a Bounder, is also a Masher! In the shadows he apparently mistook me for some Innocent Young Lass, and Accosted me! I am afraid I gave him the Sharp Edge of My Tongue!" She took a deep breath. "Dear me! I am Not as Young as I Used to Be!" Frodo put his arms around her shoulders. "Come along up to Bag End, Auntie, and have a cup of tea, and afterwards Merry and I shall see you safely home..." "You should've seen his face, Mr. Pippin," said Sam. "And May said it was the finest revenge ever, and when she seen Mr. Merry the next day, she gave him a hug." Merry turned beet red, but smiled. "Well, Sam, she was your sister. We couldn't allow her to go unavenged after all." Pippin stared at the two of them with frank adoration. "That was utterly brilliant! I'd have given anything to have been in on it!" Merry chuckled. "Well, I'd have loved to have seen Loathsome and Sandyman with their braces crossed! That was bold for such a fry as you were then!" "Did Frodo ever find out?" "Did I find out what?" The three hobbits on the ground jumped. "Oh we were talking over old times at home is all. Do you remember the time Lotho scared your Aunt Dora?" "Of course I do." He looked Merry dead in the eye. "And if you think I did not recognise your fine Brandybuck mind at work, you have another think coming." Merry's jaw dropped as Frodo turned his gaze on Pippin. "Now what's this I hear about braces?" _____________________ * Pippin the Protector
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