Messages Abroad

By Songspinner

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“Going to the woods is going home.” – John Muir

***

1: Merry

He’d just spread out his things over the blanket when the first raindrops fell. 

“Bother!” Merry grumbled to himself.  With a quick lunge, he grabbed the charcoal sticks and was about to tuck them away in their oiled case when he realized that none of the rain was actually reaching him. “Hmmm…guess I can stay a little while.” 

He picked up the sheet of thick paper and some charcoal, and began to sketch.  He’d something in mind when he got there, but now his mind was wandering to the sound of the softly pattering raindrops.  To his surprise, when he glanced down to see what his hand was sketching, Frodo’s face was quite clear against the mallorn leaves that formed the background of the picture.  Somehow, as every other time he’d come here on a troubled day, his cousin’s presence seemed stronger here than anywhere else in the Shire.

The mallorn tree that towered over him had always had large leaves, but he could swear that it had pulled them together to cover more of the mossy ground below.  He had a sudden memory of dashing through a rainstorm into Bag End under the shelter of Frodo’s cloak. 

 Merry smiled wistfully, running a charcoal-dusted hand through his curls.  “Frodo?” he asked softly.  “I wonder…thank you.” He added, and touched the smooth and silver bark of the tree.

2: Pippin

Flopping down on the emerald moss between tree roots, Pippin shaded his eyes against the summer sun.  The young hobbit reached over to the side of where he lay and pulled a stem of wild mint on which to nibble.

He appreciated the sweet coolness in his mouth for a long moment before sitting up and leaning against the tree’s trunk.  His mother, when first visiting the Hill, had sensed a sort of royalty about the sapling, and scolded her son soundly for such behavior.  He’d laughed, and told her not to fret, that it recognized him because of its mother-tree in Lorien who’d met him. 

Now, as he pressed his back against the much-grown tree these few years later, he looked up at the golden leaves that framed the clouds above his head.  “I think,” he said with a grin. “That I was right that day, and that you speak to your own mother in that far grove.  And if I’m right about that, it stands to reason that it in turn speaks to her mother over the Sea.”

Pippin laughed merrily, savoring the feel of that in his mouth as much as he had the taste of the mint.  “If that is true, then perhaps you can tell Frodo what’s happened?  That I’m to be married to Diamond soon…I think he’d be happy to hear of it.  Maybe you could mention it to Gandalf as well.”

Bowing his head to press his forehead to the bark, Pippin grew more sober.  “Tell them that she understands.  And that I shan’t be alone now when I’m apart from Merry.  And that I miss both of them.  They’d not think this silly, speaking to a tree.  After all.“ he continued, a hint of a smile returning to his face.  “I’ve spoken to trees before.”

3: Sam

It was early on a winter morning that Sam ventured out to the Hill.  Fresh snow swirled around his feet as he approached the tree.  He cocked his head to the side, checking for storm damage. 

“Don’t know why I should worry.” He murmured to himself as much as the tree in question.  “A tree such as this stays safe in the world, I suppose.”  Sam gazed up into the branches that were bare for winter.  “Wonder if you’d lose your leaves in Lorien.  Maybe you’ve no reason to do that there.  I don’t know that there were any seasons in that lovely place…we weren’t there long enough to see.  Such a price, then, you might’ve paid for the Lady sending you here with me.”

A branch snapped suddenly and sent a clump of snow and ice to land on his head, which he shook, amused.  “Oh,” he exclaimed with a grin.  “So it’s to be that way, is it?  Mister Pippin told me that he thinks you talk with those who left.  Well, I’d guess that she’d not have sent you without good reason.  I do remember, you see, that you’ll get new leaves come spring.”

He reached out a sturdy and calloused hand to stroke the bark, as he’d done so many times before.  “You’ll do well enough until then.”  Sam’s vision blurred a bit then, with tears he dashed away quickly.  “And tell Frodo I’ll remember that until it comes time for me to leave as well.”

And the tree seemed to warm in answer against his hand.